CW: This chapter briefly depicts underage alcohol consumption.

Friday finds me in bed. I tell Dad that I'm not feeling well and he takes the Camry to the store to get me some soup and tea. The only way not to think about the thing I don't want to think about it is to be unconscious, and death seems like a big commitment. So I sleep. I awaken only to eat the soup and drink the tea and use the bathroom. I admit that I check my phone to see if he's texted me. He hasn't. So still I sleep.

Someone does text me in the early afternoon, but it is not a number that I recognize. Although I realize that that's not really saying much.

you and jah play hooky together?

Using context clues, this could only be one of three people. And my money's on one in particular.

Sam?

the one and only.

And I feel something dark. Did Eli skip school, too?

I wasn't feeling well this morning. I tell him. Not entirely a lie.

right.

Was Eli not at school today? I wonder if he can read the pity within the black letters beneath the glass screen.

stop playing dumb

I toss the phone to the other side of my bed. I don't have to answer to Sampson. After a minute or two, it dings again, signaling an incoming message. The orange nags at me until I read it.

my buddy ty is throwin a party tn. kinda a sendoff for the sr's type thing. supposed to be a real banger. i'm tryin to make eli come with but he won't answer his phone. could u relay the message for me

Now, I have two options here. Tell Sam I'm really not with Eli, or don't. Curious.

What's the address?

Upon receiving it and entering it into my maps app, I learn that Tyler Prestridge's house is about a seven minute drive from mine. So I get an idea. A terrible, awful, just-might-work idea. But it involves asking a favor of Sam. One that, if I've correctly judged him, he'll expect compensation for, which is a bridge I'll just have to cross when I come to it.

But for now, I sleep.

🦎

It is early evening when I emerge from my room clad in sweats and a tee. I'd like to slide past Dad unnoticed, but that is a near unobtainable feat in a single-story house of this size. He hears my door squeak open above the hum of the television and looks over his shoulder.

"Hey, Pen. How ya feeling?"

I go to him in the living room, my book bag slung haphazardly over my shoulder. "I think it was just a weird stomach thing. Must've slept most of it off."

"You look like you're feeling better," he nods. "Come here and let me feel you."

I kneel on the floor so he can hold the back of his hand to my forehead, although I know it isn't running warm and never was. "You're a little warm," he says, but I see his eyes glance down to my book bag and back up. "You going out?"

"Yeah, I think I'll feel better once I get out of bed and go do something," I tell him, just as I'd rehearsed. "Our final art projects are due at the end of this coming week."

His aura is a doubting teal. "You going to the Whitneys'?"

"Well, yeah. Where else would I go?" Where else am I allowed to go, I should say.

He seems to think about it for a moment, but he can't find any good reason for me to stay home other than that I'm "sick", that of which I've already excused. "You've got your phone?"

I tap the pocket of my sweatpants. "Right here."

"Curfew's still nine."

"Could I maybe stay 'til ten, maybe?" I ask. "It's just that... I don't have a lot of time with him left, and I think I might... I don't know, I just feel like maybe I, maybe we—"

He cuts me off before I can finish the sentence I'd started with full intentions of making him nervous enough to cut me off before I could finish it. "Ten. No later."

I smile, relieved. "Thanks, Dad."

I pull out of the driveway, my book bag safe in the passenger seat, and turn right out of the neighborhood, away from the residential area and towards the city. I drive into a gas station and head for the single-stalled restroom of the convenience store upon parking, book bag in tow. The boy manning the register doesn't look twice at me. I lock myself inside and pull down the baby changing station, setting my bag on top of it. I unzip it, and there are no text books or note books or books of any kind to be found within it. It is filled instead with an outfit, shoes, a make-up bag, and a curling wand that I'd found in the back of my closet, still in the box, and dusted off. I pull out my reinforcements one by one.

First, I tug on my tightest pair of skinnies and then step into a pair of black boots with metal buckles that jangle when I walk. The plain tee comes over my head and is replaced by a black flowy tank that hangs loosely off my torso and whose crew neck falls just low enough to show the top of my purple lace camisole.

I plug in the curling wand and while I'm waiting for it to warm up, I start on my make-up. I paint a thick line on each eyelid and cover my lips in the purple lipstick I'd worn to the prom. (Kei had insisted that it looked better on me, so she'd gifted it to me.) I put studs in all four holes in both ears and slide my wrist through a wristful of stringed and beaded bracelets. I clip Mom's locket around my neck.

