“What?” I shout back.
“It’s so loud!” she says.
“Haha, yeah, it is,” I agree.
She leans in again, mouth moving.
“What was that?”
“Are you having fun?” she asks.
“Uh, yeah,” I yell back. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” It’s so noisy, she has to yell in my ear. I can feel her breath against my skin. “It’s good you’re here, Aaron.”
I chuckle awkwardly at that, then attempt to dance some distance between us. Don’t get me wrong, Lily's a lovely girl, but I can’t date her.
The simplest solution would be to reject her, but I can’t do that either. I don’t want to hurt her feelings or make her hate me, and I especially don’t want the others, like Mimi and Ethan, to be disappointed in me.
I pull out my phone and check the time, and I am shocked to see that I’ve been dancing for forty-five minutes. No wonder it feels like my brain will explode from a headache.
I start to push myself through the crowd when Ethan grabs my arm. “Dude, where are you going?”
“Just getting a drink,” I say, then quickly add, “some water.” The last thing I want is for Ethan to suggest shots again.
He nods, and I get out of there, enter the kitchen, and pick out a glass from the shelf. I fill it up with the tap, and usually, I don’t mind the room-temperature water, but my throat feels sore after shouting over the music. So, I do what Jude Seymour did and add some ice. The cool liquid against my throat provides some relief, but I’m sure my voice will be a rasp tomorrow.
I notice a head of long red hair through the kitchen doorway, and my stomach plummets. Lily. Is she looking for me?
It’s a self-centred assumption, but there’s no way I can be with her, not when it’s this late, the lights are low, and everyone feels loose and brave. No way.
It’s not my most dignified moment, but I dump my glass in the sink and dash into the hallway. I run to the end and stupidly glance behind me, just as Lily pokes her head into the hallway, slowly looking around, her back to me.
Shit.
I rush up the staircase as I hear her call my name. Feeling like a capital A asshole, I pretend not to hear her and run past a few people sitting and chatting on the stairs. On the second floor, I open several doors. Some lead to bedrooms, which couples have enthusiastically taken over. One door leads to a bathroom where a guy sits in the empty bathtub, smoking a joint. I’d ask him (politely, of course) not to smoke weed in my friend’s house, but I don’t have time to spare. At least the guy’s got the decency to open the window.
Another door leads into the study, its lights off. Ethan and I have crammed for tests several times here. Before it was a study, it used to be a bedroom, so it has a closet.
I desperately open it up. It’s the size of two toilet cubicles, and a few winter jackets are hanging from the rack. Well, it’s the best I can do for now. I duck inside and shut the door behind me.
In the pitch-black darkness, I stand with my fingers firmly on the door handle. If it had a lock, I’d use it. My ears strain to listen to what’s happening outside, but everything is distorted by the thrum of music from downstairs. When minutes pass, and no one tries to open the closet, the pound of my heartbeat in my ears starts to slow down.
I let go of the door handle. I must’ve looked ridiculous. Itisridiculous to run from a girl my own age. I know that, but that doesn’t make me open the door.
In fact, despite how dark it is here, I like it. Everything is quieter, the air is cooler, and I’m glad to have a moment to justrelax.
I sag to the floor, leaning against the wall, and the closet is big enough to stretch my legs out completely.
I massage my throat. It still hurts a bit, like when I have a cold, but it’s not overwhelmingly painful. The water I drank earlier has washed the taste of alcohol from my mouth.
I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes. It doesn’t take me long to doze off. I’m not asleep yet, but dream-like sequences float along in my mind.
I indulge in one of my favourite daydreams, which is what my life will be like after graduation. I’m going to move away from Easton, which is surrounded by farms and filled with people who’ve known each other since they were born, to a city with a population of millions. I’m thinking Melbourne. There, I’ll finally be free.
The daydream starts to blur like a watercolour as sleep creeps in, and I sink into the carpet. I should wake myself up — I don’t want to sleep here all night — but maybe I’ll let myself have a nap. A short, five-minute nap.
I’m really falling asleep now. At least, that is, until someone enters the closet, trips over my feet, and bangs their head against the wall.
