Phoebe

The music was thumping when we first arrived. It was currently five o'clock and the party was just truly beginning. No doubt by the end of the night there would be police swarming the place. Of course, maybe not because Kevin Royce's house was in the middle of nowhere -- out in the country outside of Laurel -- with no close neighboring houses. Pine trees surrounded the white, two-storied house and from behind the wooden gate splashes and screeches were heard. A pool it seemed, and people, too.

Ivy knocked on the door, and some random kid opened the door. He was a nerd. (I noted that quickly . . . probably because I have these tendencies to want to smother nerds -- glasses, giant brain, and all -- in big bear hugs. There's really no explaining my attraction to nerds -- not geeks, freaks, or dorks but nerds. I think it might be because I myself am a bit of one.) Nerd hair comes in two forms: 1) neat and parted and 2) messy and behead-ish. This particular guy's hair was rumpled and a deep brown, almost black even. His eyes behind the circular frames were green, a brilliant light olive.

"You're here for Kevin, right?" he asked impatiently, and, before either one of us could answer, he was giving more instructions. "Down the hall and through the doors. Bathroom is right on the left."

"Thanks," I muttered but it was too late for him to hear my mumble. He was already heading up the stairs.

Ivy scoffed. "What crawled up his butt and died?"

I laughed softly. "Who do you think he was?" I asked suddenly.

"Theodore Royce, of course. He's Kevin's older brother. He told me he was uptight, but geez! I mean, he could have at least said hello, asked how we were doing, before ushering us back out the door."

"Maybe he's stressed about something." I wondered aloud.

"Really," said Ivy a bit haughtily, "I don't care. I came here to party, not to debate on whether a guy is moody for a reason or not."

She had a point there, and so I followed her outside to the party. Girls were lazing about on lounge chairs, trying to catch a last natural tan of the year. The boys were mostly all in the pools; a few were accompanying the girls in lawn chairs. Every so often a boy in the pool would splash water at another guy, and the stream would splatter all over a random girl -- and she would shriek and make a big deal out of it.

Ivy headed over to a lounge chair and took off her orange dress. Underneath was her yellow bikini that we had bought yesterday at the mall along with the dresses. As I shrugged out of my own cover, I couldn't help but feel a bit in awe of Ivy. She always had so much confidence in herself and I never did. While I hadn't elected for a one-piece, I hadn't went for the full out bikini; I settled for a blue tankini.

Ivy wasn't smothering on the sun tan lotion like I was. For one thing, she had skin that automatically bronzed while I had the sort that burned then -- if anything -- freckled. Another thing reason was because she wasn't planning on getting in the water at all.

It took a total of five minutes lying in the lounge chair before I declared loudly, "Oh this is stupid. If I'm going to get burnt, I might as well have fun doing it."

I sat up, smothered more sun block on my shoulders and neck, and jumped into the pool. When my head was submerged completely under the chlorinated water, I was instantly glad that I had gotten in; it was a lot cooler in the swimming pool and I no longer felt sticky, sweaty, and humid.

A few guys were playing Marco Polo, and I decided to join in. "Polo," I'd cry, and then duck under the water and swim away.

This game continued on for a bit, but eventually everybody got out to eat. There were dishes upon dishes of foods; (classically Southern) boiled peanuts, barbeque pork, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, fruits, and everything but the kitchen sink was lined up on a long table. Everyone piled up their plate, sat around on the lawn furniture on towels, and talked about random things. Mosquitoes hadn't yet descended on the party, but nonetheless those little tiki torch things were lit. I guess it was for the prevention instead of protection from.

I bit into my wonderfully tasty pork. It's a good thing I'm not Jewish or else I'd be breaking religious law. As I continued eating, I gazed around at the groups around me. All in all there were thirty-one people. Ten of that number were Senior football players and six were Juniors. The remaining fourteen girls I couldn't tell you what they were, only that they went to my school. (They didn't wear the letterman jackets with the graduating class number at school, you see, and I'm not that good at guessing at what I know nothing about. However, if I had to go out on a limb, I'd safely wager most of the girls were Seniors.)

"What should we do next?" shouted a red-haired boy from his position at the pool ledge.

Kevin, who was in my circle of chairs, got up and moved to the sound system and turned the already pounding music up some more, and shouted, "Everybody, let's dance!"

And I couldn't take any more.

Music and playing Marco Polo in the pool were fine, but dancing -- or what people my age considered dancing -- I couldn't stand, so I made my excuses and went in search for a bathroom . . . supposedly. In actuality, I was in search for a book; I had forgotten my own at home.

When I couldn't find anything to read, I went upstairs.

"What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for a bathroom," I muttered, startling around to face Theodore Royce -- a.k.a. the boy who opened the door earlier. He was leaning through the door by holding his hand on both the frame and the actual door itself.

He paused, taking in who I was. "I already told you there was one to the left of the back door."

"I know," I confessed, raising my voice a tad to not seem so weak and timid. Then the thing I had been wondering all day -- or since I arrived here -- hit me and I could no longer hold it in my mouth. "Why aren't you downstairs?"

"I could say the same thing," Theodore Royce sighed as he opened his door all the way. He walked back into his room and sat on his neatly made bed -- further proof he was a nerd. He hadn't told me to enter, but I followed anyway knowing that somehow he had hinted it.

"I've already graduated." He stated simply. "Last year."

There was a slight pause and I responded. "They're dancing now."

Another awkward silence occurred. Theodore was studying me – his clear eyes seeming to know everything I was thinking. But that wasn't possible because he wasn't Edward Cullen. And even if he was, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like him as much. (There's something creepy about someone knowing what you're thinking.)

"I'm also not down there because of this girl I know," he said, obviously admitting a fact he wanted no one to know. I suppose I should feel flattered that I seem like a trust-worthy person.

"Who?" I blurted out without thinking; I amended myself just as quickly. "I mean, you don't have to tell me."

He chuckled lightly. "You know the girl with light brown hair? Sort of reddish in the sunlight? And blue eyes?"

I thought to the girl who had been sitting under a pine tree reading -- all the while talking to a large group. She was clearly popular.

"I know who you're talking about, but I don't know her name."

He closed his eyes and sighed, "She's Clara Lark."

"Oh?"

He opened his green eyes and looked at me. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Listen, she and I used to date. But then something came up and, well -- it's difficult. You wouldn't understand."

The only thing to say came naturally to me; I didn't even have to think about it. "Try me."

And so he did.