I pull my hair out of its messy bun and comb through it with my fingers; I'd forgotten to pack a brush. I wrap thick pieces of my hair around the wand like I remember Kei had done. I use the camera on my phone to see the back of my head and curl a few more pieces that I'd missed.

For my finishing touch, I squirt an innumerable amount of sprays of cheap American Eagle perfume up and down my person to ensure that I leave a spicy scent lingering behind me wherever I walk. I sit on the closed lid of the toilet for a few minutes while the wand cools down, going over my plan in my head for the umpteenth time. It'll work. It has to work.

This time, when I leave the restroom, the sweats, sneaks, and tee shoved into my book bag, the employee behind the register watches me walk by, open-mouthed and lime-aura'd.

And this time, when I get back in the car, I toss my bag onto the back seat and turn left out of the lot, back towards the neighborhoods. I open the tracking app in my phone and disable it. It makes me feel like I might actually be sick for real.

The Prestridge home is one of the bigger houses I've seen in York, maybe even the biggest. They own a lot of land, too, enabling for potential party guest overflow. The driveway is already lined with cars despite it being barely eight pm; cars are parked in the yard and in the street. I've never been to a house party before, or any party for that matter, unless Melly's sixth birthday party at the putt-putt place counts. I've seen the likes of which on television and in movies, however, and I would've never thought York to be a town to entertain in such activities, with it being one of the more quiet and peaceful ones I've lived in. I'd even go so far as to call it quaint.

I veer off of the driveway and into the yard, parking the Camry next to a dark gray Mercury Milan with a Star Trek bumper sticker. I can already hear the music booming from inside the house before I even turn the car off. I pull down the overhead visor, checking my appearance one last time in the mirror. If I don't look desirable, this might not work. I stuff the keys in the back pocket of my jeans and exit the vehicle.

Directly inside the front door is a small foyer that opens up into the main living area. Thirty or so odd students crowd the room — some dancing, some drinking from red plastic cups, others yelling at each other to be heard over the music, and some doing all three. I recognize some of the students, but most I don't. The interior decor is all plush, leather, mahogany, and billowy curtains. Antiques line the shelves and intricately stroked portraits line the walls. It all strikes me as sort of modern-day Victorian era-esque.

Despite this living room being the size of both my living and dining rooms put together, there are too many auras in such a small space to be able to decipher what belongs to who. But that shouldn't hinder me tonight. For I am only in search of one aura, the color of which I know will belong to only one person.

I push my way through the room and make towards what I hope is one less populated than this. What I come to is the attached kitchen and dining room. The dining room table is three times the size of the one I have at home and seats ten people. Three girls sit at the far end of the table nearest the huge arced window, quietly conversing amongst themselves and sipping on canned drinks. On the floor in the kitchen to my right stands a rather large keg, and one unlucky guy is stationed next to it, rationing out the beer to the few kids waiting in line. Attached to the kitchen is a small hallway containing a closet and a stairway that leads to the second floor. I assume the second floor contains bedrooms, since the extravagant living room and kitchen take up most of the bottom floor. I know what goes on behind closed doors inside of house parties, and no, thank you. Besides. That is not where I will find him.

This leaves the back yard. There's a door between the kitchen and dining areas, and I can see a few silhouettes through it. More teenagers, more music, more red cups. I survey the room one last time, and in doing so I make eye contact with a familiar face. She waves at me and begins to stand from her seat.

I figure the polite thing is to go sit with her, but she's already come to me, leaving the two other girls to themselves. "Stef. Hey."

"Alyssa George!" she proclaims with a wide grin, and I recognize the coral aura.

Stef looks really cute tonight, her trendy clothes a lot different than what she wears to school. Her short blonde hair is straightened and her golden eyes are smokey-rimmed. "You here by yourself?" she asks, still grinning but looking over my shoulders for a friend.

"Yeah, well, I'm meeting someone."

"Right," she says with a nod and brings her drink to her lips. Her eyes seem to say that she knows something that I don't. And she tells me what that thing is. "The Indian kid doesn't usually come to these types of parties."

