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“Ask him!” Lindsey shakes her hand toward Todd, and most of her ice and drink spill down his bare back.
He yelps and jumps to his feet. Two guys help Michael into the room, distracting us. He’s holding his hand up on his shoulder, cradling his elbow with the other hand. Blood is pouring down his forearm into his cupped hand. I stare in shock as people move out of the way to let him through.
“Here, take my towel,” Jonathan says, sounding a bit panicked. He pulls the towel from around his waist and hands it to the guys, then realizes he’s not wearing anything under it. He covers himself with both hands, looking around with wide eyes. Before anyone can laugh, there’s hard pounding at the door.
A second later, two police officers are standing in the living room.
“Party’s over,” says a ruggedly handsome blond officer with a strong southern accent. He sounds a little bored as he surveys the damage. Broken door, broken lamp, naked guy, bleeding guy. Their eyes take it all in with little surprise, and I’d bet it’s not the first time they’ve been here.
His partner, a Latina woman with her dark hair slicked back in a tight ponytail, steps out onto the patio and brings her radio to her ear.
“Y’all better call your parents,” says the male officer. “No one is driving home from this party.”
“Looks like he needs the hospital,” says the woman, gesturing at Michael’s arm. “That’s going to need stitches.”
“Yes, ma’am,” says Jonathan, still covering his junk with both hands. “And yes, sir.”
I hear a cop on a bullhorn outside, telling people to call their parents. Todd pulls me up, and we step out onto the front porch, but two police cruisers are blocking the drive.
“No one is driving from this party without taking a breathalyzer test,” says the officer on the bullhorn, standing next to his cruiser.
I think about calling my mother at two in the morning, having her come get me from a party that the cops busted up.
I’m so dead.
three
Now Playing:
“Better Man”—Pearl Jam
I will never be allowed to leave the house again.
If I call my mother, that’s the only possible outcome, so that’s out of the question. My best bet is to find Lindsey and go home with her. Maybe then I can avoid my mother finding out entirely. Lindsey’s way too drunk to drive, but Elaine doesn’t drink, and since they’re supposedly the best of friends, we tolerate each other. Which means maybe Elaine will take pity on me and let me tag along.
I run upstairs and look all over, but I can’t find Lindsey. In desperation, I start asking everyone if they’ve seen her. They all just shrug and go on with their own exit plans, probably worried about the parental freakouts they’ll face at home, too.
The place is clearing out pretty quickly, and I’ve still seen no sign of Lindsey, or Elaine, or Chase. Todd finds me on the stairs at last.
“Everyone’s gone home, babe,” he says, squinting up at me. “We can just crash here. Unless you can drive?”
“I doubt it,” I say, trying to remember the last thing I drank. If I fail the breathalyzer, the cops might insist on calling my parents.
My parent.
The way tonight’s going, they’ll probably just go ahead and arrest me for underage drinking.
“Did anyone get arrested?” I ask.
“Nah. They just like the scare people and break up the fun. It’d be too much work for them to arrest us. Besides, they wouldn’t even have room in the jail for all of us.”
“I just need to find Lindsey,” I say, realizing that in my single-mindedness I probably missed some other rides home.
The thing is, I don’t want to go home. Lindsey’s mom would probably just make us cookies again. My mom will kill me if I come home drunk. And though I don’t want to see more of Lindsey’s brother, he never bothers us when I’m over. It’s like they live in two different worlds because they go to different schools. I didn’t even know he knew my name until an hour ago.
“Oh, Lindsey won’t be coming out again tonight,” Todd says. “She’s with Chase.”
The thought makes my stomach turn in a funny way, and I try to get my mind off it as quickly as I can.
