The Books that Never made it

White Noise

"You promise you won't leave me?" My voice sounded pathetic as I walked fast in tall stiletto heels towards the house.

Macy, my partner in crime, led the way in her biker boots, long flowing dress hidden underneath a tight trench coat. Her long blonde locks bounced up and down against her back as she swung a wicked evil smile back over her shoulder to me which only made my stomach tighten.

"I promise, we'll do shots together."

I winced. Macy had said nothing about alcohol. I grunted walking quicker behind her, the house coming into view. It was clear there was a party. Toilet paper acted as streamers hanging from the trees and the pounding music felt like a small earthquake; the ground beneath us.

"I don't...know....if I wanna do...alcohol," I said fixing the tight leather jacket Macy let me borrow. Several sizes too small, it did incredible things to my waist line, not to mention created cleavage that hadn't been there before.

"Hmm?" She wasn't listening as she trailed up the stairs. A deep sense of urgency rushed through me as I grabbed her by the shoulder. I deep sense of wanting to turn back and go home wrenched at me. I opened my mouth, but I was too late. She had already rung the doorbell and after five seconds, the door swung open, boy holding a beer can greeted us with the thick scent of booze.

Macy flashed him a coy grin, wiggling her fingers. "Mind if we party with you?"

Peaking out from behind Macy's shoulder, hoping he wouldn't notice me cowering behind her. He nodded and waved us in, stumbling back awkwardly and off balance.

Macy gave him a wink and slid past him through the front door with me in tow, clutching on to her wrist tight enough to compromise her circulation.

"Hey, not so hard!" she screamed over the music, massaging her wrist. I released her, clutching my deepened hips, glancing around, jumping out of the way as a drunken couple waddled past up, giggling as the skipped up the stairs and disappeared into one of the empty bedrooms.

"Ohh, look, their doing beer pong in the kitchen!" she said pointing. At this point, sign language was going to have to be a given. I turned, fearing my head might explode at the sheer decibels of sound shaking the house. I surveyed the house. It was fairly big, probably owned by some rich kid, I didn't know. In the living room the stoners laid sprawled out on the couches with vacant looks and bloodshot eyes. A few of the skids trailed surreptitiously into the bathroom with a small baggie of what looked like flour and some with tiny pills. The cheerleaders made out against the stairwells with the jocks and the rest piled into the kitchen mixing drinks and playing beer pong. Back in the shadows of the hallway where the cool kids loitered, a pair of blue eyes pierced me from the thin veil of smoke and music. My gut churned, but it was probably my nerves. He and a few others chugged small shot glasses with colorful flames sitting atop the liquid. He kept eye contact as he chugged his. I tugged on Macy's wrist like a child, about to point him out, but she opened her mouth first.

"Come on, I wanna get my drink on!" she shouted.

I bit my lip. I will just watch, I will just watch, I told myself. I took her hand and hesitantly followed her into the kitchen,

Beer pong soon got boring and after watching Macy chug a few fireballs and a bright green fizzly drink, it was definitely clear I had lost my sober ride home. My stomach sat uneasy as a few of the guys watched her sway on her feet, giggling and hiccupping into her hand. They elbowed each other, watching her like predators, hungry. I swallowed grabbing her wrist, pulling her close to me. This was a bad idea. Coming here was a bad idea.