by Hannah Meade
One
"No. No. No. And if it wasn't clear the first three times, NO." I stalk away from my best friend, disgusted at what she just suggested to me.
Unfortunately, she follows me. "Oh, come on, Mia. It will be fun."
I scoff. "Fun? What's fun about being around a bunch of sweaty, drunk teenagers trying to feel you up the whole night because they're buzzed? No, Em. I am not the party type, nor will I ever be."
Emily runs in front of me and blocks me from walking out the door. "Just consider it, Mia, please. You have to go."
"Why is this such a big deal to you? You go to parties alone all the time. Why is this time any different?" I fold my arms over my chest and look at her, trying to figure out what is going on. She is never this persistent, unless she has an ulterior motive.
Emily looks down at her ratty old Converse that turned from white to grey in three weeks. I find it funny how she cannot even look me in the eye when she's lying. "Nothing is different. I just do not want to go alone this time. Come on, Mia, help a girl out." She looks up at me with puppy dog eyes.
Like that is going to persuade me.
I make direct eye contact with her and give it to her straight. "No."
She slumps back against the door, knowing she is defeated. I am surprised she did not see that coming. I am not exactly the partying type, as she already knows. "Dammit, Mia. Why can't you do this one thing for me? I do favors for you all the time."
I just look at her with a blank expression. That is such bullshit, and she knows it.
"Fine. I'll just go by myself, but you will be sorry you didn't go."
I watch her walk back up the stairs, stomping all the way. Sometimes my best friend acted more like my little 12-year-old sister, especially when she didn't get her way.
After Emily's fit, I decide to do something with my night and finish a book I am writing. I make myself a bowl of fruit and carry it up to my room where my laptop is waiting for me to use it. If I had told Emily the main reason why I do not want to go to the party tonight is because I want to finish my book, she would kill me. Better yet, she would drag me to the party with her own two hands.
You see, Emily and I are two very different people. Even though we are best friends, we have very little in common. Emily is more of a partier, stay up late, and drink Starbucks every day kind of girl. Basic. Predictable. Troublemaker. I am more of a stay at home, go to bed early, and write every day kind of girl. Nerdy. Soon to be a famous author. Goody-two-shoes. How did Emily and I become best friends you ask? Well, that's a story for another day.
My current book is a spinoff of a series I just finished. The original series is about a girl who spends way too much time at the library (similar to me) and one day reads a book that has a picture of her in it. Except the picture is black and white and dated 1864. She finds out that she has lived way more lives than just the one she is in right now. The whole series is about her learning more about her past lives and even getting to go back in time and figuring out why she is reincarnated.
The spinoff I am working on is set in the future. It is about the girl's daughter and her whole life. The daughter doesn't know about her mom's past lives until she (who is also a bookworm) finds the same book her mother found in the same library one day. Her daughter starts getting more and more curious as the book goes on and eventually confronts her mother about it. The second half of the book focuses on her mother telling her daughter about what she found out about herself. At the end, a big secret is revealed that even her mother didn't know about. But you'll have to read the book to find out. That is, if I ever publish it or the series.
I only have about two chapters left to finish, and I am intent on reaching that goal tonight. But Emily has other plans.
I am in the middle of a chapter when Emily comes bursting into my room, not bothering with gentleness. I say a quiet prayer for my now-busted door, and the nice hole in my wall.
"MIA ELIZABETH HATHEWAY WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
I look up at Emily with an innocent face. "Just doing some online shopping." Without looking down, I quickly open up the Sherri Hill website tab I keep open for situations like this and click on some random section of the website.
Emily stomps over to where I sit and looks down at my computer screen for proof. She put her hands on her hips and glances over at me skeptically. "You were doing this the whole time I was getting ready?"
I nod, putting as much conviction into that nod as possible. "Yep. The whole thirty minutes."
I am not even exaggerating. It usually takes her about an hour to "glow up”--as she would say-- but evidently she tried to hurry this time. For what, I am
not sure.
Emily just stares at me, seeing right through my obvious lie. She must be in a forgiving mood tonight, though, because not five minutes later she is out the door and heading off to the party.
I breathe a sigh of relief once she is gone and re-open the Word tab again. I feel a twinge of excitement at how close I am to the end of this book.
This whole situation is kind of ironic, because I am writing a scene where the mother is telling the daughter about how she never went to parties and hated when her friend tried to get her to go. One time, she even faked having a stomach flu to get out of going to a party. She mixed up a recipe that looked and smelled like puke and put it in the toilet to make it even more “real.” It is ridiculous how much I relate to this book.
A couple of hours later, my book is finished. I feel so proud of myself, I even make a Facebook status about it. That way, it is official.
If you know me, you know I never post a Facebook status. I think they are tedious. Why does someone need to know about my whole life? If you want to know, then ask me. I am not going to put it on Facebook for everyone to see, just so I can get so many likes or comments on a post.
But, of course, Emily posts at least ten times a day. Maybe even more. She has to post about every single thing that is going on in her life. In fact, I bet she has posted about the party already, too. Just another thing about us that couldn't be more different.
