Page 4 of Save Me

However, this crowd is definitely the epitome of American teenage clichés, and I’m most likely going to stick out like a sore thumb. In fact, I’ll probably be relegated to my own, solitary group, which will be known as the ‘British prude’ clique. Perhaps I could persuade Mum to let me remain home-schooling for my last year, take up being a recluse until I’m forced into the next phase of my life. I might not have anyone but a kettle and a mug for company, but it would be a heck of a lot easier than trying to fit in with people who are the polar opposite to me.

Snap out of it, Beth! This is supposed to be your last hurrah. A chance to embrace your freedom before everything gets ripped away from you!

I should be out enjoying myself instead of sitting on the outskirts of Casey’s back garden while she throws a party. This is so far out of my comfort zone it feels like someone’s scraping their fingernails down the length of a chalkboard. She clearly hates me and most likely had a similar rant with her mother to that of the one I had with mine. Why do parents feel the need to interfere when they’ve all been here themselves? Don’t they remember being this age and wanting their own parents to butt out of their lives? Or do you hit your forties and have your memories magically eradicated and replaced with ideas for how to make your teenage daughter’s life as uncomfortable as possible?

The only positive to this hellish night is knowing that Dad is currently sat at a party which he equally doesn’t want to be at. He’s probably secretly shitting himself over my being here. Not that he has anything to worry about for I’m about as likely to hook up with someone as I am to lead a happy, independent and fulfilled life. It made me feel beyond angry when he had put on a stellar performance of convincing me to come to this awful party. However, my mother is blissfully ignorant to his naughty little secret, so every now and then he has to put on some sort of pretense to cover his tracks. A small part of him also believes that these people are respectable, and more like the sorts of company I should be keeping. He openly shows contempt for my actual friends from the beach. Suffice to say, I came for Mum’s benefit, not his!

I decide to stop being a bitter old woman and return to my novel, losing myself in the story which is currently my fantasy fairy tale and savior from the reality that is my life. If I remain quiet enough, I can sit on my secluded bench, heavily disguised as a bush, and stay out here, in the warm Californian climate, until I’m forced inside by either frozen feet or mother nature acting upon my bladder.

“Hey, hey, who do we have here?”

Oh shit, it’s the natives!

Xander

Casey’s bash is another fuck fest full of the usual crowd of popular people all looking to hook up or to gossip about who did, come Monday at school. I’m as game as the next guy for easy women and losing myself in a bottle of something cold and alcoholic; I’m no prude. However, with the end of my high school career fast approaching, I’m just not that pumped about it anymore. The boys and I have been camping out in the basement, playing Xbox, with only Matt’s new squeeze for female company. Though somehow, they’ve managed to talk me into calling Bodhi for a stash of his weed and a quick sweepstake of the food on offer. I’ve not had a drag in months, but I sure could use it tonight, and everyone knows the only guy to go to for the good stuff, is Bodhi.

Meandering through the usual flesh on show, together with the couples trying to hide while they fuck each other against the outside walls to my house, I huff out noisily. It’s kind of depressing to admit that all of the usual bullshit doesn’t excite me the way that it used to. Perhaps I peaked too soon, or maybe I’ve done the unthinkable and grown out of it all.

Standing in the bushes at the back of my house, waiting for Bodhi to turn up, has me feeling like a creepy perv who’s getting ready to reveal himself to the next unsuspecting passer-by. Apparently, my mother was flashed at her local park as a teenager; her friend stood aghast while Mom pointed and laughed at him. Thankfully, he just ran off, having got his kicks by a bit of light exhibitionism instead of going one ugly step further in his quest to get himself excited by terrorizing young girls.

I start bouncing up and down on the spot, trying to rid myself of excess energy while I wait impatiently for the stoner to arrive. Bodhi hates these sorts of parties, always has done, so I had to agree to let him come in through the back so he wouldn’t have to converse with the elitist crowd that roams my school. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve played the part of the privileged brat for a few years now, but after my initiation into the family business, and seeing all the things that I have, everything I used to deem important now seems immature and overrated, not to mention temporary. This time next year, high school will be nothing more than a memory.

Casey, my twin, however, spent the summer working on her tan, getting her nails done and gossiping with a gang of similarly spoilt princesses. I’m not afraid to say I love my sister, but if we weren’t related, I’m not sure we would be able to tolerate one another. We’re just too different.

Fuck me, where is Bodhi? He’s so laid back, he should come with his own traveling gurney. The dude is always late and couldn’t give a shit about it. It’s damn infuriating, to say the least. But why should he care? The guy lives the life of a God, not giving a crap about anything or anyone apart from surfing, the beach, and maybe, Annie. How many people live like that and are as happy as he is?

