The Elephant Tattoo.

Three

Picture is Keaton and Wesley Stromberg.

Parties were not my scene. And this one only made me hate myself more for not realizing it sooner. For some reason, when my mother said they were having a party, I pictured maybe 20 people hanging out in some fancy apartment. This, however, was much worse. There were easily over 50 people in the building, and it was being held at some decked out abandoned warehouse. It was also a black light party, as we'd been informed before being sent into my house to change. Wesley made it very clear that though he liked me in a dress, this party was just slightly more casual.

Bodies pulsed and moved with the awkward, unstable beat of techno songs. I didn't mind the music, it was definitely something I would listen to while boarding. However, the close proximity of the bodies was what made me nervous. I didn't dance, and I didn't do the deed with people too intoxicated to learn my name. Harley, on the other hand, had some boy offering her the world as she danced against his front. I felt bad for the kid. What he didn't know was that Harley was the biggest virgin there ever was, and she wouldn't sleep with him if he paid her in gold and diamonds.

"Hey!" Keaton had to cup his hands around his mouth to call to me due to the loud music. Awkwardly, I maneuvered myself in and out of grinding bodies until I reached him.

"Hi." I said unhappily. I couldn't think of a reason as to why he would've called me over, but as I glanced back at my original standing spot, I was glad he did. A group of people had moved to my little corner to start profusely making out.

"You look uncomfortable."

"What?" I yelled over the music.

Keaton started again, but then gave up and grabbed my arm. He led me through the warehouse to an empty room that must have been an office at one point. The room was now occupied with a bunch of beat up leather couches that had cracks and chunks missing. In the center of the room was a hookah, alongside it was a lighter and a bag of what I hoped was tobacco.

"I said you look uncomfortable." He said finally, moving his lip ring around with his tongue. I would have laughed at the face he made if I'd known him better.

"Yeah, parties aren't all that fun for me." I walked over to one of the couches and plopped down on it, noting that it almost wheezed under my weight. Keaton took a seat on the floor in front of me. I watched as he grabbed the lighter, flicking it to life a couple of times.

"What, you don't take boys home?" It wasn't meant to come out weird, but I still shifted uncomfortably at the question. He was probably just making small talk, but it was still odd.

"Um, no. Neither does Harley. We're not really that type, sorry." That caused Keaton to laugh, which then made me look at him.

"If that was supposed to disappoint me, it didn't." He chuckled softly before lighting some coals on the hookah. He waited a little bit before taking one of the arms and taking a drag of whatever substance was in it. He then spoke while letting out the smoke. "I don't like the girls who only come with sex on their mind.

"I didn't even come willingly." I said with a laugh. I watched as he continued to take in the smoke. He didn't seem like the type to smoke anything when you first looked at him, but he obviously knew what he was doing.

"And why is that?" Keaton asked a little more softly. He was looking at me then, and I almost squirmed under his genuine gaze of curiosity. Luckily, I held it together.

"I don't know you, Keaton. I also don't know Wes. This all seems extremely unreal to me. You don't meet people and then randomly go to a party with them. It makes me feel cheap." I confessed. His expression changed to one that could only be pinned as understanding before he smiled a small smile. He hadn't smiled all that often in the time I'd known him, but his smile put me at ease. I felt like I could talk to this boy and get little to no judgment in return.

"Here, try this." Keaton held in his hand the nose to the hookah. I wrinkled my nose skeptically. Though he seemed trustworthy, it was a little weird. Still, I leaned forward and placed my lips around the mouthpiece. He was still holding it as I did so. Slowly, I breathed in the substance, wondering what effects would come from it. All I got out of it so far was that my lungs felt like they couldn't function. I pulled back quickly and coughed out the smoke. It felt like I was choking on air. Keaton moved up so he was sat on the edge of the couch. He patted my back until I was done coughing, all the while smiling like an idiot.

"That was terrible." I muttered, rubbing my throat unhappily.

"You could always get to know us." He said suddenly.

"What?" The subject change caught me by surprise.

"You said you didn't even know us. Maybe you should try to get to know us." He took the hose and then took another drag of the treacherous smoke.

"How am I supposed to do that?" I picked at the pair of white shorts I was wearing. "You guys probably aren't here very often."

"You're right, we're not."

"Exactly." I yawned and leaned back on the couch.

"There's always technology for communication." Keaton offered, blowing some smoke into my face. I wrinkled my nose and squinted to keep the smoke out of my eyes.

"Except I don't have either of your numbers." As soon as I said it, I immediately regretted it. I was the one who'd rejected Wes' attempt at getting my number, and now I was basically asking Keaton for them.

"Just give me yours and then I'll give it to Wes for you." He leaned back on the couch as well, reaching into his pocket to give me his phone. Awkwardly, I watched as he unlocked it for me and then guided me to contacts. He put my name in as Noah, and it just seemed odd to me. He'd only heard someone use that name for me once, and he already was using it. Without mentioning it, I typed my number in.

Just as I sat back again and Keaton went to put his phone away, the door opened. Wes stood there, Harley being carried bridal style by him. She appeared to be passed out, and he appeared to be seriously freaked out.

"Guys, I think something's wrong with her. She just fainted. Some guy said she was shaking a little bit. She might have taken something." I could tell by Wes' expression that it wasn't some joke. I shot up from the couch and did the first thing I could think of. I ran over to him and tried to wake Harley up. I checked her pulse, but I didn't really know what I was looking for.

"Can we take her to the hospital please?" I asked quickly, still keeping a hand on her arm. Wes nodded and Keaton followed us out. It was kind of hard to get her out of the place quickly with all of the people there, but we managed.

I slid into the back seat of Wes' car, Keaton sliding in next to me. Harley was then laid across our laps. Her head rested in my lap, and I looked down at my friend with a worried expression. The trip to the hospital took close to 15 minutes, but it felt like hours.

When the receptionist at the desk asked what the emergency was, I told her what Wes had. The lady looked skeptical as they took Harley away on a stretcher. She'd asked me if maybe Harley had just passed out from intoxication, and I'd less than calmly told her that I hoped so. I was hoping we were just overreacting, but who knew?

I sat between Keaton and Wes, and each of them seemed to be touching me somehow. Wes had an arm around me and Keaton's hand was in mine. Normally I wouldn't let them or any guy be that close to me. Harley and I had been friends since third grade. We had an amazing story as to how we met. It was out on the playground and I'd been eyeing up the monkey bars for the longest time. Harley, with two pigtails and clad in overalls, told me that she'd teach me how to do them. I of course accepted the offer, but once I was up there, hanging off of the first bar, she got distracted. My grip had failed and I ended up falling on my front. The air had been knocked out of me, and Harley had raced down to see if I was okay. Of course, she ended up taking me to the nurse while I cried and cried. To make me feel better, she told me this joke. It was one of the stupidest jokes I'd ever heard. She looked at me and went 'What do you call fake spaghetti?' and it was such an impossible question that I told her I didn't know. She smiled the biggest smile I'd ever seen and said with a giggle 'An impasta!' Ever since then, we were best friends. Any time either of us got sad, we'd tell each other that joke, and it just made it seem like everything was going to be okay.

Everything had to be okay.