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Waking up is even worse than it was yesterday, since I hardly slept at all. Despite my coffee and Brian's teasing, I'm in a terrible mood the whole morning, and by the time I get to AP Lit I am fully prepared to take a nap for the entire period when the sub announces we have a free. Mark has other ideas, however.

"You look wonderful," he tells me as he thumps down backwards in the seat in front of mine.

"Your face looks wonderful."

"Why, thank you," he coos.

"Mark," I groan. I am so not in the mood.

"Geez, what's up your ass?"

I sigh, but I finally sit up and look at him. "My mom came home early last night."

"Ouch. That sounds like a sunshine party," he grimaces.

"She got all pissy 'cause I was at a movie with Dylanne and screwed up her family dinner."

He frowns. "But that's not fair. You had no idea she'd be there, right?"

"That's what I said."

"And then?"

"And then I walked out on her lecture about my grades."

"How'd she take that?" He looks apprehensive. My mother's temper is a bit infamous.

"She grounded me."

"Oh, well, then. That's nothing." He's relieved, cause he knows as well as I do that grounding me is a good as useless, since she's never around to enforce it. It's only effective when she takes my money, or my driver's license or computer or something. "So, party Saturday?" He waggles his eyebrows up and down.

"Oh, that's attractive. Do that to all the girls, you won't be able to keep them off you." He swipes at my head, but I duck. "Yeah, I'm coming. Dylanne talked me into it."

"Good. Just don't spend this one in the bathroom like last time."

I huff indignantly. "That was so not my fault. And by the way, I am never drinking beer ever again."

"Yeah, yeah, we know. So don't drink the beer." Mark rolls his eyes.

"Hey, be sympathetic. You didn't feel my pain."

"So not interested, dude." He grins good-naturedly. "Ready to chase college-girl ass? Or, well, college-guy ass in your case."

I snort. "Right. I'm only going for Dylanne. You can have the college girls and guys. Or, well, you can try."

"Do you doubt my mad skills?"

"Um, yes. I do."

"That's cold, man."

I smirk, but the bell rings before I can come up with something witty to throw back. As I leave Mark and head to Calc, I realize that he really did manage to lighten my mood. So much so, that when the new guy — Jake — sits down next to me in all his gorgeousness and smiles slightly at me, I smile back, just a little. I can't help it; as much as I want to have nothing to do with him, he has the damn cutest smile.

But I don't actually talk to him. Nope. Cause not only would that require courage and control of my language skills and basic motor functions, it's completely against the emergency-fall-for-the-straight-guy-prevention rules.

* * * * *

I have something to confess. As much as I insist that I'm not going to this party to meet someone, that I don't believe it will happen and that I don't expect it too, I am secretly really hoping it will. Just a smile, a dance with some cute guy … maybe a little making out … maybe a little something more…

No. See, this is why I don't think about this kind of thing. It gets out of hand, and I end up disappointed and alone. So, by Saturday evening, I am determinedly focusing on the small party that I am going to spend with my friends. Nothing more. To make sure everyone is clear on this, I wear a simple dark t-shirt and a comfortable, normal pair of jeans. Nothing extra, nothing tight, no looking in the mirror before I meet Brian in the front hallway to go.

Brian leaves a note for our mother on the kitchen table, just incase she shows up looking for us again, and I drive us over to Dylanne's house. We could have walked, but it's freezing outside, and who really wants to walk around in the middle of winter, even if it is only fifteen minutes on foot to her house?

However, as we pull up to the house a couple of blocks away, it's clear that this is quickly becoming much bigger than a "small" party. There are already cars lining the street out front, and the music is loud enough that we can hear it from the road. We have to shove through a solid blockade of bodies to get past the living room and through the hallway to the back room. By the time we get there, Dylanne and Mark are already mostly gone, passing a bottle of whisky back and forth, and Greg is stoned out of his mind and still beating one of Dylanne's brother's friends at Mortal Combat. Brian quickly steals the bottle of Jack from Mark and joins them on the sofa.

"You came!" Dylanne calls out, rather too loudly, a flings her arms open to hug me. I hug her back, awkwardly bending over to reach down to where she's sitting, and then I move over to the table currently sporting the most alcohol, determined to catch up. I do what I usually do the few times we've has access to booze, and pour about four inches of vodka into a SOLO cup and grab a small bottle of orange juice as a chaser. It tastes like poison, but at least it tastes clean, and I don't throw up or get a hangover from vodka.

Over the next twenty minutes, I watch Greg trample all over two other guys and a girl and then beat his own record, Brian and Mark decide that they can and should own everyone at the party at Rock Band and disappear to look for it, and I down the last of my drink. Before it kicks in however, Mark and Brian are back, with some girl in tow, who is blonde and tall and giggling and stumbling.

"Hey! Hey guys listen this is the coolest thing ever." Mark walks right into the couch as he pulls her arm.

"Do it! Do it again!" Brian chants.

She can hardly talk she's laughing so uncontrollably, but eventually she gets out:

"Starkle, starkle, little twink,

Who the hell you are I think,

I'm not under what they call

The alcofluence of incohol.

I'm not drunk as thinkle peep,

I'm just a little slort of sheep.