My hyperactive jumping on the spot halts as soon as I hear voices in the nearby vicinity, prompting me to hide out in my very own backyard. A male timbre rings through my ears, and it sounds familiar, both annoying and worthy of a punch to the face before you even begin a conversation with him. The other voices must belong to his friends, all laughing and talking shit about absolutely nothing worth saying out loud. I’m pretty sure I know the first one, Kyle, who has an off-and-on relationship with my sister, hence why I usually want to throw my fist into his face at least several times a day. Of course, I usually refrain from doing so because it’s her choice who she takes up with. Who am I to get involved and act as an authority on her? Even if she does have epically poor taste.

Building on my apparent need to look like the aforementioned pervert, who likes to hang out in bushes, I shuffle forward to get a better look at what they’re doing so far from away from the main activities of the party. I roll my eyes when I see three members of the football team loitering around someone sat on one of the benches, though I can’t really see who it is or what they’re doing. I can only make out a pair of legs in skinny jeans and some plain flip-flops.

Jason, who looks like his mother dropped him frequently as an infant, is draped over some chick called Faith, who is so far gone someone should be taking her back home with a health warning slapped to her head. The way her eyes are rolling around, together with a permanent look of someone stuck in a daydream, tells me she’s going to feel like she could cut out her own brain tomorrow morning, probably with copious amounts of projectile vomiting too. Brett, the least annoying one of the bunch, is slouching as he walks around, sucking on his cigarette like it’s oxygen. And then, as correctly guessed, there is the biggest idiot of the trio, Kyle. He’s harmless enough, but he is so fucking annoying, he gives Woody Woodpecker a run for his money.

It’s only when Jason pulls Faith back to the party, which is probably a lot harder than he’s making it look, I see who Kyle is trying to chat up. It’s a girl, probably from our year, yet I’ve never seen her before. She’s not the usual type to frequent my sister’s events. In fact, I would go so far as to say she looks like she was in search of the local skate park but took a wrong turn and got lost amongst the booze and semi-naked bodies. For starters, she’s wearing skinny jeans with a black hoodie, almost trying a little too hard to cover herself up, particularly as it’s still summer and the climate doesn’t warrant such wintery attire. Her blonde hair is pulled back into some semblance of a braid, though half of it is now hanging around her face, and her make-up is minimal. Put that all together with the fact that she’s sitting with her knees pulled up close to her chest, trying to read in the middle of Casey’s ‘New Senior Year’ party, and she looks more than a little out of place. She makes no attempt to acknowledge the two idiots surrounding her and maintains a neutral expression with only eyes for her kindle. I like her already. Don’t know who the fuck she is, but I like her style.

“Hey, girly,” Kyle says with a smirk and I cringe with embarrassment for the idiot. “Whatcha reading?”

She continues with her book, not even looking up, with only the flicking of her finger across the screen to remind everyone she is actually a living being and not a statue.

“It’s cool, it’s cool!” Kyle bobs his head up and down, takes a drag on his cigarette, before blowing rings of smoke up into the air, stupidly trying to impress her. The girl merely wrinkles up her nose, subtly showing that she’s not a fan. Of course, subtlety is not Kyle’s strong suit, even when he’s sober and not trying to act like a prick.

“Sam and I are on the football team,” he says as he leans in closer, “both totally buff and well-endowed, if you know what I mean.”

“Good for you,” she eventually replies, monotone, and with what sounds like a British accent.

“Fuck!” Kyle drawls. “You have an accent? I think I’ve just died and gone to boner heaven!” Again, she wrinkles her nose like something has turned her stomach, while Sam offers an over-the-top laugh for his stupid friend who is now pretending to melt off the bench. When he recovers, he moves in just that little bit closer to her. “Hey, I’ve heard you Brits like a butch guy,” he says, then flexes his arm in front of her face, “check out the guns!”

“Actually, I prefer skinny guys,” she replies with a sigh, still not looking up from her book. “I like to know I can outrun them if I want to.”

Touché, I think before grinning to myself.

“Hey, baby, there’d be no outrunning me,” he replies, licking his lips and creeping the poor chick out. “Care to see what I’m capable of?”

“Well, judging by your lifestyle habits, I would say I’m maybe in with a chance of outrunning you,” she says when she finally looks away from her book, but only to glance at the cigarette butt that’s hanging from his hand.

“Oh, here we go,” he laughs theatrically while shoving his head back over the bench, “another health-conscious hippy trying to tell me what smoking does to a guy. Is that why you’re being so coy? Worried about falling for a badass?”

“God no!” she laughs, then covers her mouth with her hand while Kyle smirks smugly at her, thinking she’s merely playing hard to get. “I could never go near you!”

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