Chapter 15: "Just get out of my way."

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Grizz's house isn't visible yet beyond the bushes and trees that line the street, but the blaring music is so loud that it seems to vibrate the road leading to his house. As I walk closer, I begin to hear voices, of people laughing and yelling, some probably already drunk or high. It's as if I'm an anthropologist, going to visit a strange land and immerse myself in a civilization I know nothing about.

Does Grizz know what I look like? What if he kicks me out of the party for being a stranger?

I had settled on an uncomplicated outfit, the same way I always dress to school, and applied only enough makeup to appear less zombie-ish. Before leaving the house, my mother had insisted on having Matty take a picture of me to mark this special occasion.

"RONNIE!!" Will yells and runs forward as soon as I step through the opened front doors. He wraps his arms around me and lifts me up. The alcohol is strong on his breath, and the smell alone makes me dizzy. After putting me down, he speaks again, and his words are slurred and whirring, "I didn't think you'd come. I told him, I'm like, Grizz, she ain't coming."

"Yes! I'm here!"

"Have a drink." He shoves a beer bottle into my hand, then puts his arm around my neck. "So what's your deal Ronnie? You got a guy? 'Cuz if not, Grizz is all into you."

"Really? He likes me?" I can't help but smile brightly. No one has ever expressed any real romantic feelings in me before, or at least not in an obvious manner. Once in the third grade a boy named Jack gave me a flower he had picked during recess. This had prompted everyone in the class to laugh, and he never spoke to me again.

"Yeah, so what should I tell him? He's been annoying me for a week."

"I don't really know Grizz. I've never spoken to him. Maybe we should have a conversation first?"

"See? This is why we're friends. You've got that hot logic," Will says as his arm drops from my neck. "Imma go tell him. You stay here, and don't get wrapped up in any other guy or Grizz'll kill me."

It's difficult to imagine guys showing interest in me. Not because I think of myself as someone unpleasant or downright awful, but rather because I've deliberately blended myself in with the background of reality, like those animals that have the ability of camouflage. When I was younger, I used to imagine myself as Wednesday Addams, in that scene where she paints herself up to look like wallpaper. Except I don't do it to spy on an evil nanny. I do it to disappear.

After Will stumbles away, I'm left alone. As the music blasts on, not a single person talks to me or looks at me, so I take the opportunity to observe the setting. A loud carousel of people, engaged in banter or games like Beer Pong, all seeming to have the time of their lives. I wonder if beneath it, some of them might be sad, or hiding devastating secrets, or broken beyond healing.

I spot Jay's friends huddled in one corner near the kitchen. They're dressed as if they're at a grand, lavish party, and contrast greatly with the informal appearance of everyone else. Pointing subtly and guffawing at random guests, it's clear they view themselves as superior. I wonder why Grizz invited them, since they don't run in the same crowd. Or maybe they crashed. Fearful of being seen by them, I move back slowly and step behind another group.

The place is quite nice, not too big but very beautifully decorated. There's an open-concept kitchen with contemporary black appliances, glossy white cabinets and white marble counter tops. The floors of the hallways and living room are all dark grayish hardwood, and every wall appears freshly painted. Though every colour is uncomplicated, white, opaque tones of gray, muted blues and black, the overall ambience is striking.

I begin to drink my beer as I move through the house, looking for Will. Even if I spend the rest of the night in searching silence, never actually joining in on the fun, this will be a fantastic night. I like watching, marveling, and studying. Maybe one day I'll actually try to become an anthropologist.

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