Chapter Twenty-Two: I Need to Put My Mouth on Something!
“Uh, Luke,” I began, staring at the scene before me and not daring to move off his motorcycle, “why is there vibrating music coming from your house when you’re not actually inside it, and why are we here?”
“Well, you see, Livy, since my big brother Benny happens to be on house arrest, he can’t actually go to parties, so the parties come to him,” Luke answered, peeling my hands off of his torso, one finger at a time. He hopped off his bike, and then held a hand out, indicating that I should do the same. Hesitantly, I accepted his hand and climbed off of the vehicle, wobbling as I stepped onto the cracked concrete with my “Kit Lawson” heels that were still working on their goal of spraining my poor ankles.
“I’m not going in there,” I told him firmly. “Sorry, Luke, I don’t do parties.”
“C’mon, Liv, it’ll be fun!” he assured me, pulling on my hand in an attempt to coax (or forcefully drag me) into the small shelter pumped with people and noises.
“That’s what Elle said before she took us camping,” I retorted, dead-set on not moving an inch. I couldn’t. My stomach was already grumbling, and not because I was hungry—it was the nerves; the anticipation.
“Yes, but I guarantee you that what lies behind those doors doesn’t involve nature or granola bars,” he sighed, successfully managing to pull be about a millimeter from where I had halted. “Just give it half an hour, and if you don’t like it, we can leave. I promise. Besides, if you get into any trouble, you can either find Ben or me, but I’d go with Ben because he’s legally supposed to stay sober right now or something. Also, he tends to deal better in crisis.”
And then, as if someone had replaced me with a party-loving clone, I uttered a single word that made Luke’s face light up like a Christmas tree. “Fine.”
With that, Luke didn’t hesitate to waste any more time than he already had, and was dragging me along towards his front door. He opened the unlocked entrance, and I immediately shielded my eyes, lights and various forms of smoke wafting about in the small structure. Deep beats of music blasted from somewhere, and the song sounded familiar and modern, though I didn’t know it. I didn’t mind music, but I most certainly wasn’t dependent on it like some.
In my three years of attending high school—if THE Academy really counted as a “high school”—I had been to only one party, and it happened to not be by choice, obviously. It was sophomore year and Piper and Preston had begged their parents for months and months to throw a party at their house. After the constant nagging, Kara finally caved, and since John happened to be out of town the weekend that they were throwing it, he didn’t have to find out. The twins were beyond excited that they would be having their very own party, and went all out for it.
Every drink imaginable was stocked in their fridge, and a buffet of the most calorie-filled snack foods sat on the island in their kitchen. There was a moon bounce outside in their backyard (this was Kara Kent who had organized the majority of the soiree, after all), and they had even gone to the extend of renting out video game machines—like, the big old ones that were always at pizza places and in arcades. The house looked great, and Kara had skillfully put away anything she thought might get wrecked by the mob of private school kids, and also hired a DJ. It wasn’t exactly what most would think of when envisioning high school parties, but THE Academy also wasn’t exactly the most “high school-y” school out there.
Since it was Piper and Preston’s party, I was obligated, invited, and forced to go. I showed up about two hours early, and just hung out with my two best friends. And then people started to come. And come. And come. There were so many people there, and I only knew two, both of whom were consumed in playing host, while trying to enjoy themselves. Someone had brought some wine coolers, and that was the only main scandal. THE kids tended to stray away from drugs—well, most of them did. They didn’t find it “cool,” and knew that the possibility of getting written out of their family’s will was always looming overhead. It was a perfectly fine party, but within about ten minutes, I realized that I didn’t want to be there.
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Something BadTeen Fiction
Lies, betrayal, and deceit—not exactly the building blocks for a "good" relationship, they do, however, make one heck of a good story. Olivia Ross was the "weird" girl growing up. People perceived her based solely on her outer appearance and socia...