BOYTOY

~ Chapter 11 ~

Teenage Dirtbag blasted through the speakers. It throbbed in the floor and hummed in the windows. I stared at Andrea. "Um." I scratched my head and waved in the general direction of the CD player. "Wasn't Wheatus only popular in the nineties? And I use the word 'popular' very loosely."

A shrug was my answer as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I like them!" shouted Andrea above the music. She leaned in close, giggling breathlessly into my ear. "And most of these people like them too! They're just too scared to admit it!"

I looked around, taking in the whole of the party. People from the school and those I usually saw around town—some I made eye contact with in the supermarket, others I avoided because I knew they went out with so-and-so and wanted to skip over talk about how they were doing, and if their exes still thought about them. It made me uncomfortable, chatting with people I hardly knew about other people I wished I didn't know.

There were empty bottles stacked against the wall, the start of a See How High It Can Go wall that made complete sense when you were drunk. Bowls of junk food, potato chips and chewy lollies, lay half-eaten on the coffee table, surrounded by crumbs and scattered jelly beans which people had taken to throwing around. There was a disco ball, the cheap kind purchased at a two dollar store, sticky-taped to the ceiling. The flashing strobe light hit the circular discs and created an overall effect that felt as though you were having a seizure.

But as I looked closer, I realised that the dancing couples and those crowded around Eskies filled with ice and alcohol, were all singing along to the words. The guys put on girl voices, mimicking Wheatus's whining tones, and the girls cooed along to the female chorus lines.

I blanched and turned to Andrea. "Shit. I thought everyone hated this song!"

"No! You're the only one!" And Andrea spun on the spot and went shimmying into the crowd of throbbing bodies. I could hear her voice, screaming along to the words, and I slowly shook my head.

"Pathetic," I muttered. Andrea's parents had gone away for the weekend and what better time than to throw the clichéd teenage party? Well, Andy had thought so. If it was up to me, I'd be at home in my bed, wrapped in blankets and eating Maltesers straight from the packet, watching a Buffy: the Vampire Slayer marathon.

But, like the good friend I was, I volunteered to be the DPG tonight—or, the Designated Party Goer—as we in our group called the person who sat out of the drunken revelry. It was their job to watch out for their friends, i.e. make sure they didn't pass out in the swimming pool (Matt), start hooking up with their ex-boyfriend who they absolutely hated (Kim) or climb onto a table and start dancing to the Macarena (unfortunately...me).

So, I was the Chosen One tonight, by my own violation. I just wasn't in the partying mood. Amber was either annoying me, or when she unfortunately ran into me, she ignored me. I'd never given the cold shoulder the hate it deserved. All I saw of my sister these days was her shiny blonde hair as she walked away from me or else her with her friends, laughing and smiling at school. It hurt, to see her and know she didn't want to even look at me. We had been such good friends, and I know it didn't seem like it know, but we had been. Siblings that actually got along with one another were such a rare thing these days. But Amber and I, we'd been friends. Of course we'd had our moments; like when Amber hogged the bathroom or when I drank all the milk and left the empty carton in the fridge. But we moved past such petty disputes.

Just last year, Amber had taken me to the bar in town and snuck me in below the 18+ signs. She herself had only been seventeen at the time but one of her friend's fathers owned the bar and allowed her—and only her—to go in. There had been an amateur's night and all the local bands were playing. And although Amber hated such things, she had taken me.