Page 9 of Delinquent (Academy of Misfits 1)

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We arrive at Sasha’s house just as the party’s getting underway. The place is heaving with people, and I’m already buzzing from the two joints we smoked on the way here and the two bottles of beer I’ve downed. I’m feeling reckless. A little voice in the back of my head is warning me to slow down, but I ignore it.

“Damn, look at all the people,” Eastern exclaims, salivating at the fun ahead. He loves to party, it’s his favourite pastime. Living with a disabled brother comes with a shitload of responsibilities that build up and crush him most days. Letting off steam is the only way to deal with the stress.

Sasha’s house is practically a mansion compared to the dingy flat I grew up in. Her dad owns a building firm and has a lot of cash to throw around. This party won’t be lasting all that long given the twitching curtains from the neighbours on either side and the very loud grime music blasting out of the house. A couple of guys I know from around my estate are having a fight in the front garden, no doubt over the girl who’s trying to break them up and failing miserably. Pretty sure the police will be rocking up soon. I make a mental note not to do anything too stupid, or at least not get caught.

“Her parents are away on a cruise apparently. The girl’s fucking crazy posting an open invite on Facebook. She’s asking for trouble,” Eastern says, as we stroll towards the front door. That explains it then. No one in their right mind would post an invite to a house party on social media, but this chick has. Her house is going to get trashed.

Adrenaline courses through my veins as I take a swig of the beer I’m holding. I’ve been to parties like this before. It ends in one of two ways. Either the police break it up, arresting those in possession of drugs or the parents return home and their kid gets beaten black and blue for holding the party. Sometimes both. I’m not sure if Eastern senses it too, but this night is going to get wild, and fast. I can feel it in my blood.

“How long do you think we have until the police turn up and shut it down?” I muse.

“Hmm, I would’ve said about an hour,butSasha’s dad is a mean bastard and gives his neighbours shit, so they might be too scared to rat her out.”

“Best get inside then and make the most of it,” I respond with a grin.

Eastern taps his bottle of beer against my own then winks, tipping his Crombie hat at me. “Come on, girl. Let’s do this.”

Inside, the house is already trashed. Pictures hang off the walls, the place stinks of weed and spilt alcohol, and people are getting down to the music playing in the front room. I glance briefly inside and just see a mass of indistinguishable bodies grinding to the music beneath the fog of blue-grey smoke lingering in the air.

“Watch out,” Eastern says, pointing to a kid spread-eagled on the hallway floor, too drunk to stand. We step over him, and after a quick glance to see if he’s still breathing, I follow Eastern down the hallway. The house is even bigger inside than I first thought and there are couples getting it on in every available space. One particular guy is grinding against a girl, their noises of lust make my cheeks blush even as I feign disgust. He’s tall, broad, and I can barely see the girl caught beneath his chest and the wall, apart from her bare leg which is a stark white against the mocha skin of his large hand.

“Get a fucking room,” I snipe as we walk past them.

The guy raises his hand and flicks me the middle finger without even removing his mouth from the girl’s lips, then he proceeds to reach between them. Her responding moans tell me he’s put his hand somewhere wholly inappropriate given they’re in a hallway and everyone can see. I’m not a prude but I really don’t want to witnessthat.

“You want to get me into a fight, Asia?” Eastern laughs, dragging me away before I tap the bloke on the shoulder and tell him what I really think.

“I’m capable of fighting my own battles,” I retort, allowing Eastern to pull me along whilst chugging back the rest of my beer as we head into the kitchen.

“Iknowthat. Doesn’t mean I won’t jump in to save your arse though.”

Depositing the bottle on the kitchen table, I punch his arm lightly. “Ah, my knight in shining armour,” I respond with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Eastern just shakes his head, dumping his empty bottle on the table too, cluttering it up even more than it already is. This room is just as trashed as the rest of the house. Empty bottles of booze are stacked up on every available surface. Most of the kitchen table is stained dark with spilt drink, and some douchebag wannabe gangster and his gaggle of bitches are huddled around the end of the table cutting up coke and snorting it up their noses.

“Nice,” I mutter, my back tensing. I might smoke weed but I’ve never, and will never, touch anything harder. No way.

Eastern takes my arm and steers me out of the back door and into the garden. He knows how I feel about hard drugs. I hate them and I hate that tomorrow he’s going to deliver speed for Nash. I know why he must take the job, I get that, but I don’t have to like it.

“You alright?” he questions.

“It’s their lives. I don’t really care what they choose to shove up their noses so long as I don’t have to watch.”

“Fair enough.”

We find a spot in the back garden on a low wall and watch the crowd, taking our measure of the place. There are at least another thirty people hanging around outside. Most of them are our age, a handful are a few years older, but I don’t think there’s anyone here over the age of twenty. For a while we sit in silence, enjoying each other’s company and sharing yet another joint. It’s always been easy like this with Eastern, sometimes words just aren’t necessary. I’m going to miss him. A lot. I won’t tell him that though, don’t want him getting any funny ideas.

Eastern points to the back fence and an open gate. “Our quick exit, should we need to run,” he says, knowing as well as I that at some point tonight the police will arrive, and we’ll need to get the hell out of dodge.

“Clocked it,” I respond, reaching into the plastic bag I brought with me and pulling out two more beers. Eastern places the lip of the bottle on the edge of the low brick wall, angling it slightly before slamming his palm against the bottle top. It pops off with ease. He does the same to the second bottle then hands it to me.

“Cheers,” he says.

“Cheers,” I respond, swallowing a mouthful even though I know that the third bottle of beer I drunk should’ve been my last.

“Seen Sasha yet?” I ask.

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