Golden Eyes, Broken Heart

Chapter 18 - Did someone say Party?

Enjoy!

Chapter 18,

"Stop messing about with your damn hair," I scold, looking at Rosalie in the rear view mirror, pushing her hair in different directions looking stressed but beautiful. "That's as good as it's gonna get sweetheart," Brody adds, patting her shoulder sympathetically.  I smile when she punches his shoulder, but a glance at the empty front seat soon gets rid of my happiness. I miss Jake. "Dex you do realise we've only just dropped him off yeah?" Brody calls over from the back of the car as I pull into the school gates. How did he know I was thinking about Jake? I park the car in its usual space and we all slide out into the nice frosty weather. "God I hate winter," Rosalie grumbles, finally giving up on her wild hair. "You hate everything," Brody counters cheerfully, "Then you've got Mr Grumpy over there with his miserable face," I turn to glare at him for a few seconds before leading the way through Student Support, first up Maths

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"Has anyone ever told you that you're bloody annoying?" Rosalie snaps as my pencil prods her in the back for the seventieth time. "Only in the last couple of minutes," I chuckle back. "God I hate psychology,"

"Why did you take it then you moron?" she asks, turning onto a new page. "You've written four bloody pages and you're only on question three," I mutter in disbelief, glancing down at my own work. The title. The date. My name. Blank. "I would be on question 8 by now if some SPASTIC hadn't been prodding me in the back for half an hour," the rest of the class spin around to glare at her for disturbing their concentration but she pays no attention as she carries on writing like some kind of adrenaline junkie. "Rosalie," I whisper, "Rosalie," she stands up so abruptly her chair is sent rocketing backwards onto the floor almost crushing me. "I swear to god I will ram this pen down your throat!" she screams, her face flushed with a furious shade of red. I break into a laughing fit as she starts hitting my shoulder and chest with her fists which I can't even feel. "Both of you out, this is unacceptable," Mrs Roberts shouts, pointing angrily at the door. "Rosalie honestly, no wonder you took psychology," I whisper inbetween bouts of laughter as I lead the way out into the corridor. "Dick," she mutters under her breath as we lounge awkwardly in the corridor. Mrs Roberts appears at the door of her classroom a few minutes later, "Someone will be coming along shortly to escort you both to the Bridging room, don't you dare make a noise out here," she snaps before wandering back to her class which is now lovely and quiet without us. The head of year, Mr Simpson practically materialises at the end of the corridor, his tanned skin glimmering in the bright corridor. "One," I whisper, trying not to move my mouth, "Two," Rosalie stares at me in confusion as Mr Simpson gets closer and closer to us, as soon as I reach three and he's only a few feet away from us I grab her hand and sprint the opposite way. I glance behind to see Mr Simpson speed walking after us with a face like thunder and it takes all my strength not to collapse into a laughing fit. "Dex-" Rosalie shouts in fright as we screech around a corner but she is immediately cut off by the massive bang as I kick the main foyer's doors open and an ice cold breeze hits us like a fist. We jog over to my car giggling and howling as we recall our brief encounter with the head of year. "We are so dead," she giggles, sliding into the passenger seat beside me. Mr Simpson strolls out the main entrance looking furious just as I pull out the school gates and Rosalie bursts out laughing at the sight of him shivering furiously in the cold. "Oh god," she murmurs breathlessly and I give her an amused smile as she sits there recovering from what was probably the biggest laughing fit of her entire life. "It's only 11 o clock, where are we going?" she asks once she has recovered. "Well we've got four hours before picking Jake up, so plenty of time for a party." I grin at her shocked expression. "We should've brought Brody along," I smirk before skidding to a halt beside a shortcut leading down to the shopping centre and skate park. "Dex?" Rosalie questions, obviously confused at my choice of parking spaces. She smiles when Brody emerges from the alleyway wearing his trademark, brown leather jacket and black beanie hat that is perched at such a perfect angle on his head that it reveals a few strands of his measy golden hair. He slides into the back seat, smiling and completely unphased by the freezing weather. "Lets go go go," he shouts with a massive grin. "Look at his pupils," Rosalie hisses into my ear and I practically snap my neck turning around to see him staring at me with massive, dilated pupils. Not to mention a wolfish grin. "Okay, so he's high. It's a party relax," I chuckle before pulling out onto the road, completely aware of Rosalie's eyes flicking from me to him suspiciously as I drive. "I can see rainbows now my drugs are gone," Brody sings in a horrificly out of tune voice, swinging his head from side to side dramatically. Causing me to immediately crack up laughing. Partly from Rosalie's look of complete scorn. "Yo pussy cat," Brody screeches and collapses into hysteria over the back seats. I slow down to stop him sliding off the seats and soon find myself laughing alongside him. "You two are ridiculous," Rosalie huffs from beside me, crossing her arms like some kind of disapproving parent. We pull up outside a massive four story mansion and climb out. Brody whistles an annoying tune as he swaggers from side to side on his way to the door, almost falling over twice. "Wow," Rosalie whispers, gazing up at the house lovingly. Still noone has answered the door by the time we reach it and Brody just barges it open, still humming excessively. "Welcome to the dance floor," a man in a balaclava smiles as a fist comes out of nowhere, Brody, even in his drugged state manages to block it and lashes out with his own fist. Rosalie screams and falls backwards out the door as I tackle Brody's attacker to the ground. Time seems to stop when I feel something cold press against my temple, "Don't move pretty boy," a voice whispers into my ear and a few seconds later the butt of the gun comes rocketing down and knocks me unconcious. This'll leave me with more than a hangover.