Chapter 21- The party

Max's POV

"Max!" mum called up the stairs. "Cynthia is here! She says she's going to the party with you!"

"Coming!"

I walked down the stairs quickly and saw that Cynthia was indeed there. I sighed in exasperation and smiled at her.

"Who told you about the party?" I asked.

"I have connections," she said mysteriously.

I raised an eyebrow at her, but she just broke out into a grin.

"C'mon. We're taking you to the party, then you're sleeping over," she announced.

"And when was I going to be informed of these arrangements?" I asked.

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm telling you now, aren't I? C'mon! Get your outfit on."

"Fine. Wait down here. I'll be one second."

"Uh-uh! You're not getting ready in one second! I'm coming up to do your hair. Then your make-up! Oh, and don't forget the outfit. What are you going to wear?" she said excitedly.

"Er- jeans and a shirt?"

"No way! I'm coming up with you. Jeez, you'd think you've never been to a party before," she sighed.

"Er, I haven't," I reminded her.

She just shook her head and grabbed my hand. Then she dragged me up the stairs and into my room. She sat me down on my bed and started rummaging through my closet. After a while she finally found something. Well, at least I think she found something. There was a sudden cry of joy and then a soft crashing sound. I sprang up from my bed and instantly went into a fighter's stance.

Wait a moment. I was in a fighter's stance? Where did that come from? It felt oddly natural and…instinctive. Why do I get the feeling like I'm going mad?

"I found the perfect outfit!" Cynthia exclaimed from the closet. She came out with coat hangers sticking to her in the weirdest places. She saw my questioning glance and just shrugged.

"Your closet and I had a disagreement," she explained.

I burst out laughing and relaxed from my fighting pose. Cynthia held out a black dress on a coat hanger and threw it at me.

"Wear this," she told me.

I looked at the black dress and slumped. I couldn't even remember getting that dress. Maybe mum had bought it and hidden it in my closet. I looked at the dress then turned to my full-length mirror and sighed.

"Are you sure? Will it suit me?" I asked her.

"Everything suits you. I bet you could be in muddy jeans and a shirt and you'd still look beautiful."

I felt my cheeks heat up. "That's not true," I mumbled, then took the dress from her and walked into my bathroom. I pulled the dress on without even trying to see if it looked good. Then I marched out into my room again with my eyes closed and waited for the explosion from Cynthia.

None came.

I opened my eyes and looked at Cynthia. She was gaping at me, her eyes popping out of her head. I sighed and sat down on the edge of my bed. Cynthia always had this reaction to any clothes I wore. It didn't mean anything special.

"Max, you look beautiful. Actually, more beautiful, 'cause you always look beautiful."

"Give it a rest," I complained quietly.

"Suit yourself, but I'm doing your make-up!" she exclaimed, grabbing me and dragging me into the bathroom again. She pulled in a chair (don't ask me where from, because I don't have a clue) and plopped me down. Then she pulled out her make-up kit (again- don't ask me where from) and started away: starting with foundation and going on from there.

"I never wear make-up!" I complained, but Cynthia ignored me.

"Why am I playing your doll?" I asked hotly.

"Just shut up and sit still!" Cynthia snapped. I scowled and earned myself a poke in the eye from the eyeliner pencil.

When the make-up was done, Cynthia then made a big fuss out of my hair. She managed to find my mum's hair straightener and plugged it in. Once it was heated up she straightened my usually wavy hair. My hair was getting long – especially now it was straightened -- and it sat past my shoulders, almost to the middle of my back.

When the transformation was complete I reluctantly looked at myself in the mirror- and nearly screamed.

"What have you done to me?" I yelled.

"You look great," Cynthia assured me.

"I look like a Barbie doll!" I said angrily.

"That's a good thing," Cynthia told me in exasperation.

"Not for me, it isn't!"

"Calm down. We're going to that party, even if I have to drag you," Cynthia said, suddenly getting stern.

My eyes tightened and my fists clenched. I hated being told what to do, and my best friend ordering me around wasn't helping.

"Fine, I'll go to this stupid party," I said as cold as ice. I stood up stiffly and started gathering my things to sleep over Cynthia's afterwards. I knew that my face was rock hard. I didn't belong to this world of Barbies and make-up. Maybe tonight would be the last time I partook in anything like this again. Maybe I could…dump Mitch. And be with Nick. Like I desperately wanted to.

I belonged more to his world than Mitch's.

"You ready?" Cynthia asked tentatively. She could sense my mood – it's a miracle! – and she wasn't sure how I would react to her talking.

"Yes," I said in a tone free of emotion.

"Let's go!" she declared.

"I'm gonna find Jack. I'll catch up with you later," Cynthia said happily, running off into the house and disappearing. I studied the house. It was made of wood and very open. Large glass doors and windows were situated regularly throughout the house. But the curtains were shut now. Loud music was coming from inside and I was sure the surrounding houses weren't enjoying it.

I reluctantly stepped forward and followed the path to the front veranda. I stood staring at the door for a while, trying to figure out if I should knock or not. I tried to remember if Cynthia had knocked when she disappeared inside.

I don't think she did.

So I opened the door without knocking and stepped inside. The lights were dimmed, but I could easily see everything going on around me. The room was alive with activity. People were dancing everywhere and music was playing form a large stereo system. I could see part of the next room and it looked like the kitchen. People were drinking and eating in there, looking totally carefree…or drunk. Either one. Actually, the carefree ones were probably drunk.