Tee martoonis make a guy

Fool so feelish, don't know why

Rally don't know who's me yet

The drunker I stay the longer I get

So just one more to full my cup,

I've all day sober to Sunday up."

Everyone I cracking up by the end, including me, so that I almost loose the last lines. I have to admit, it is pretty good, the rhyme, and as I laugh I feel the room tilt a little to the right and my whole body lifts up. I grin. I feel weightless. I notice the thud of the music, and suddenly dancing seems like the best idea ever.

"Come dance with me!" I grab Dylanne's hand and hall her off the couch.

"Where are we going?" She stumbles forward with the force of my pull and falls into me.

"Dancing! Come on."

We make our way to the living room, and I shove right into the middle of the crowd, dragging Dylanne behind me. And we dance. I dance. I feel perfect, and sexy, and like I'm the best goddamn dancer here; the world is a cloud of pulsing bodies and pulsing music and Dylanne is not anywhere that I can see anymore but my heart is thudding in time with the beat and time is slowing and gelling in the heat and sweat and I smile as I raise my arms above my hand and stop thinking. Just feel.

Then, as I dance, I suddenly notice something. Hands. On my hips. There's a body behind me, close, chest touching my back, pelvis moving with mine. His nose is down by my ear, and his mouth is breathing against my neck. I don't actually hear his voice when he speaks, but I feel the vibrations against my back through his chest.

I turn around and mouth, "What?"

He pulls me close again, and I put my arms on his shoulders around his neck. He puts his lips against my ear and says again, "What's your name?"

I put my mouth on his ear. "Brayden."

"Brandon?"

Close enough. "You?"

All I get from his reply is a sort of "Ahn" sound; maybe Sean, or John. Whatever. I smile vaguely at him, and turn back around to dance so he won't talk to me anymore. It's really too loud for talking, and my head's too swimmy and I don't want to exert the brain power to concentrate on something as awkward as this conversation right now.

We sway to the music, and he kisses up the side of my neck. The floor tilts suddenly, and I stumble, but he catches me. God, I'm really drunk. My throat is a little raw. How long have I been dancing? An hour? Two?

I feel lips on my jaw, moving towards my chin. He's wrapped his arms around me and is running his hands up and down my chest and stomach. I turn my head, just slightly, and we're kissing. I'm kissing him. He's kissing me. My gut tightens and my heart pounds and I hits me that this is happening. Where was I this whole time? How did I miss that I'm dancing with a guy? That he's kissing me? That he wants to be kissing me? Why the fuck did I not realize this sooner?

He puts his tongue in my mouth, and it feels slippery, and hot, and big. He tugs my arm; I follow him out of the crowd. Why are we leaving? Where are we going?

He pulls back from me, and nods up the stairs, raising his eyebrows. My brain short circuits. He wants to …? And I could say yes. I could lose my virginity. I could lose my pathetic-looser-gay-boy status for good. So I nod back.

He tries all the doorknobs to the doors upstairs, and finally finds one that's open. I half notice that it's the guest room. I close the door behind us, and I lock it. I tug my shirt off, and kick off my shoes as I step out of my pants. I want this to happen now. I've waited my whole life. I'm done waiting. He seems to have the same idea.

"Here." He's naked already, kneeling on the bed, hips thrust forward, and his dick is sticking straight out from his body, and from here it suddenly looks much too big. I've seen dicks hard before. Were they all this intimidating? And he wants me to suck it. How am I supposed to get that in my mouth? Am I even sure I know how to do this?

So to stall I take it in my hand a stroke it, up and down. God it feels big.

"No, he's hard already." Shit. Ok, here goes nothing. I swallow the whole thing. I gag, but I don't think he notices.

"Uh, uhn, oh yeah, oh, you're deep-throating, ooooohh yeah…" I wish he would stop talking. Or making noise. Whatever. It's drawing me back into the awkwardness of this situation, back into my body. Ok, that's enough. I pull off, and turn around so my back is to him. He gets the message. He reaches down to his pants and pulls a condom out of his wallet and puts it on. Then he spits. A lot. He rubs it all over. He moves up behind me and holds my hips. And he pushes forwards.

MOTHERFUCKER it hurts. My breath hitches and I move forwards involuntarily, my body trying to get away from the red-hot broom handle up my ass. Again, he doesn't seem to notice. He keeps moving, in and out, and I just try not to whimper. Somewhere in the back of my mind I realized that I'm completely soft, that I wasn't even hard before.

Just as I'm wondering if the pounding is ever going to end, he speeds up, and then pushes in as far as he can go and lets out a loud exhale. Then he pulls out, and flops over on the bed next to me.

I ease myself down on the bedspread. My head is spinning, I feel sick with adrenaline, and my whole body aches. More than anything, I just want to be out of here. I look over at him. I think he's passed out. And he's not very good-looking. He's a little fat, and his eyes are too close together, and his nose is hooked. My stomach turns over. I gingerly crawl off the bed, and using the wall for balance, pull my clothes back on. I stumble down the stairs, through the hall and out the door.

My feet move forward on autopilot. One in front of the other. I know, somehow, that if I stop, I'll never get up. I watch the sidewalk, not seeing it. I walk up the stair to my front door. I up lock it and walk through my house to my room without turning on the lights. I pull my pants off again, curl up under my comforter, and pass out.