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“Cool,” the other guy, one I don’t recognize, says on smirk, walking through the living room into the kitchen, barely acknowledging me.
“It’s cool I brought some non-school friends, right? I don’t really hang out with too many kids my age…” Angela leans into Greg, who looks at me, licking his bottom lip on an amused sneer.
“No, it’s fine. Like I said, I have some friends coming back in a bit…”
“Cool,” one of the other girls chimes in. I think her name is Angela too, now that I think about it. I should probably call her Angela Two. She’s dressed in a pleated schoolgirl skirt and white tank top, with hair so black it’s sucking in the light from the room. It kind of feels like she’s ready to launch into a pole dance at any moment. She snaps her tongue in her cheek and looks at Angela, rolling her eyes. “I’m going with Rick.”
She nods toward the kitchen where Rick disappeared.
The third girl, who looks older, gives me a tight smile, saying nothing, and follows the others into the kitchen. So I’m left staring at Angela and Greg, their hands all over each other. Eww. I think I just vomited in my mouth.
That feeling turns to sheer panic at the realization I put on my regular playlist instead of my party mix, and Axel F’s ‘Crazy Frog’ comes on.
“Your mom and dad home?” Greg asks as the dark-haired girl emerges and silently moves around me, grabbing the pack of beer and tearing open the end, handing one to each of us before heading back to the kitchen.
They both pop open the tabs on their cans while I hold the cold cylinder in mine, frozen in place, shaking my head.
“No, just me and my mom, but no she’s not here. Away for the weekend.”
Greg takes a long drink, guzzling it down, then exhales, burps and crushes it, and throws it behind the couch.
“Cool.”
That must be their favorite word. I think each one of them has used it since they walked in, except the third girl who didn’t say anything. The brain trust, they are not.
“Let the games begin.” He half snarls.
The way he says it sends a chill down my back as Angela gives me a cold smile, and once again I wonder why in the hell I thought this was a good idea.
“I’ve got some stuff set up outside…” I manage.
My mom didn’t say I couldn’t have a party, but I don’t want anything to happen to the inside of the house. Mostly because I know if there’s anything damaged, it will come out of our security deposit and I’ve learned over the years what a precious commodity a security deposit is.
I figured I could clean up the back yard easily, and when Greg threw the beer can, I think it’s smart to try to move things outside.
I sort of nod and move to the kitchen, walking through, setting the beer down on the counter. I see the others making drinks in glasses they’ve taken from the cabinets, whispering to each other as I motion toward the back door.
“You guys want to go outside?” I try to keep my voice even as the tension flooding my entire being spins in loops, making me dizzy.
This isn’t fun.
Not in the least.
And I begin trying to figure out how I can fake an emergency or something and end this evening before it begins.
Maybe a seizure?
Or, grab my phone and say my grandparents are on their way?
Something…I have to do something.
The dark-haired girl turns on a shrug. “Sure, outside is fine.” She pulls a pack of cigarettes from inside her bra and starts to light one up.
“No smoking inside.” I harden my voice. Even with the kitchen window over the sink open, I’m not backing down on this one.
I’m half sheep, but I’m also half honey badger, and they are battling for center stage right now.
She screws up her face, holding the cigarette an inch from the lighter flame. The other two, huddling together, mumbling and stifling laughter as they make drinks, turn and give her a look, then the guy tips his head outside.
“Sure, outside is fine,” he says, then turns and hands me a drink. “Happy Birthday drink. Just for you. Eighteen and never been—”
“Go outside,” Greg interrupts, nodding toward the others, as they all snicker and I look down at the ice and liquid in my glass. Then I look up to find him staring right at me. “Happy birthday.”
He smiles as Angela and the others head out the back door. Then he steps over to the counter, pours himself a long straight shot from what I can now see is some Russian vodka, and holds his glass out to mine.
“Cheers.” He nods, looking at my glass, then me, tipping his head to the side and waiting as my heart speeds and my skin prickles. A dark dread hangs over the moment and I wish I could go back in time and undo the desperation and stupidity that collided to create this particular disaster of a moment in my life.
