No Pills

It's Hannah Montana

Mia's P.O.V

Finally, the papers have been collected. Everyone starts moving fast to the door, as though the air in a classroom- turned- exam hall is poisonous. I rush out myself, wanting to cry.

What the hell did I just write?

I have never been good at chemistry, but those exam questions are not even from what we learned this semester. The entire paper felt like a foggy road trip to the when-did-he-teach-this-oh-last-year-I-don't-remember-a-thing suburb. It's painful when you don't know the answer but worse when you've just forgotten it. The only thought holding back my tears is that at least now that the exam is out of the way, I can resolve my other issues.

1. The Pills -

"-Mia!!" The undeniable voice of Noah cuts my train of thought as I get onto my bicycle. "Mia, wait!"

If looks could kill, this guy is already six feet deep. "What?" I groan.

" Are you coming to the party?"

"What party?"

"There's gonna be a party tomorrow," he stands akimbo, " did you not hear the announcement from the intercom?"

I shake my head. The triphosphate question must have wrecked me so much that I went deaf.

He snorts at that. "It doesn't matter. I'll pick you up."

"Pick who?" I say, already peddling away. Maybe, he is joking.

*

He is not joking.

On a beautiful Saturday evening of exquisite slumber, I am awakened by Aunt Lisa tapping my leg persistently.

"Mia?" she says in an irritated tone, " there's someone downstairs waiting for you... A Noah? He said you guys are going to a party."

"Lie..." My limbs slide reluctantly off the bed. She gets up, to which my brain immediately screams, "RUN!!" imagining her fists striking me.

"Go downstairs and see for yourself." She picks up a hoodie on the floor. Cautious looking at her, I take it. She sighs and then turns around to leave, only to halt at the door.

What's up with you? I wonder. She folds her arms.

"If you are feeling better to go to parties with boys now, I think you can go back to work too."

That smacks the sleepiness out of my eyes. I blink hard.

"Andrés has been asking when you will return," she says, " And don't think I have forgotten about the thousand dollars you misplaced."

"No, I did not misplace it. I -" She walks out before I can explain.

My jaw drops. I mull over what she just said and think, ok, now I need to go to this party.

I put on a mauve tye and dye shirt and blue baggy jeans because I can't take risks when I don't know what kind of party it is. After running a comb through my soggy hair, I head downstairs and indeed, Noah is sitting on the couch opposite her, talking.

He stops when he sees me. "You look...you."

"Thanks," I glance at Aunt Lisa. She swallows the sentence on the tip of her tongue and acts like a happy mother would.

"Have fun!"

Since he came with a cab, we hit the road in no time.

"Your mom is so cool," he says when we reach an intersection, "she was an Olympian, right?"

"Ya," I say. Little do I know that my affirmation will cause more of her lies out of Noah's mouth. He narrates the story she told him about her faux success in her youthful days for three minutes straight, then asks,

"So your family is full of athletes? Including you?"

"Ya, but I stopped a while back."

Aside from his untrimmed brows, he looks pretty decent. He is giving off naïve, reggae quiet-boy vibes. No wonder Aunt Lisa chose to feed him these delusions rather than kick him out.

"Hey. " I frown. "How do you know where I live?"

"Not even the CIA can get that shit outta me," he says with a smug look.

I roll my eyes.

After some time, I doze off until the echo of ear-splitting music wakes me. Noah pays for the cab, and we hop out.

We are welcomed by a lot of people doing a lot of things, from dancing to chanting to trampoline-jumping to barbecuing to swimming to squirting water at one another with water guns... everywhere is busy. There are a lot of trees around the two-storey apartment, swaying along with the blasting trap music. I recognise some peers hiding between branches, waiting for oblivious strays to blast paint on.

"Oooh!" Noah blurts as a guy gets hit with the paintballs immediately he stops kissing the girl beside him. I roll my eyes while the culprits guffaw.

"Let's go inside before we are next."
"Definitely." We snake our way to safety or, to be accurate, the chaos that is bloody rich Spencer High kids bloody screaming, "BITCH BETTER HAVE MY MONEY!!"

" Whose house is this anyway!" I have to yell even with Noah bending to hear me. He shrugs. "Probably a rich senior because look at this place!"

He's right. On the outside, it seems average, but inside there are enough weird paintings, sculptures and plants growing out of drums and guitars to make me feel like we are defiling an art gallery. The air smells like incense.

"The rebellious artsy kid of artsy parents!" I follow him to the makeshift dancefloor. Everyone is jumping, so we jump. Another song starts blaring, and everything becomes a blur. I cannot hear the lyrics, but following Noah's lead, I just screech whatever comes to mind.

"TOMATO! TOMATO! -"
"-It's HANNAH MONTANA!" Noah laughs. I laugh too, facepalming myself, "SHIT, I THINK MY EARS HAVE BEEN DAMAGED! I CAN'T HEAR SHIT!"

"YO YO YO!" Someone hollers from the top of the stairs as the music is lowered. My ears are glad. Catching my breath, I hear the unmistakable voice of a senior bleating;

"We are playing FIFA in the gaming room. If You BEAT ME, YOU GET A GRAND! WHO'S IN?!"

A couple of whoops fill the room, and some guys climb up the stairs to him. He grins stupidly for more to come up.

"You know him?" Noah reminds me of his presence. I shake my head.

Noah chuckles, "Well, I bet I could beat him with my eyes closed."

"Why, you're so good at everything," I fake-gasp. He smirks and curtsies, "Yes, yes, and many have had to learn this the foolish way. You are certainly smart to have figured out the expanse of my awesomeness without a scratch on your reputation."

Then he pulls me along. I roll my eyes, "If you lose, I don't know you."
We are the last to climb to the gaming room. The player who wins starts making wolf noises, and the others first bump him. Noah gulps. "Shit, it's Taylor."

"Oh..." I realise why he's suddenly anxious. The scores say 15- nil; Taylor is ruthless.

"You know what," I try to stay positive," you are probably better than him too. Just relax. I'm going to get you some water."

"Thank you," he smiles despite his worry. Giving him a supportive shoulder pat, I head downstairs and find the kitchen. I open the fridge available and grab two bottles. Granola bars lie in a large bowl at the centre of the counter. Suddenly, I feel hungry. I stuff some in my pocket when, suddenly, a paintball comes smashing onto my back.

"WHAT THE-" My head snaps at the guys through the open window. They scatter immediately, cracking up. I don't find it funny, and I am pretty sure the house owner wouldn't either. The green splotches are eyesore against the off-white wall.

"Who did that?" As if on cue, someone strides straight towards the wall with hot pink fluffy earmuffs and flipflops that make him stick out from the little circles of observers.

It's the guy Anna was arguing with in the library and - oh my, ... he looks like a Greek god and a Disney princess had a baby.