7.) Mouse Trap

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7.) Mouse Trap

Ah, New Years Eve; with its swell of festive shouts and joyous dancing, sparks of rainbow colors that illuminate the midnight sky, and of course, alcoholic beverages.

After celebrating the New Year in Coconut Grove, my friends and I brought the party to my place since Mom and Dad decided to stay two hours away at my uncle's. My friends took over my small living room and open kitchen, drinks in hand. I'd been sober for three years, and eighteen was half legal.

As I leaned against the island, my nearly six-foot, hippie-friend, Scarlett opened cabinets, her huge feather pebble earrings jingling. "Where's the boos?"

"I'd rather stick with Bomba's whiskey," I replied. "My mom is like Inspector Gadget."

"Then let me go get some Ninety–nine Apples from my house!" She strode out of the door as my co, drama-magnet actress, Nora walked in, clasping her sweaty forehead. Pink stained her strapless white dress from the berry wine coolers she'd been downing at the Grove.

"Where's your bathroom?" she asked with some slur.

"Upstairs to the right."

"Got it."

As she trudged up the steps, Jamaican, brace-faced Bomba stood by the sink and poured a shot of whiskey into a tiny glass before handing it to me. "I'll make sure she keeps your toilet clean."

"Thanks." I gulped down the shot, my throat and chest burning in protest. My head lightened slightly. Last time I got drunk was with Mar, and I probably was on the cusp of alcohol poisoning. Mar threw up a handful of times, but I'd drank a lot more and spent all night puking in a tub while Mom yelled and cried and washed me for hours. This year, Mar drank responsibly with her "best male friend"--though she was totally secretly crushing on him--and his family, and this time, I'd stick to one type of alcohol and avoid falling face-first into grass.

I opened the cabinet beside our microwave and grabbed aspirin for Nora. After filling a glass of water, I clumsily climbed the stairs. I guess I'm done for the night.

Bomba leaned against the closed bathroom door. "Nora won't come out."

"If I were her, I probably wouldn't either." I handed him the water and aspirin and lightly knocked. "Nora, are you okay, girl?"

After a few moments of silence, I crept inside. Nora lay half asleep on the toilet bowl, her olive skin pallid. Well, at least she waited until she was eighteen to get drunk.

"Come on girl, I'll take you to my bed. Do you want an aspirin?"

"Nooo," she moaned. "I just want sleep."

Bomba helped me walk her to my bedroom. Poor girl; I knew the sensation. For five minutes you're feeling pretty good, then next thing you know, the room starts spinning, it's hard to stand, and whatever is in your stomach starts going up the way it came down.