Page 11 of If This Gets Out

I shove my hands in my coat pockets to ward off the evening chill and rock back on my heels. “We should head before Angel sends a search party.”

“Actually, we can’t find Angel.”

“What?” A gust of wind blows through, and I tuck my arms in for warmth against the early March chill.

“You haven’t seen him, have you? I figured you noticed.”

“Um, I couldn’t find him when I got here but I thought he was probably on a ride or something. Then that guy distracted me. Why didn’t you tell me he was missing?”

“He’s notmissing,” Zach says. “He’s probably around somewhere. I was gonna tell you but you were upset about the guy.”

I groan. “Fuck that straight, social-climbing asshole.” I spit out the words. “We need to go find Angel. Come on.”

“Yeah, fuck straight people,” Zach deadpans as we walk, and I’m reminded why it’s imperative for me to squash these recent crush-like feelings for him, stat.

“No offense.”

“Some taken. Ruben, it’s okay. Angel will be around somewhere. Jon’s probably with him by now.”

The concern that’s niggling at me must be obvious on my face. He’s right. He’s totally right, I’m just being overly anxious. But the thing is, Angel’s had a few particularly wildnights lately, especially during the second half of our tour. Mix exhaustion with unlimited money, low supervision, and connections with dozens of celebrities who use all sorts of cocktails to treat their own exhaustion and boredom, and things are bound to happen, I guess. Only tonight’s a gigantic night for Angel, and he’s surrounded by those very connections, many of whom will be giving himbirthday presents.Is it paranoid for me to want to make sure someone in this ridiculous event has spotted him over the last hour? If he’s not unconscious in a bathroom somewhere,someonewill have seen him. He’s unmissable on his most casual days.

The party’s gotten even busier in the past half hour, with the last of the fashionably late arrivals trickling in. I step around a peacock and scan the crowds of people. “See Jon anywhere?”

Zach spots Jon in a group of people congregating in the direction of the pirate ship ride, so we head over. Jon’s busy talking to Teresa Narvaez, the original cast lead of my favorite musical,In This House.When he sees us, he excuses himself and charges over. If I wasn’t so concerned about the look on his face, I’d be disappointed to miss the opportunity to meet Teresa, and I make a mental note to ask Jon to introduce me to her before the night’s out.

“It’s been over an hour, andno one’sseen Angel,” Jon says, his tone urgent. “Not even his parents. And I can’t tell them I’m freaking out without explaining to themwhyit would be concerning that he’s disappeared.”

“Okay, let’s be rational,” I say. “He’s probably on the property. I don’t think he’d miss his own party no matter what someone else offered. So, if he’s here, he’s probably inside somewhere, or someone would’ve run into him by now.”

Jon makes a show of turning around. “I can’t see many buildings here, can you?”

“I see porta-potties,” Zach says.

I turn to him slowly. “You don’t think…”

“Probably not,” he says, but he looks unconvinced.

“Great,” Jon says. “That’s just how I wanted to spend my night. Breaking into occupied porta-potties to search for our unconscious best friend. This bodeswellfor the tour.”

“Let’s keep those as a last resort,” I say. “I vote we try inside one more time.”

Inside, the party’s really started kicking off, with crowds of people eating, drinking, and filling the dance floor. I scan the room hopefully, but if Angel’s here, he’s buried by the crowd.

I start to head deeper into the room, when the DJ’s booming voice replaces the music.

“All right, everyone, if you’ll head on inside the main building, the guest of honor is about to arrive. Find a place and grab a drink, because I’ve just been informed the party’s about toreallyget started.”

I stop in place and turn to the other two.

“Well,” Zach says, blinking. “Sounds like we’re in the right place, at least?”

“Tell me he did not hide out somewhere for the first two hours of his own party so he could make a dramatic entrance,” Jon says.

I shake my head. “I need a drink.”

There’s a bar without much of a line to the left, so I head over to it, with Zach and Jon tailing me. “Erin said not to drink,” Jon says over the resumed music.

“Erin’s not here,” I say with a too-bright smile.

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