Page 12 of Unnecessary Drama

It’s 2 am and Ruby, Justin and Sophie have just left, and I am finally alone, in my room. I’m still wearing the chicken onesie, because taking it off before the night was officially over seemed like admitting defeat—although keeping it on hasn’t exactly felt like a win.

Justin, predictably, asked me a lot of questions about not drinking, and I deflected by asking them how their short stories for class were going, which then triggered Sophie into a full spiral about her story (‘I read back over it and I realised, nothing happens. It’s about nothing. Nothing! There’s no climax, there’s no conflict, there’s no plot. It’s literally just people talking and a dream sequence!’), which has now triggered me into my own spiral about my story, because all of Sophie’s problems are my problems, and I’m torn between getting my laptop out right now to read over it or going to the kitchen to do a quick tidy first because I can’t sleep knowing there are empty bottles sitting around not in the recycling bin and I should double-check a drunk person didn’t turn on the oven, just for peace of mind.

I’m walking out of my bedroom when there is a bloodcurdling scream, and a crash, and Jesse and Amber emerge from his room, dishevelled and yelling incoherently.

Jesse is shirtless, something my brain eagerly notes. No. I refuse to acknowledge he is attractive, I refuse to acknowledge his body, even in the privacy of my own mind.

‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,’ Amber is screaming, and then she launches herself at Jesse, trying to climb onto his back, arms and legs flailing.

‘What is going on?’ I say.

Harper and Penny arrive in the hallway, both in pyjamas: Harper in a loose black tank top and pants and Penny in gorgeous green silk matching singlet and shorts. Penny is holding a bottle of lotion, and she’s rubbing it into her arms as she looks on with concern.

‘What happened? Are you okay?’ she asks.

‘There was a motherfucking mouse!’ Jesse yells. Amber is now on his back, in a full piggyback, her arms squeezing his neck so tight that I’m surprised he can breathe.

Harper and I make eye contact.

‘It’s probably the same one we saw,’ she says.

‘In my bedroom,’ I add.

‘You saw a mouse? And no one told me?’ Jesse yelps.

‘We were worried you’d overreact,’ I say, which is a lie. We just forgot to tell him, but seeing him and Amber emerge together from his bedroom has given me the sudden urge to be mean.

Amber gives a little sob. Her top is only halfway on, and I’m worried about a nip slip, so I look away respectfully.

‘Brooke was much calmer when she saw it than you two,’ Harper says, and I smile at her. You know what, I was calm and dignified, in hindsight.

‘It’s probably not even the same mouse! There could be hundreds of them for all we know,’ Jesse says, frantically looking around like a plague is about to come swarming down the hallway. ‘And I am calm,’ he adds, his voice deepening.

‘Don’t drop me!’ Amber shouts at him, tightening her grip on his neck. She looks at Harper and Penny. ‘I need to leave. You don’t understand. I hate, hate, hate mice.’

‘Okay, okay, we understand,’ Penny says soothingly, snapping the lid back on her lotion bottle. ‘I’ll get your things.’

‘My bra is on the floor by Jesse’s bed, and my bag is on the couch!’ she yells, as Jesse piggybacks her outside. She looks at me. ‘And could you maybe bring me a glass of water and are there any of those little food platters left? Because I’d love, like, a grape, a single grape, right now.’

‘Um,’ I say. ‘Sure.’ I don’t love being treated like a waitress but she is upset and I know the pain of seeing a mouse in a bedroom. I get her a glass of water and a bunch of grapes (putting a single grape on a plate felt like a step too far) and I even add a lemon slice to the water, and carry it all outside, where everyone is waiting for Amber’s Uber.

‘Here you go,’ I say. Even braless and in distress, Amber looks pretty and put-together. I am acutely aware that I am still in the chicken suit.

‘Thanks, sweetie,’ she says, taking the glass and drinking the water. I try to keep my face impassive even though it makes my eye twitch to be called sweetie by people my own age.

‘Oh my god, this is one of the most traumatising nights of my life,’ Amber says, picking grapes off the plate I am holding. ‘I am never going in your plague house again.’

Harper looks offended and I give her a sympathetic smile, and escape back into the house. I clean the kitchen, wash my face, and get changed into my pyjamas. On my way to bed, I pass Jesse, now wearing a T-shirt, peering under the couch with his phone torchlight.

‘Still worried about the mouse?’ I say.

‘Just checking where it might be.’

‘You made quite the scene,’ I say.

‘You can talk, in your chicken outfit,’ he says, glancing up at me and holding eye contact for a beat too long.

Later, trying to sleep, having stuffed a towel under my door just in case the mouse comes back to my room, Jesse’s shirtless body pops into my head, and I squash it down. No. Do not think of that. Do not think of his shoulders, or his chest, or any part of him. Even if we didn’t have any history, he’s not my type. Not anymore. My type is, well, I don’t know exactly. I thought it was Tristan, my ex-boyfriend, but I think I only thought he was my type because he liked me, and ‘person who likes me’ seemed like a useful type to have.