Lights dart in haphazard flashes, highlighting dripping sweat in every direction I look. Like a tidal wave of birds swooping a flock of fish, my peers have been caught in a drunken wave of bliss that seems to have missed me altogether. Boom. Boom. Boom. The heavy bass that makes the rest of the crowd scream causes my heart to vibrate in motions that make me squirm uncomfortably. It's a teenage party in the most stereotypical definition and yet I'm acting very differently to what I would describe as someone having a 'good time'.

"Heyy," A guy who's at least five years older than me dips his head too close to me and slurs in my ear, allowing the potent odour of cheap beer to radiate off him and up my nose.

I manage a tight lipped smile before slipping away into a quieter pocket of this overrated joint. At almost seventeen years of age, I should be having the time of my life. What could possibly be better than free booze, loud music and a jam-packed dance floor perfect for grinding against almost anyone I felt like? Yeah, my list of answers is pretty long.

To my left I spot my oldest and possibly bestest friend, Zoe. Long, beach-waved auburn hair and a well-practised flirtatious smile, she was the one who had regretfully convinced me to accompany her to this stuffy, smelly crowd of partying. And judging by the small circle of young men that are pooling around her, she probably is having the time of her life.

"This sucks." It's the voice of my second bestest friend, Lucy. A polar opposite to Zoe with black cropped hair and an emo vibe going for her, the only reason she would waste her time going to place as 'lame' as this is probably for the free beer.

"Yep," I smile back at her, internally suppressing a heavy sigh. That makes two people I'll have to watch tonight to make sure we all come back home alive by the end of the night.

Giving me one final parting nod, Lucy slinks off towards a hub of particularly drunk looking adolescents who, like seagulls at the beach, have greedily flocked around the keg with the intention of drinking until they are physically unable to do so no more. This time, I don't bother to restrain my sigh.

Let's rewind to six weeks ago. School was coming to a long awaited end for the year and the first promises of a scorching summer were being whispered through humid gusts of wind. My life was looking pretty good. A whole Summer to laze around the pool, the television and the endlessly entertaining arcade I had wasted so many hours at with Zoe the previous Summer. I was eagerly preparing to once again live the dream when my ever-so-thoughtful yet mildly neglectful mother decided to whisk our shrinking family of four away to the North Coast for three weeks. In theory it sounded pretty good, especially with my two best friends and their families tagging along. However, I'm not that sort of person and to me, my dream of a paradise summer melted away faster than my little bro's mint choc-chip ice cream.

Taking a small sip of my own warm beer that I carry in my hands, I survey the scene. A table of pizza's to my left, the DJ bouncing like a rabbit up front, a couple making out to his right, green eyes peppered with hazel specks looking at me and an enthusiastic game of beer pong to my immediate right. Wait, go back. The green eyes are still there across the room, staring intently at me. I swallow back a sudden rush of nausea that clogs sickeningly in my throat.

For the first time all night the behemoth black speakers settle on a quieter tune and yet my heart is beating - for the first time that night - faster than a horse galloping down an elite-level race track. What's he doing here? Almost one-hundred kilometres from home and somehow Mum's picked the same holiday destination as the current number one most hated person in my life.

Chugging down the rest of my alcohol, I dip my head from the beam of his gaze - has he even blinked yet? - and skirt over to Zoe. "I'm going outside for a minute," I say once I've made my way through the wave of sweat-stained bodies to her.

She nods back, "I'll come with you." One great thing about Zoe is that - while guys do take up a large chunk of her free time - chicks always come before dicks, especially when that chick is her best.

The moment I push open the glass sliding door, fresh air hits us like a brick. I revel in the feeling. Did clean air always smell this good? I wade through the thin strings off people until we stand on the edge of an alfresco lit up with gold fairy lights and dribbled in a well-kept vine that loops around the trellises. Whoever the the host of this party is, they sure have a fat stack of money sitting in their bank account. Correction: their parents have a fat stack.

"Are you alright?" Zoe asks, mild concern integrating into her voice.

"Yeah, just needed some air." And then, after a moment passes, "Zach's in there."

"What?!" Zoe splutters up the mouthful of beer she had only just tipped into her mouth. Without missing a beat, she stretches out her already very long neck and elegantly angles it around to do a quick, yet impossibly detailed scan of our immediate vicinity. I don't bother to remind her I said 'in there' not, 'out here'.

"What happened? Did he say anything to you?" A midnight blue set of coffin acrylics find themselves clutching my upper arm. Zoe's 'chicks before dicks' mantra has led her to quite possibly hate Zachary Evan's more than I do. She stood next to me when I first met him, she fired the hair-spray when I prepared for our first giddy date and, almost a year later, she loyally supplied the ice cream when we binged every television adaption of Pride and Prejudice post-breakup. She knows about all the juicy drama that went down between our failed romance and as a result has become the ultimate voice of reason dictating how I should act now.

I shake my head, "Just some awkward eye-contact before I found you and high tailed it out of there."

