Walking Between Raindrops

Chapter One

Phil ground her teeth silently as she pushed her way through the crowds of people that filled the small house. No sooner did she get through one tightly-packed group than another, equally large, surged in front of her. She'd long since given up politely mumbling "excuse me" as an exercise in futility, and settled instead for brute strength.

A flash of bright red hair caught her attention; trapped between a burly, bearded version of Elsa from 'Frozen' and a bare-chested Chippendale dancer, she rose up on her toes, stretching to see over shoulders and feathered hats, only to sink again in disappointment when it became clear that that particular Poison Ivy wasn't her friend Carli. Mumbling beneath her breath, she forced her way through a jumble of zombies singing off-key show tunes and stumbled out the nearest door and into the cool October evening.

The small porch felt as wide and empty as the ocean. Tucked against the side of the house like a builder's afterthought, the tiny space was sheltered by colorful autumn foliage from overhanging trees, and lit only by the rectangular glow coming from the glass panes of the window above the door. Phil twisted the cap from the bottle of water she'd managed to grab on her way out and took a chance on the battered old lounge chair that was the porch's only adornment. The metal frame squealed out a protest as she sat down but thankfully didn't collapse. After sitting for a few minutes in reflective silence, she slid down in the seat until her ponytail bumped against the back and closed her eyes.

"Shocking development," she murmured quietly. "Phil goes to a party only to abandon it and find an empty spot in the house. News at eleven."

Somewhere in the night, an animal screeched. Eyes still closed, Phil raised the water bottle in a mock toast.

"You got it, buddy. You're welcome."

"If you're talking to owls, it's definitely time to leave the party."

The shock of the voice coming out of the darkness caused Phil to almost topple out of the lounger. Fumbling and clumsy, she swiped at the water splashing out of the bottle and tried to stay upright. When she felt stable again, she frowned at the young man standing near the railing in a shadowy corner of the porch.

"Oh my God, you scared me half to death!" she gasped. "I didn't see you over there." She wiped at her soggy knees and sent an accusing look toward her companion. "Have you been there the whole time? Why didn't you say something?"

For a few seconds he merely stared back, blinking, as if surprised at her tone. Then, slowly, "Well, I was here first."

Appropriately chastened, Phil hoped the darkness hid the embarrassed flush on her cheeks. "I'm sorry. You're right. You probably came out here looking for some peace and quiet, too, and here I am barging in. I'll just go back inside . . ."

"No, please stay!" A raised hand stopped her when she moved to get out of the chair. "I mean it," he said, adding a friendly smile as she settled cautiously back down. "Even with two of us out here, it's still better than we'd have in there, right?"

As if on cue, the loud, discordant riff of an electric guitar ripped through the night. Phil winced as it fell back to a less ear-splitting decibel that hovered just below a steady hum of conversation and laughter.

"Good point."

More for something to do with her hands than from actual thirst, she sipped from what was left in the water bottle and studied her partner in party-avoidance. Perhaps a shade taller than average, he had thick, dark curly hair badly in need of a trim, and eyes that gleamed black in what little light the porch had. Her gaze slid over the retro look of hip-hugging bell bottom jeans and slim-fitting polyester shirt, designed in vivid stripes of avocado and orange.