Threat Level: Teacup

Michael
Upon getting us lost on the way to Molly’s street, with the insistence that I knew where I was going, I decided that I probably should have stopped trying there and then. It wasn’t like I didn’t have friends at school already; I’d known the guys since we’d been little, except Ashton. I didn’t need Molly, and she had a boyfriend anyway (which probably should have put me off of what I did when we did finally get to her door), so it wasn’t as if she’d ever acquire feelings for me somewhere down the road. I needed to get out while I didn’t have feelings for her. I rolled me eyes at my own thoughts and released a defeated sigh; I needed help. “I don’t know where we are.”
“You live here,” Molly responded, dumbfounded.
“Yeah, I know, but I’ve got no clue where St Andrew’s actually is.” I’d told her this in the first instance, but had swiftly taken it back to protect my ‘man’ pride. Looking back, I should have just walked up near my house and wandered around until I’d seen some signs – that would have been a lot less conspicuous than getting us lost in the middle of the city, completely embarrassing myself in front of a girl who knew I’d lived here since forever. “You should have just said so,” She smiled, offering me a hand to pull me along the street with. I let her drag me for a few metres, my shoulders slumped down and my head hung in shame. I’d wanted to impress her, but it hadn’t really worked out like that. “I was taking the long way!” I defended, crossing my arms across my chest like a defiant child. Molly simply laughed and shook her head, exasperated, her hair following her head’s every movement.

“Well, now that I know where your house is, I know where to pick you up from.” It had sounded much better before I’d said it out loud; apparently, I was channelling Luke and his less than effective flirting methods. Molly’s little nose scrunched up, creating little creases at the sides of her eyes. It looked odd on her too-pale skin. “What I meant to say was: my friend’s throwing a party tonight. Would you like to come?” I could see the cogs turning in her head, could see her lips forming to word no in my own. I knew I shouldn’t have asked her – her friends didn’t like me and she was only walking with me now in case she was concussed (she wasn’t). “Which friend?”
“Ash. Ashton Irwin. You don’t know him.”
“Then why would I go to his party?”
“Calum’s going,” I blurted, grasping at loose ends. I really wanted her at this party, but why would she have wanted the same thing? At this point, I’d hit her with a locker (twice!) and a full sized door; I wouldn’t want to be my friend, if I were her. “You know Calum.”
“Can I bring Jackson?” Jackson.

Molly
At the mention of Jackson, Michael’s face distorted barely noticeably. Maybe it was an invite only party – maybe I was imagining things? “Of course,” Michael said, his jaw a little tense. “Yeah, of course you can bring him,” He repeated, with a smile this time. I smiled back and stood up on my toes to give him a hug. While slightly forward, I felt he deserved it for all the trouble he’d gone through, pretending he knew where my road was. “Thank you for walking me home.”
“No problem. I’ll come get you at eight. Do you need to be in by a certain time?” I shook my head and smiled, even though I knew for a fact that I needed to be at home before ten on a school night. Mum had stopped checking on me before bed years ago; she wouldn’t even notice I was gone. “I’ll see you at eight.”

Why had I said yes? Because he was cute? Because I wanted to be rebellious? To make him feel better about accidentally hitting my three times? I’d probably never know, but this thought didn’t stop me from practically ripping out my own hair trying to figure it out. What did girls even wear to parties? I groaned, shaking my head at basically every item of clothing that I owned. I could have asked my mum, but that would mean telling her where I was going and why. Dialling Jackson’s number, I’d never been so frustrated in my life. I’d never even been to a party. “Hello?”
“You’re free tonight, right?”
“When aren’t I?” I laughed at his honesty and dropped another rejected shirt to the floor. “What do you need?”
“Will you come to a party with me?”
“A party? Molly, you don’t go to parties.”
“That’s why I need you for moral support,” I mumbled. I didn’t want him to feel like I only wanted him there so I wouldn’t be by myself and vulnerable but, in all honesty, that’s exactly why I wanted him there. “Alright, where is it?”
“Ashton Irwin’s place? I don’t even know who he is. What do girls wear to parties?”
“I’ll find it. Wear the blue dress with the denim jacket. Converse are fine,” He sighed, as though he didn’t really want to go. He probably didn’t, but I did (sort of – I was at least seventy-five percent certain), so I didn’t really care.

Upon hearing the shy knock at the front door a few hours later, that indicated Michael’s arrival, I prayed that my father was too busy to answer the door. Michael didn’t exactly look like model boyfriend material – his bleached hair (he insisted it was natural but his roots were terrible – maybe he’d tried dyeing it back to blond after something else) stuck up every which way and I’d been told he had an interesting fashion sense; you could only be so creative with a school uniform. Then again, Amber was my only source of information and Amber loved to gossip. “Where are you going?” Mum asked from the kitchen.
“Just going out with Calum from music. Jackson will be there,” I said, mostly to get rid of any reasons she may have had for panicking. Jackson was basically her favourite person of all time, at this point. And it wasn’t like I was lying to her. Calum would be there, and so would Jackson, and I was going out. “Oh! Is that Calum at the door?”
“Yeah, Mum,” I lied, feeling guilty, but not guilty enough to make me actually tell the truth. “I’ll see you later!”