"Alright. Alright. Here's what you're going to do. You listening?" She waits for me to nod my head, "You've got three options. Option A, you're going to march right in there, not give him a glance and get all up close and personal with another guy. Show him what he's missing."

I scrunch up my nose at the thought. I don't have that kind of confidence. That's not me.

"Option B, chill out. Do whatever you like and act completely indifferent and normal because you honestly couldn't care less what that slug thinks or does or is doing. Or, finally, there's option C, we drag Lucy from wherever ditch she's probably passed out in and leave right now and forget you ever saw him. This is your holiday remember! Nobody's got time for unwanted baggage floating around their well-deserved retreat."

Nodding my head, I consider my choices. Option B would be the ideal path to travel, but realistically I would be physically unable to do that, therefore leaving my only choice to be Option C. I voice these thoughts to Zoe who nods back at me.

"I would agree. I love you, but you've never been the most chill person under high-pressure situations. Are you right to go back in to find--"

"Zoe!" A tipsy looking guy hollers across the backyard at my best friend, simultaneously cutting off Zoe's sentence and destroying our plan of a speedy retreat from this hellish party.

For possibly the third time within the last half-an-hour, I find myself releasing a long puff of frustrated air. When the boy comes bouncing over to us, the fiery glint in both our eyes, annoyingly, fails to be noticed. Instead he drapes a tanned arm over Zoe's shoulders and slurs in her ear, "Didn't expect to see you here tonight, Babe. Consider me . . . happily surprised."

"Get off me, Roberto," Zoe sighs.

While it's clear the two have met before, I've never seen nor heard of this presumptuous 'Roberto' before tonight. Whether he was Zoe's last season's hook-up or just a flirty boy who lives down the road from her, I couldn't say. Nor do I particularly care. I just want him to leave and judging by the shards of ice propelling from Zoe's iris', this was not an opinion I was left alone to feel.

The guy stands tall, six foot maybe? With thick black hair that slicks lazily across his forehead, making his charcoal eyes pop. Judging by the tanned skin and overall shape of his drunk face, I would guess a Spanish-based descent. For a second I'm curious about his and Zoe's history, but then I remember Zach and my flustered-self takes the reigns of my body again. At this point we just need to be brutal, ditch the guy and leave without a glance back.

"Hey! Hey!" Roberto suddenly announces, precariously teetering in Zoe's arms to the point I prepare to catch him before he collapses on the ground. "You have to meet, you have to meet my, my buddy!"

Zoe shares an alarmed glance with me, desperately trying to shift Roberto's muscular body off her own and onto a near-by bench while causing a minimal amount of harm to him.

Her efforts are unfruitful and before she gets the time to remove the drunk adolescent his loud voice blissfully pierces the night, "Zach! Zach, come meet Zoe!"

My eyes shut on their own accord. Zach is not an uncommon name. There are probably stacks of Zach's here tonight. Keeping my eyes shut, I listen as gravel crunches under approaching footsteps. A soft cologne washes through the air and the distinct clearing of a throat sends my blood pressure skyrocketing towards a dangerous level. Like I said before, I have never met Roberto until two minutes ago. However, as I have recently come to discover, two minutes is plenty of time to decide whether you hate someone or not.

"Yeah, I've met Zoe before. Couldn't forget her if I tried." It's a sensual statement but his tone's all off. He sounds different to the boy I remember. He sounds tired and, somehow, he sounds much older.

When the temptation gets too great and I realise how ridiculous I must look standing in our conversational circle with my eyes squeezed tight, I open them just enough to peak at the boy I quite possibly once loved. But when I open them I'm not faced with green eyes staring at my best friend, I'm met with green eyes staring intently into the pit of my soul.

As if watching in slow motion, I see his crimson lips part in preparation for another line of speech. But before he gets the chance, loud hacking infiltrates all our ears, causing our attention, one by one, to swing over to a black haired girl heaving up half her body weight in alcohol. Lucy. Do I despise her for interrupting this tense moment or love her for doing just that?

I choose the latter and loudly announce, "I should take her back to the hotel. We're staying at the same place anyway."

Two sets of eyes bore into my own. Zoe with a distinct edge of concern and Zach out of . . . I don't what emotion plays with his own pupils and I don't care to take the time to work it out. I just want to go home and Lucy, bless her, has presented me with the perfect opportunity to do just that.

"You sure? I can come too if you'd like," Zoe tells me.

I shake my head, already walking towards the rich odour of Lucy's puke, "I'll see you later."

After waiting for Lucy to finish, I loop my arm through her own and guide her back towards the road. I don't look back. Not when I hear a deep boom of laughter from Roberto. Not when I hear Zoe's shrill voice yelling something back at him. And certainly not when I feel watching eyes burn into my retreating figure as I slowly fade into the darkness.

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A / N:

I just love how oblivious Roberto is to all the tension. Also, I'm going to try updating Misplaced every second day so be sure you add it to your library so you don't miss out on any updates. :)

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