He'll be here if Sampson held up his end of the deal, I think. But I shrug. "Neither do I."

"Well, if you don't find him, you're welcome to come join our little side party within the party." She nods over her shoulder to the girls. I don't think I recognize either of them, but the only opinion I can make of them is that they don't really seem like your typical party-goers, either. Not that I would know. So I guess I should rephrase. They don't seem like your typical television party-goers.

"You know, you don't seem like the kind of person who would come to these types of parties, either," I accidentally say, and I feel my cheeks redden. I hope I'm not overstepping my boundaries. I don't know her at all. I've only spoken to her twice in the past. But even now, she's not participating in the "mingling" going on in either room.

She doesn't take any offense to it, thankfully. "You would be correct in that assumption if it weren't for Paige," she explains. "Because she is the kind of person who attends house ragers." I remember who Paige is, her twin. But I also remember Stef telling me that she and Paige don't always have every single thing in common. She must remember this, too, because she explains further. "Someone has to make sure she doesn't go home in the backseat of the car of the first boy who tells her 'her eyes are the color of forever'." She rolls her eyes and deepens her voice upon that last phrase, mimicking said boy.

I laugh, and I wonder what the color of forever would look like. I guess it depends on the forever. She takes another sip of her drink, and it is then that I realize that what she's drinking isn't a beer, but a Diet Coke. I sneak a peek at the girls she'd come with, and I see that they are also drinking sodas.

"You want me to get you a soda?" she offers as she sees my gaze. "We non-partiers gotta stick together, and all."

"Uh, yeah, thanks."

She slides past me to the refrigerator, one of those two-door ones with the ice and water dispenser on the front. She yells something to me over the music, but I can't hear. I try to find a path to her, but a pack of thirsty kids have come in from the back door and are waiting in line for refills. I stand on my tiptoes and yell over the head of a girl. "What?"

Stef pulls two soda cans from the fridge and holds them both up in my view, one red and one silver. Now that I have a visual aid, I can properly read her lips. "Coke or root beer?"

"Doesn't matter," I yell back. I'd actually prefer the Barq's, but I know of no way to communicate that to her.

She holds the Coke up higher. "Coke?" she mouths.

I shake my head and hold up a thumbs down.

She holds up the root beer. "Root beer?"

I nod and give her a thumbs up.

She makes her way back to me, squeezing through the keg line. She sees two guys in the line she knows and gives one a half-hug and the other a kiss on the cheek. He playfully wipes it off.

"Here you are," she says when she's within arm's reach of me.

I take the root beer from her and pop it open. I take a few big gulps. It really is hot in here. Too much body heat.

"Do you wanna come sit down?" she offers again. "We're playing a very riveting round of truth or truth."

"Truth or truth?" I ask with a smile.

"Well I would do a dare a hundred times over, but Skyler and Sarah are a couple of chickens." She nudges my root beer-holding arm with her Diet Coke-holding elbow. A few droplets escape from mine since it is the fuller of the two. "We could even out the odds?"

I really appreciate the offer, and I have no idea why she's being so friendly to me. Maybe her sister's not the only one she takes care of. Maybe that's just her general instinct towards humans, namely ones who travel in a pack of one.

"Thanks, but I'm gonna go try to find Eli." I feel kind of bad about leaving her hanging, so I give her a little more information than is probably necessary. "We kind of got in a fight last night."

"Ah," she says. "Boys, huh?" She rolls her eyes and laughs. "That's why I don't mess with 'em."

As if on cue, one of the girls calls out to Stef. "Stef, come back! We need you to help settle this."

The other one calls out, as well. "I asked her truth or truth, and she's clearly lying. There is no one named William Shatner at our school, so I know she hasn't snogged him."

Stef just laughs. "Duty calls," she shrugs. "See ya around."

"Yeah. See ya."

Stef returns to her friends, and I return to my lonesome, and I take another sip of root beer, and I walk through the back door.

If I thought the first story of the house was big, the back yard is even bigger. Students litter the porch, the grass, the pool, the canopy adorned with stringed lights. There is another stereo going out here, this one even louder than the one inside. I can't fathom how the neighbors are okay with this. Besides the music, there is a game of beer pong being played simultaneously with what looks like a game of chicken pool volleyball. I hear some shouts from the sky, and I look up to see that there's even a few people partying up on the second floor balcony.

