The Untold Story of a Babysitter

15- Honesty: A Hard Policy to Live By

The booming bass from the stereos throughout the house make the walls and floor beneath Miranda and I vibrate. I'm almost worried that the floor might collapsed from the pressure of the people in this house and the blasting music. I've never seen so many sweaty people squeezed into one area. The amount of people here has to be a fire hazard.

There's the pungent smell of liquor wafting through the air. It's almost like a smog the way the smell looms around the house. Miranda and I push through the throngs of teenagers to make our way into the kitchen. On the counter lay empty red solo cups. They alternate, some standing some turned over. There's one that is tipped over with a river beer flowing from it and down the counter. The liquid is slowly approaching the edge of the counter and sooner or later it will drip to the ground. 

I walk over to one of the large bowls that is on the counter. Peering inside, I see the remnants of what chips used to be there. Miranda sighs as she looks in the other bowl beside me and sees that it's empty. "So much for free food," she yells over the music.

I shrug, not really paying her much attention as my eyes scan the room. I recognize some of the teenagers here as there are a lot from my school and neighborhood. Yet, the majority of kids here I've never seen before in my life. I wonder how Tony and Mickey know so many people.

Miranda nudges me, effectively gaining my attention. "Look over there," she says as she nods her head over to the left.

It's Mickey; he's leaning with his back against the wall looking as cool and composed as usual. He looks good--his dirty blonde hair is gelled into a quiff and he wears a tight black muscle shirt paired with dark blue jeans. Lifting the red solo cup in his mouth to his lips, he gives the girl he's speaking to a half smirk. 

She's a petite girl who seems very ecstatic to be speaking to Mickey. The girl flips her jet black hair streaked with dark navy blue highlights over her shoulder in an attempt to flirt. Batting her fake eyelashes, she smiles sweetly. As I watch her, her large green eyes and sharp jaw structure become familiar to me.

"Is that Maeve?" I ask Miranda. 

She nods. "Yeah it is, and she's all over Mickey."

My eyes continue to watch as Maeve reaches out to stroke Mickey's bicep sensually. I roll my eyes. I wouldn't say Maeve is a particularly slutty girl. I'd put it more along the lines of she's a very promiscuous girl. Hell, who am I kidding? She'd be considered slutty. She's dated most of Roxbury High--well, the athletes. She only goes for the studs. Now, this in no way makes her popular. I wouldn't call her popular because she's not very well liked and she's only known because of her dating patterns but she's still known and widely seen as hot.

"Wow, how'd she even get invited?"

MIranda shrugs. "I have no idea but here she is, and she's really trying to get with Mickey."

I shake my head in disappointment. She couldn't have picked someone better? You know, someone who's less of an ass cake?

I continue my scan of the kitchen and my eyes lands on a boy on the opposite end of the counter. He's tall and actually kind of cute. His dark brown hair swoops down by his eye giving him a mysterious look. He looks over every couple of seconds but not at me--at Miranda.

I nudge her. "I think you have an admirer." I nod my head to the boy behind her and she looks over her shoulder. The boy catches her eye and flashes her a charming smile. 

Turning back to me she says, "He's cute."

"I know. Go talk to him," I urge.

She looks over her shoulder briefly to make sure he's still there. "You sure? I don't want to leave you here alone."