Page 6 of About Time

“And you both wonder why everyone at school calls me a tomboy,” I grumble and pout from the backseat.

“Only the girls say it like it’s a negative thing. The guys all love that you’re so low maintenance,” Donovan comments offhand.

“Then my life is complete. A bunch of guys I go out of my way to avoid are impressed by me. I can die happy.” I turn to stare out of the window and scowl as we get farther away from my house and closer to the party.

I can hear the music half a block away from the house. When we pull up it looks like a scene from a low-budget, raunchy, college comedy. There are girls running around in bikini tops for no apparent reason since the guy throwing the party doesn’t have a pool. In fact, the only pools outside of the city pool are all above ground, and even those are only in the yards of the wealthiest people in town. At best Judd, the quarterback, has a kiddie pool. To make for an even more cliché tableau, there are guys chasing the girls around with giant water guns.

Donovan parks his car on the street, several houses away since it looks like everyone we go to school with is here. I grip the door handle hard enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if I left dents in it.

“Why did I agree to go to this again?” I ask as he puts the car in park.

He makes a face and says, “You didn’t. Remember?”

“Oh, right. You both dragged me here under the guise of hanging out at Mandy’s because you both know I hate this kind of shit,” I reply.

Mandy pats my shoulder. “Aw, sweetie. We hid our true destination in order to save you from your lameness and hopefully circumvent your descent into cat ladyhood.”

“If that’s a hood, sign me up. I’d much rather spend my time with a furry dickhead who ignores me than a bunch of drunk and horny assholes who are going to follow me around all night throwing pathetic pick-up lines at me,” I grumble.

Donovan rounds the front of his car and opens my door. “Okay, quit being a buzz kill and go get a drink.”

I shake my head and hold out my hand. “There’s no way you’re going to stay sober to be the DD. Give me your keys and I’ll make sure we get home when my time in this hellscape is over.”

He dangles his keys over my head. Damn that growth spurt. A little over a year ago I could have reached them. I jump for them, but he just raises them higher. After I’ve made a few attempts he clutches them back in his hand and shoves them down the front pocket of his jeans.

“You think I won’t reach in after them, but desperate times call for desperate measures,” I snap.

Donovan holds his arms out wide. “I’m going to call your bluff. Do it.”

I huff in frustration and cross my arms. “Dammit! You know I’m not about to reach down by your junk. Fine, but if you drink I’m going to draw on your face.”

He takes his large hand and ruffles my hair. I try to shove him away, but he just tucks me under his arm and drags me into the heart of the party.

I do not get a drink. I don’t see what is so fun about carrying around a red plastic cup filled with warm beer. It’s noteven good beer if such a thing exists. Surely people old enough to drink wouldn’t continue to drink something that looks and tastes like what I imagine piss tastes like. I know we’re not the center of culture and sophistication here in Harriston, but even my sister’s party didn’t have the cheapest shit beer that could be purchased in bulk. Well, except for what Charlie brought, but he isn’t exactly the standard for sophistication.

Sitting down in a chair in the corner of the living room, I watch everyone grow steadily drunker as the sun dips down below the horizon. I keep expecting the party to fizzle out, but the night only brings a second wind to the very inebriated crowd. The house is getting more trashed with every hour that passes, and judging by the rate people are starting to hook up I’d say it’s a safe bet that someone is going to get pregnant tonight.

Against my better judgment, I go searching for Donovan or Mandy. I know enough to not open any closed doors, but they’re not in any of the open parts of the house. They aren’t outside on the porch, or by the fire pit in the backyard. I return to my chair, only to find a couple smashed down into it and by all appearances trying to devour each other’s faces.

I slip around people as much as I can since some genius decided to turn the living room into a mosh pit as soon as Green Day came on. Unfortunately for me, I left my purse by the chair I’d spent most of the night in.

When I bend over to get it, Judd decides it’s the perfect opportunity to put both hands on my ass and squeeze. I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by the move. He was already shady on the concept of personal space before he guzzled his weight in alcoholic piss.

“Don’t put your hands on me,” I yell over the music.

“C’mon, Hat…Hattie.” He starts to laugh. “Your name is weird.”

While he is trying to figure out why he thinks my name is weird, I slip past him and grab the cordless phone off the cradle to call my house.

The phone rings several times, and just before I think the answering machine is going to go off I hear someone pick up.

“Hello?” a man’s voice asks.

I exhale. “Can you find Elisa? I need a ride home.”

“Hattie? Why can’t you just get that little friend of yours to bring you home? The Miller kid,” he says.

“First of all, Donovan isn’t a kid. Second, we’re at some stupid party and I can’t find him or Mandy,” I complain.

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