I look at the time. 10 p.m. The party is still going on. Would it be so bad if I just go for a little bit? This could be a treat for me; for finishing my book on time. My hint of sweetness for the day. Sort of like how people sneak in a piece of chocolate when they've done something good.
No. Absolutely not. Parties are dumb, and I do not want to get sucked into that life. No. No way. I am just going to stay here and possibly start another book.
Fifteen minutes later, I am out the door and texting Emily to ask her the address of the party.
~~~
When I get to the party, I instantly know this is a bad idea. First off, I have to park at least a block away because of all the cars in the driveway. Second, there are so many drunk couples making out on the front porch, I almost throw up in my mouth. It is very revealing, to say the least.
I start looking around the main part of the house for Emily, but that is close to impossible to do. All of the lights have been turned off and there are strobe lights and disco balls everywhere. How people can even see the person in front of them is a miracle.
I keep bumping into people, constantly saying "excuse me" and "sorry," even though it makes absolutely no difference to them. They probably do even realize I bump into them; too busy sucking each other's faces off and getting wasted to even notice.
After about ten minutes of looking around the house for Emily, I give up and just text her to see where she is. Why I did not do this in the first place, I have no idea.
Ten more minutes go by and she has yet to answer. I sigh. This was going to be a long night, and I've only been here twenty minutes. I make a mental note to never give in to Emily's speech about how "
fun" a party could be. I should have just treated myself to some Netflix and ice cream instead.
As I lounge against a staircase, I come up with two theories. One, Emily is with some guy and there is no way she will be texting anybody for at least a good hour or two. Two, she cannot even hear her phone go off due to the obnoxiously loud music blaring throughout the entire house.
Suddenly, I feel a buzz in my pocket. Finally. I open up the text to see Emily is heading home with some guy and not to wait up for her. I just stare at the text for a few seconds, dumbfounded.
I almost laugh at the absurdity. I finally come to this damn party she wanted me to go to, and she leaves to go home with a guy? I am beyond pissed, and I let her know it. "Screw you," I text her back. If she wants to be a bitch, then I will be one too.
I look around at this dumb party and figure I might as well enjoy myself while I am here. It is no use being frustrated over Emily when she is probably too drunk to even care right now. I need that. I need to not care right now.
I mean, one drink will not hurt, right?
~~~
Five beers later, I cannot even feel my feet. I am laying down on a table and some guy is licking vodka off my belly.
I know I am going to regret this in the morning, but right now, I do not even care. All I care about is getting another shot of vodka poured on me so this guy can just keep licking me. Man, this feels so good. Why don't I do this more often?
Everyone around me is yelling, but I cannot even hear what they are saying. All I can hear is the music and the ringing in my ears.
My ears, as well as the rest of my body, are numb. I try to stand and almost fall to the ground. Luckily, a different guy wraps his arms around me to keep me steady. I try to say "thank you,” but my lips are numb too. I cannot even speak properly. I probably look like a fish out of water, gasping for breath. Not a pretty sight.
"Let's get you some water, yeah?" The guy leads me over to the couch and plops me down on it. I am staring up at the ceiling, watching it move back and forth. Are ceilings supposed to move? Well, obviously, since it is moving right now. Damn. That sure is a fast ceiling. Now it is going in circles. Round and round like a merry-go-round. The ceiling is like my stomach. Going round and round until finally, it all comes out. All the food I had eaten that day and all the beer I had just drank comes out of me and onto the floor right beside me. I keep puking until there is nothing left but an empty shell of myself; until the guy comes back with a glass of water and a towel.
Now, I am a little more sober. At least I can speak normally. "Thank you," I say as I take the towel out of his hands and wipe my face. He should have just brought me a bag to put over my head. I must look like shit right now, and this guy is like a younger Channing Tatum. I do not have the best luck with guys in the first place and this puking disaster cannot be helping my case any.
After I attempt to clean up my face a bit, I grab the glass of water from him and down it. Damn, that is so good. Exactly what I needed.
I am acutely aware of the guy watching me do all this. He has not stopped staring at me since he came back with my things. I look over at him with a questioning look. "Why are you staring at me?"
He smiles, his dimples poking through his cheeks. "Even after you went and got all drunk and puked all over the floor, you are still as cute as you were when you first got here."
I do not know whether I should be flattered or if I should be calling the cops right now. "So you have been stalking me all night, huh?"
"Pretty much. You looked like you were searching for someone but evidently that person did not show up, so you had to go and get drunk to forget. How close am I?" By now, he is smirking, knowing he is right.
Well, he kind of is. But I am not going to tell him that. "I should be getting home, but thank you for saving my ass. I owe you one." I go to stand up and almost fall right back on my butt again.
Once again, the guy comes over and catches me before I can fall and embarrass myself further. "Are you sure you're in a condition to drive? I can take you home, if you would like."