There's too many people, too many auras...

I decide the easiest way to find Eli will be to first find Sampson. Because what Eli would be doing at a party, I have no idea, but what Sampson would be doing is probably partaking in something athletic or competitive. Any way he can show off to girls. Once I've narrowed down my search, I pinpoint him easily. He's in the game of volleyball with a dark, slender girl sitting atop his shoulders. I can't mistake the broad build and floppy blond mop.

I walk to the edge of the pool and call his name. He doesn't answer, of course, probably because he can't hear me. I look around the pool for any toys or flotation devices hanging out nearby that I could use to get his attention. I find none, but I realize I'm already holding something throwable. I chug the rest of my root beer, crush the can in my hand, and throw it Sampson's way. I'd been aiming for him, but the can accidentally hits the girl. I hear her yelp and turn to look over her shoulder to find the culprit — to find me — but she turns too quickly and loses her balance, toppling into the water and taking Sam down with her. When he emerges, hair in his eyes, I call to him again. And this time he hears me.

"Alyssa?" He pushes his hair back to confirm that it's me, and then he starts wading to the stairs. "One sec."

He saunters to me, dripping wet. "Hey, you look good tonight," he says with a smirk. His aura is a bit cloudy, but not from indesiciveness. I gather he's already had a drink or two.

"Is he here?" I ask. Straight to business.

"Is who here?"

"What do you mean, 'is who here?'" If I wasn't already yelling over the music, I might still be yelling out of frustration. "Eli! Is Eli here!"

"Oh. No, sorry." But he doesn't look sorry.

"He's not? You said you'd get him here, Sam! That's the only thing I asked!"

He shrugs. "Sorry, chica. I tried talking him into it, but he's too much of a goody-goody."

I grunt. All this effort into my outfit, wasted. "You know this means I'm not writing your English paper, right? You didn't hold up your end of the bargain."

"Yeah, yeah," he says with a wave of his hand through the air. "I tried."

I can't think of any other reason to stay, so I open my mouth to tell him so. But he speaks first.

"I know you're his girl, and I know this is probably the drinks talking, but I really meant what I said." He looks me up and down, a pair of what they call elevator eyes. "You look really good tonight."

...Maybe the outfit hadn't been a wasted effort, after all. I'm almost certain this wasn't a part of the original plan, but now that I've thought of it, I'm not sure why it wasn't. So before the rational part of my brain can talk the impulsive side out of it, I grab his shoulders, stand on my toes, and lay one on him.

His lips are plump with moisture, and he tastes like a mixture of alcohol and chlorine. The pool water that still clings to his bare skin in droplets dampens the front of my tank top. None of it is very appealing, but it's all I'm focusing on.

Because there's no aura.

I pull back, not even trying to hide my surprise. I couldn't feel his aura.

"I admit I'm a little buzzed, but I've in no way had enough drinks for that yet," he says, a goofy smile on his face and a glazed-over look in his eyes and purple lust in his aura that I can now feel clear as day.

"Thanks, Sam." I patronizingly pat his cheek, and then I leave him.

Back inside the house, there is more commotion than there was previously. I'm really in no hurry to see what all the ruckus is about; I got (sort of) what I came for and I just want to get out of here. The crowd of people in the living room has nearly doubled, squeezed in on itself, and centralized, and the ones near the front are jumping and pumping their fists in the air. They seem to be collectively chanting something, but I can't hear over the music. I'm thinking maybe I'd get to my car quicker if I went back outside and tried to find a gate somewhere that would lead out to the front lawn.

I turn to go, but a hand on my shoulder stops me. "I think I found your guy," Stef says into my ear.

She points to the crowd in the living room, but I don't see him amongst them. I take a few steps closer, and I start to make out some of what they're chanting. La-La? Ija?

...Elijah.

I push my way through the bodies, sloshing a few drinks around and enduring a few pleasant shoves back. And when I reach the opening, I see my friend, and he is doing a keg stand.

__________

I have a little bit left of this scene to go, but I felt like stopping here for giggles. So I'll continue with it in the next chapter.

If you've a good memory, you'll remember that there is no one in previous chapters named Stef. Stef was Nat. I just renamed her.

Liliana made that edit. I love Liliana.

Anyway, I think that's it. I love you.