Michael stood at my door with a happy little smirk on his face, his hair slightly neater than usual, but still an intentional train wreck. “Hi,” I said, smiling up at him. His black skinny jeans weren’t quite appropriate for the weather, but I guess it was eight o’clock at night and it could only get colder from here. “Calum’s in the car,” He said, smiling as I shut the front door behind me. I was getting into a car with a boy Amber claimed to be a criminal and the boy I used to sit next to in music. I definitely wasn’t going to die. “Neither of you are old enough to drive,” I blurted, stupidly. Calum had an older sister (which I knew already) and, apparently, their friend ‘Ashton’ could drive already. “Mali came,” He said with a nervous laugh, opening the car door for me.

This was definitely the worst idea I’d ever had. There were a lot less people here than I’d imagined, and it ended up as more of a… social gathering of sorts. Little bottles of beer were being handed out in the kitchen (were red cups a myth?), and I had to wonder where Ashton’s parents were. No one here was old enough to drink yet, by the looks of things. I wasn’t that much of a prude – I’d drink a little bit – but it concerned me as to who’d bought the alcohol. “Want one?” Michael asked, popping the lid off of a glass bottle with his teeth. I cringed and shut my eyes, nodding slightly. “Don’t do that again. You’ll wreck your teeth!” I told him, boldly removing the bottle from his fingers, accidentally brushing against his thumb. He flashed me smile before grabbing another bottle and pulling of its lid, again with his teeth. “I’m not kidding!” He simply grinned and ushered me out of the kitchen, which was beginning to fill with half-drunk teenagers I’d never met.

As the night went on, more and more people showed up, increasing noise and alcohol toxicity levels, and probably the quantity of unwanted conceptions, from what I’d heard on the stairs. So far, I’d yet to bump into Jackson and, while that made me nervous, I also felt like I had some freedom. I wasn’t Jackson and Amber’s toy, today. I was just Molly, and Michael was just Michael, and I was making new friends. “Molly, Ashton. Ashton, Molly,” Michael grinned as if he’d made a discovery worth a Nobel Prize or entitlement from the Queen of England. Ashton was quite tall, taller than Michael, but his blond hair looked a lot more authentic with its loose curls, which had clearly been swept back into what I’m sure he thought was a quiff. “Hi,” I smiled shyly, viewing the craters that were this boy’s dimples. Honestly, they looked more painful than attractive, but they made him look like and excited little boy whenever he smiles. His eyes shone as if he’d never seen a teenage girl before. “He’s always this excited, don’t worry,” Michael whispered in my ear, leaving a trail of goose bumps down my neck his breath was colder than expected. “Come with me.” I’d wanted to stay and talk to Ashton for a little longer, honestly, but I didn’t object and waved lightly to my new acquaintance, hoping he didn’t think I was weird for being a little bit shy.

Leading me into a bedroom upstairs, Michael ran a hand through his own hair. Was this all he wanted? To get me in bed? I scrunched up my face and remained in the door way as he sat down on the small bed, reaching around the side to grab something. “What’s wrong?”
“I- nothing,” I mumbled, playing with the hem of my dress. Why was I even here? Where was Jackson? My hands became clammy and I’m sure my face had flushed red before Michael pulled a guitar over the side of the bed. “Do you play?” He asked, evoking a sigh of relief; I had assumed the worst, and all for nothing. I nodded my head, slowly making my way towards the bed. I’d been taught how to play many years ago. “I haven’t played for a while.”
“Give it a go. You can’t forget how to play a guitar.” In truth, it had only been a couple of months. At worst, I’d be mildly rusty. I shook my head and bit my thumbnail, hiding behind my hair. “Then at least sing for me, while I play,” He insisted.
“I can’t! I don’t sing!”
“Then you’ll play,” He laughed, trying to force the guitar onto my lap. I shook my head, laughing as a girl stumbled in, more than drunk, with a boy at her heels, falling over herself as she apologised and stumbled out. I wanted to go home.

Michael had refused to play for me, since I’d refused to play for him, but when he walked me home for the second time, he was insistent. “I will eventually make you play for me. We’ll have you singing, yet!” He exclaimed, regally, which seemed to be sarcastic and out of character. “Did you have a good time?” He seemed nervous.
“I did, thank you. I’ll see you at school?”
“Yeah, hopefully not on the way to the nurse’s office.”
“Very funny,” I said, satirically, opening the front door of my house as quietly as I could manage. “Bye, Michael.”

“And what time do you call this?!” My mother hissed, just as I thought I’d gotten away with it. I inwardly cringed and wished I’d just swallowed my pride and told Michael that I had a curfew. Who had a curfew anymore? “Two thirty in the morning, mum,” I dripped, knowing I’d pay for it later. “Or Bob. I think it prefers Bob, myself.”