The Perks Of Being Amanda Summerlyn

Chapter 5: The Halloween Party Part 2

When we walk in, I feel like there should be a record scratching somewhere because almost everyone in the room stares at us, their talking dying down. Some hold expressions of admiration and shock, others hold jealousy and rudeness. Ke$ha's "Die Young" is blasting from the speakers next to the flat screen TV.

I forgot how huge Ricky's living room is. There's a white couch sitting against the wall beside me with two chairs, a coffee table, and a plush, red rug under my feet. As quickly as it went, the party starts up again as a kind of roar, like the waves of an ocean. After we hang up our coats, we say hi to a few people and ignore the rest. As usual, I can feel people staring at us.

That's another thing about being popular: You don't really have to pay attention to the people paying attention to you. I mean, of course, if they're not popular also. But even if I am with The Clique, I can't help feeling shy and uncomfortable. It's just something that has always happened to me, no matter how popular I am. But I keep my mind on one thing, and one thing only:

Find Oliver. People crowd around the large dining room table, playing poker and beer pong.

It's like a sea of costumes; I see schoolgirls and football players, vampires and angels, witches and werewolves. I even see Batman and Spiderman a few times. Maybe one of them is Oliver. 

"Let's go get a drink," Ally yells at me above the music.

I look around and realize Lindsay, Rose, Eleanor, and Lily are gone. I should've known they would take off soon. Ally puts her hand on my wrist and pulls me into the rather-large kitchen where people are leaning against the kitchen counters, drinking and smoking. There's a group of red, plastic cups that are on the left counter, next to the sink.  I spot a couple on the right counter, making out, the girl up on the counter, and I suddenly feel sick. I've gotta get out of here. At least, out of this room.

"I swear, if Ryan isn't here..." Ally is leaning against a table, looking around the kitchen impatiently. I tap her shoulder that's already damp with sweat. She looks at me, leaning her head back to hear me.

"I'm gonna go upstairs," I say, cupping my hand around her ear.

"Be careful up there," she says loudly. "Don't want you getting lost."

I stumble out of the kitchen and into the sea of sweaty, drunk bodies. I don't what song is on now, but it's loud and the bass pumps through my veins. I do my best to avoid any sweat bodies, but it's hard to do since there are a bunch of them in here. I'm also at the railing that lead up the stairs when I suddenly feel two arms around my waist. At first I think it's some drunk douche, but then another thought pops into my head:

What if it's Oliver?

I'm relieved -and disappointed- when I catch the scent of cigarettes and hear Ricky's voice in my ear. "Hey, kitty," he slurs, his breath hot in my ear.

I turn around in his arms to see him dressed as, what else, but a football player. "Like my costume?" he asks, a lazy smirk on his face. His eyes are drooped low and he has a red cup in his hand.

He's drunk.

Super drunk.

How many drinks has he had? When I ask him, he only replies, "Less than what I planned". He pulls me close, his hands on my ass, twisting the fake tail clipped to my outfit around his finger. "God, you look so hot in this," he slurs. He plants a wet kiss on my lips and I feel like disappearing.

Do I look like I'm enjoying it? I feel his sweaty hand on my left breast, squeezing. "Ricky, come on," I say, pushing him away a little.

"You come on," he says. "No one's watching." He tries to do a puppy-dog face with his bottom lip poking out, but fails. "