I didn't know what to do with myself. I couldn't exactly join in dancing (not that I wanted to), but I couldn't just stand here looking like a complete moron. Well, I could, because frankly I don't care what people think of me.

So what should I do?

"Hey, so you did show up," a familiar voice said from behind me. I stiffened as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My heart skipped a beat, but I composed my face quickly.

"Don't do that," I seethed, spinning around to face Nick.

"Do what- breathe?"

"Ugh!" I spun around and started to walk off. In the couple of seconds that I had been face-to-face with him, his eyes had been impassive. It was like he didn't remember the kiss. It was like it had never happened. But something about his -- posture? Eyes? I don't know – told me a different story. And asked an important question:

How could I read him so well?

All I knew was that the moment my eyes met his, I melted. I felt like running away with him and leaving this God forsaken place. But as my heart melted, my mind stayed in control. There's brain power for ya!

As my mind was thinking about Nick, my body walked straight into someone.

Mitch.

"There you are!" he said, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Oh, hi," I mumbled. The warm feeling I got from thinking about Nick vanished. Oh my God, did I just think that. The warm feeling?! Something is definitely wrong with me. Snap out of it!

"Want to dance?" Mitch asked, flashing a toothy grin at me.

"Uh, not really," I told him. The memory of the last time we danced came flooding back and I shuddered.

"Want a drink, then?" he asked hopefully.

"No," I said firmly. There was no way I was going to drink at this place. I thought of the drunken (carefree) people I had seen before. Anything I drank here would probably be spiked.

"Do you want me to give you a tour?" he asked, the hopefulness from before was gone.

This option seemed to be the safest, so I nodded my head and agreed to the tour. He showed me around the house, frequently stopping to talk to some 'friends' who I had never seen before. But Mitch assured me he had heaps of connections to people outside (and inside) school. He ended the tour in a rather bizarre place: his bedroom.

"Er, great room," I commented weakly. What was he playing at? Was he seriously being so…bold?

"Wanna come inside and have a look around?" he asked, an unfamiliar gleam in his eye.

"Ummm, I'm thirsty," I lied quickly. And it actually sounded like the truth. "Do you know where I can get a drink?"

His shoulders slumped and he nodded his head. Then a new energy surged through him and he was eagerly leading me down the stairs and into the kitchen. What was he planning on doing now? Was he that excited to be with me? Or was he already drunk?

"What type of drink do you want?" he asked me as he stopped in the kitchen. I thought for a moment, glancing around the room at all the people obviously drinking alcohol.

"Er- is there anything without alcohol?" I asked.

He laughed a little too loudly, and I was starting to lean towards the 'already drunk' answer. If he wasn't drunk yet, he soon would be. I was repulsed by the image of all these drunken teenagers. Couldn't they have a nice time without the aid of alcohol? Probably not, I decided.

"No, only water from the tap," he said with a condescending smile.

"Then I won't have a drink," I told him firmly.

"Oh c'mon. It's only one drink…" he coaxed.

"No."

"Are you chicken?" he asked.

"And drinking is going to prove I'm not chicken? I'd rather be chicken than stoop so low as to disregard my beliefs and become like you," I replied.

He stared at me for a moment, trying to figure out what I said. Then he seemed to give up. He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip from his drink. "Suit yourself," he said, his words coming out slowly and slurred.

I raised my eyebrows at him and walked away. What was I thinking coming to this party? I couldn't help thinking of whom I could be with instead of Mitch. The perfect picture of Nick filled my head and I made my way outside to try and clear it.

I was surprised to find a tyre swing out the back. I sat on it and looked up at the night sky. I tried to distract myself by finding constellations, but I only managed to find the Southern Cross before I gave up. I was only aware of what the Southern Cross looked like because I'd seen it on the Australian flag.

Without a distraction my mind was free to wander. And guess whom it turned to. Yep, Nick. His kiss had meant so much to me. Why was it that I had run away? He was a way more decent guy than Mitch was, but something about him made me confused. And the strangest part was that I didn't know what that part was. It was like a faded memory: I was only aware that something was there, but I wasn't able to recall it.

"What is wrong with me?" I exclaimed at the empty yard.

But it wasn't quite as empty as I thought. A sudden voice in my ear made me scream out in surprise. "Nothing, as far as I'm aware," it said. I shouldn't have recognised the quiet, deliberate voice so easily, but it was impossible not to.

"Don't do that," I exclaimed, not for the first time that night. I heard Nick chuckle softly and glowered. He had been so silent: impossibly silent.

"Sorry," he said between laughs.

"What are you doing, anyway?" I asked.

"I'm wondering why I'm even at this party. It just seems to be an excuse for people to drink and rub up against each other," he said, no expression on his face.

I smiled and was surprised when he pushed the tyre swing so it started to move. Then he was pushing me, and it was actually fun; the wind rushing through my hair, the feeling of weightlessness as I climbed higher and higher. This was freedom, I thought to myself. I smiled and laughed with joy. I hadn't felt this happy and free in ages.

I glanced down at Nick and saw that he was smiling at me, though he rearranged his features when he noticed I was looking at him. Slowly, he stopped pushing the swing and I came to a stop. It didn't even feel awkward between us, even though I remembered the kiss clearly. It was like he was my friend no matter what, and nothing would ever change that.

…Unless we became something more than friends…