I shake my head. "No, no. I can drive. I'll be fine. You do not need to do that." Somehow I feel like things wouldn't go well for me if he drove me home. I mentioned before that I do not have the best luck with guys, and I meant it. With my growing luck tonight, I would say something stupid or trip getting out of his car; anything that could embarrass myself in front of him.
He is persistent though. "Are you sure? I do not want you getting in an accident on your way home when I could have prevented it."
He eyes are laced with so much concern, I almost said yes. Almost.
"I am fine. Now I really need to go." I shrug out of his grip and walk towards the door. I need to get out of here. This loud music and stuffy room is giving me a splitting headache. Man, this is not going to be fun to wake up to tomorrow. My first hangover. Yay.
I sneak a peek back and see the guy watching me go.
Just go back and tell him to take you home. He's probably right anyway.
No. I know what will happen if I let him take me home.
I turn back around and try to let it go. I will be fine. I just need to go home, sleep it off, and forget about this whole night in the morning. Well, except for the part about finishing my book. That is honestly the best part of this whole night.
Once I am outside, I breathe in a big breath of fresh air. Wow, did it feel good to be out of that house. I didn't realize how stuffy it actually was until I walked outside. Damn. Now I get how these couples feel. I would want to be outside too. Speaking of which, it was even more revealing than when I first got here. Even more couples have decided to rendezvous on the grass.
I spot my car down the street and make a beeline for it. The faster I get home, the better. All I want right now is a nice, cold glass of ice water and my bed. It was time for me to sleep and not wake up until two in the afternoon. Yeah, that sounds nice.
I am about halfway to my car, dreaming about my bed, when I hear someone yelling behind me. I glance back, and curse when I see the stalker guy walking quickly to keep up with me. And I thought I left him behind in the house.
I do not bother meeting him halfway. He is right to me in like ten seconds.
"Hey, I didn't get your name."
I blink. "My name? You ran all that way to get my name?"
He just shrugs. "Um, yeah."
"Mia. That's my name."
"Mia. That's a pretty name. I am Marcus." He looks at me, like he is expecting me to tell him he has a pretty name too.
I am tired and ready to go home, however, so I was not in the mood to play this little game. "Well, Marcus, it was nice to meet you, but I need to go home now. So I'll see you around." I turn on my heel and continue walking towards my car without waiting for a response.
Marcus, however, is not giving up that easy. So naturally, he keeps following me.
I stop abruptly and turn to face him again. "Okay, what is your problem? First you chase me down on my way home just to get my name and then you just keep following me as if you think that will get you what you want. Can you just please leave me the fuck alone and let me go home in peace?"
He just looks at me, and breaks out into a smile. "I am not following you, Mia. But my car is down here, too, and I am going to head home as well."
Wow. I feel like an idiot. See, this is why I should not be allowed to talk to guys. I always mess things up. "Sorry. I am just really tired and hung over and I just need my bed right now."
Marcus reaches out and touches my arm. "Hey, it is okay. I kind of was only leaving because you were leaving, but my buddy was being an ass. I probably would have left soon anyway. How about I take you out for coffee tomorrow and make it up to you? That would probably help with the hangover anyway."
I look down at Marcus's hand on my arm and then back up at him. Seriously? Coffee? Just the thought almost made me want to hurl again. "I hate coffee."
He looks appalled. "Are you insane? Coffe
e is literally the best thing in the world. I do not think we have any more to say to each other." This time, he is the one who leaves me standing in the middle of the street. But not for long.
He stops after a few feet and turns back around to face me. "How about instead we go the café on Main Street and get juice and donuts? Surely you like donuts. Please tell me you at least like donuts, Mia."
I smile. "Yes. I like donuts."
"Great. Meet me at the café at noon. I am sure you probably will not get up until at least ten tomorrow anyway. See you, Mia." Marcus waves and walks to his car, which is only on the other side of the street from where we were just standing.
I stand in shock until I cannot see his car anymore. Did I just score a date? Was going to this party actually a good thing?
I end up smiling all the way home.
Two
BRING
BRING
BRING
Even a pillow over my head cannot stop the incessant ringing of the telephone.
I try to sit up and instantly regret it. The room starts spinning again. Like last night. When I was drunk.
Shit. I got drunk last night. I GOT DRUNK LAST NIGHT.
No. No. I did not. I could not have. Right? I could not have gotten drunk last night and I could not be having a hangover right now. Right? I could not remember anything about last night because it did not even happen. RIGHT? I do not go out to parties and get drunk, no.
I rack my brain for anything that would help me remember something, anything, about last night. Okay, let us see. I remember Emily begging me to go to a stupid party for some odd reason I might never find out and I went up to my room to finish my book. She left and I finished my book. And... I went to find her at the party. And I got drunk. I fucking got drunk and now I am paying for it. How could I be so stupid? I try pounding some sense into my head, but all that does is intensify my headache.
I groan and slump back down into bed. It is going to be a long morning.
BRING
BRING
BRING
"Goddamn phone, shut up." You are an idiot. The phone is not a human being. Get your ass out of bed and answer the phone.
