graffiti (completed)

Fifteen.

The way I was starting to see it, by now, was like this; relationships were simply the exchange of favors.

You give someone a pencil, they give it back. Easy. You talk to someone, as a social favor, and they talk back. They let you sit with them, hang out with them, and you let them do the same. It only ends when you end it; when you do your favor and leave.  I was starting to see my dad leaving as a favor being done--my mom gave him love, and he watched me for two years. His fulfilled his duties, and he left.  I didn't matter at all, I was just a kid, a living part of her property. To him, it was just like pet-sitting.

I was doing Melodie a favor right now by going to the party, meaning she owed me. And since Emma saved my ass, and the others helped me with supplies, I was doing them a favor by coming along. Killing two birds with one stone.

"Look who's here," Caleb stated as the car was still coming to a halt, door opening as he finished his words.

"Ricky took shotgun," Emma said, rolling down the window.

I had nothing to say, so I just hopped into the car, next to Caleb and Drew.

The party looked like just about every other house party in existence. A few people were outside, though they looked like college kids, holding red cups and chatting about something or other. One took a drag from his cigarette and watched us as we got out of the car, looking up casually as he blew the smoke into the evening air. 

The inside was just what you'd expect from a crappy high school party; dark for the most part, filled with kids who had nothing better to do than get completely wasted.  Only the reminder that I was doing a favor kept me from turning right around, grabbing my board from the car, and leaving. Unless you were drunk, high, or having sex, these parties were never worth your time.

The point was for you to take selfies and then post them on as many sites as possible to make it seem like you were having "so much fun", when you were honestly under the influence of something in a stuffy house with loud music and a bunch of people you didn't like. The only difference was the neighborhood was wealthier, and the party was bigger.

I poured myself a drink from the keg, finding a couch to sit on and waiting for someone to try and harass me. Socializing, especially with people like these, wasn't something I wanted to do. Maybe if I drank enough I would just pass out and not have to deal with it. Maybe if I died of alcohol poisoning everyone would forget whatever happened, I'd be buried in my hometown, and someone will make their tag mine in honor of me. I gulped the beer, cool but not very appetizing. No use thinking like that now.

For at least a half hour, nobody noticed me. Just another girl with a drink. However, nothing gold can stay.

"Hey there," a guy said, plopping down next to me, drink in his hand. I could only partially see him in the darkness, but the look of him gave me the urge to sneer. He had that dumb spiked hair thing going on, which made him look like an eighth grader, and a polo, sleeves rolled up a bit, with jeans, probably extremely low. He had the look on his face that told you he had money; he had money, and he would give it to you, especially if you gave him head. Basically, he looked like every other guy at the party. I didn't respond to his hello, avoiding it with another sip of my beer.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing just sitting here?"

"Avoiding assholes with hedgehog hair," I replied, giving him a side glance before looking ahead.

He chuckled, embarrassment written all over his face, "I'm just being friendly."

"Well," I got up from the couch with a tight lipped smile, patting his shoulder, "goodbye, friend."

With that, I swam through the ocean of sweaty, half drunken teens to the stairs, sipping constantly to finish before the beer got warm. I was going to do what every antisocial kid at house parties in movies did; find an empty room upstairs until it was over.

That meant walking past several other rooms, the stench of weed more or less clouding the hallway from one or more. Maybe if I was in a different situation, I'd be having fun.

"Is that..." I heard a voice say, a voice that made my fists clench as I walked faster, "no way."

"New Girl!" Derek yelled, wrapping an arm around me as essence d'cannabis highjacked my nostrils. I immdiately escaped his weak hold, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into a nearby room, slamming the door behind me.

"Didn't think you had feelings for me--"

"Tell me why I'm suspended for five days." I cut him off.

" 'Cause you vandalized a school, and you got caught, maybe?" he said, enigmatic smile, casual shrug.

I put him in the same position we were in before, pinned against a wall, grabbed by his shirt. He laughed-- an obnoxious, stoned laugh. Like I wasn't even there. It was probably my fault for confronting him when he was high.

"I'm not dumb enough to do something like that," I hissed, "but you are."

"There's proof," he laughed once again, "It was in your locker."

"How do you know?"

His face went blank. I let him go.

"You don't belong here, Casey. All you've done is mess things up," he smiled, lips parted, "It was a warning."

"You're full of shit." He walked to the door as I came closer to him.

"And you aren't? Miss rebel, doesn't care what anybody says," he opened the door, hand on the frame, "you're just some foster kid. Your parent's didn't want you."

I blinked. I blinked, and I saw myself swinging my arms, again and again, delivering blows to his face. I saw me swinging him down the hallway, throwing him down the stairs. The only reason I stood there as he laughed, as he framed me and got away with it, because I was doing someone a favor.