Looking around at the boys at this party, they all look the same, sound the same. Their jeans are too baggy, hanging loose in the crotch and making them look bigger than they are. Size is apparently important. The two standing next to me have been discussing the same game of football for about twenty minutes, reliving every goal and referee decision. They shove at each other while they talk, sniggering and trying to sneak swigs of alcohol from hipflasks they’ve swiped from their dads’ golf bags. There’s no need. There’s booze at the party – beer and boxed wine aplenty.
I move off through the mass of people squeezed into the small, overheated terraced house as I search for the bathroom. I pass couples snogging, like they’re trying to swallow each other whole, and I want to gag. I breathe in thick, heady cigarette smoke as girls try to look cool by dangling sticks of nicotine from their lips. Underlying the smoke is the smell of teenage hormones and warm beer.
The hallway is lined with people too; some I know and I greet them with a nod or a smile as I slide past. At the top of the stairs is a number of doorways. The bathroom could be through any one of them. I try the one straight ahead of me, jiggling the door handle.
‘Busy!’ someone calls through the door and I hear a toilet flush.
I lean against the wall and stare down the stairs at the bobbing heads below me, writhing to music that is so loud I’m wearing it like an extra layer, the lyrics distorted by the volume. Tracey and I were invited to this house party by Connie, a classmate at our school. I’ve known her and most of these people for years. We all moved from junior to secondary school together and finally we are on the brink of parting ways. I have mixed feelings about the impending split. While I’ve had some fun in the last few years, I find it all a bit tiresome now. Most of these people wouldn’t be able to have a sensible conversation about politics or economics, even if they wanted to. I’m actually looking forward to the exams and getting on with the next stage of my life.
It’s Connie’s eighteenth birthday party and her parents agreed to give her the house for the night as a last celebration before we all go into study leave hibernation. I’m not sure they knew what they were letting themselves in for though. Connie is very popular with the boys at our school and it looks like most of them are here, along with a fair few plus ones that weren’t on the original invitation list. Word of mouth has spread like wildfire and the place is packed.
I hear the bathroom door unlock. The guy who steps out of the bathroom looks familiar, but I can’t quite place him. Something about his dark hair that is two weeks too late for a haircut maybe or the utterly uncool Coca-Cola T-shirt he is wearing.
‘All yours,’ he says with a smile. He steps aside to let me pass.
As I’m about to move, a girl flies past me in floods of tears and slams the bathroom door in my face. I can hear the lock slide into place.
‘What the—?’ I say, gaping.
‘Wow, someone’s in a hurry,’ he says.
‘Yeah, looks like I’ll have to wait a bit longer.’
He nods, looks around, then says, ‘I’m Greg, by the way.’
‘Madeleine, nice to meet you.’
‘I think we’ve met before.’ He’s scrutinising me like I’m a painting on display. I push my hair behind my ears awkwardly. ‘Wait, were you at Stacey’s party a couple of weeks ago?’
‘Yeah, I was.’
‘That’s it then! I was getting a drink and I got one for you too? That cocktail thing she had in the big bowl – God, it nearly blew my head off.’
I laugh. ‘That’s right, I remember now.’
‘How about I get you another drink now? There’s no punch on offer tonight, but is there anything else you’d like? A beer or something?’
‘I don’t really drink beer. Maybe a diet coke though?’
‘Great.’ Then he does a bad Terminator impression: ‘I’ll be back.’
It’s a good ten minutes before he returns and I didn’t expect him to. I have taken to sitting on the landing with my legs stretched out in front of me, forcing people to step over me as I wait for the girl in the bathroom to unlock the door. My patience is running thin. A fluffy-haired girl called Lola knocked and was let in; I heard muffled sobs and screechy words; then a guy I don’t know with long hair the colour of flames also knocked and was admitted. If it is as simple as that, I’m willing to knock myself and see if I can fix the problem. There have since been raised voices, amplified as Lola then opened the door and left the two lovebirds to fight it out, but by the time Greg returns, the bathroom is suspiciously quiet.
‘Sorry, the place is heaving,’ Greg says as he plops down next to me on the carpet. He hands me a warm can of diet coke. ‘You not been in yet?’
‘No,’ I say with a scowl. ‘From what I can gather, this girl Michelle seems to be having a few issues with the guy that’s in there with her now. Larry or Lonny or something. I think they might be making up now though.’ I pull a face. ‘Hope they hurry up. I’m bursting.’
As I say it, the bathroom door opens and Michelle emerges draped over a very flushed Larry/Lonnie, his cheeks now the same colour as his hair. I leap to my feet and dash into the bathroom before anyone
