Innocence At A Party
by Amber Averay
Check out Amber’s Facebook-https://www.facebook.com/TheEnchantmentSeries
The verbal invitation had been unexpected, the follow-up text invite even more so. Abby wasn’t accustomed to being asked to anything, let alone a party for the one-year anniversary of their high school graduation. A loner, bookish and shy, she had been largely ignored by her classmates and therefore had missed much of the typical teenager’s ‘firsts’: first boy-girl party, first date, first kiss… She flushed at the reminder, that at eighteen she’d not yet been kissed or gone out with a man. Yet the life of a self-appointed loner wasn’t really conducive to the party-scene. Or the dating scene. Or the kissing… Or the flirting…
So when she’d bumped into Claudette at the local florist’s and the former popular girl had beamed, pulled her in for a hug, and then informed her of the party in a fortnight’s time and asked if she would go, Abby had smiled and shrugged and mumbled something about not knowing what her plans were. But later that night – somehow having gotten hold of her number – she’d received a text from Claudette repeating the invitation and the assertion that ‘it just won’t be the same without you there!’
Abby had replied with a tentative ‘yes’, and in the days that followed debated with herself about actually going through with it or making her excuses and staying home. You never go anywhere, love,her mother pointed out needlessly. I don’t need to, she’d replied simply.
But somehow, inexplicably, her curiosity won out, and Abby informed her mother that she’d decided she would go. Butterflies swirled in her belly, she felt sick with nerves, and she continued reminding herself this was something she’d need to get done: one of her ‘firsts’. And who knew: it might lead to others.
One step at a time, she counselled herself dryly. There was so much to do! What should she wear? How should she apply her makeup? How did she apply makeup? She’d have to do some research, watch some tutorials – and then go purchase some cosmetics. She’d probably end up looking like a clown, but she could always leave if things got really uncomfortable, right?
The day of the get-together, Madeleine sat her daughter down and awkwardly told her of things that went on at new-adult parties. Abby in turn fought discomfort at this conversation, and amusement at her mother’s sweet attempt to explain and prepare her for the coming night. ‘Girls can be bitchy, whether drunk or sober, so please be careful. And boys…well, they can be downright untrustworthy. Ifanybody gets you a drink, do not trust that they’ve not put anything in it. Always – always – get your own beverages, never leave them unattended, always keep an eye on them, never give anybody your bag to hold on to… It was an endless list of nevers and alwayses and Abby wondered if her mother advised her based on personal experience or just repeated things she’d read in the papers.
At last the time had come, and Abby parked her car down the street from the party and walked the hundred or so metres to the front door. She felt good, she felt nervous, she felt excited…and she actually felt pretty. Confident. Ready.
When the door opened she found herself sucked into a swirl of noise and people and movement. Coloured lights strobed in time with the pulsing beat of the music, bodies twisted and writhed and jumped, drinks were consumed and spilled in equal measure. She was greeted with an indifferent hug by someone she vaguely recognised and directed to the food near the staircase and the bar beyond the doorway. She felt like a cog grinding through multiple wheels as she dodged her way to the laden trestles.
She didn’t seem to breathe again until she stood with the food, paper plate in hand and staring at the dubious selection. She was hungry, but the sight of a drunk former classmate sneezing over the table turned her stomach and she set the empty plate down again.
‘Some people are just filthy, aren’t they? I wouldn’t risk eating anything after that explosion.’
Abby made noises of agreement, the sounds dying in her throat when she met the twinkling gaze of the most breathtaking man she’d ever seen. ‘I… Yeah… Gross… I mean, I… Yeah, I won’t be touching any of that now,’ she babbled, flushing bright red and hoping the strobing lights concealed it from him. ‘Just a bit…you know…uh, disgusting.’ Have you never spoken to anybody before? she berated herself, imagining him turning away from her in pity and seeking someone who could actually string two words together.
But the guy laughed, and it was infectious. Abby smiled, albeit hesitantly. ‘Yeah, so gross you’re lost for words. I get it. Pigs have better manners!’ He knocked back the rest of his drink, set the empty cup on the table’s edge, and crossed his arms over his chest.
His broad chest, Abby thought to herself, struggling to keep her eyes on his.
‘It’s weird being around everyone again, isn’t it? I mean, we spent years together every day, and then after a year apart it’s weird but…not, too.’
Abby nodded dumbly, then realised he waited for her to speak. ‘Oh! Right. Yeah, it’s…it’s definitely strange. I mean, as you said, after spending so many days together, and… Look, I’m sorry, but I have no idea who you are.’
The tall man with the thick black hair threw his head back and laughed. ‘I knew it! You sat in front of me in History four years out of five, and I don’t think you ever spoke a word in any of the classes.’ Grinning, hazel eyes sparkling, he held out a large hand, which she took tentatively, and he said, ‘I’m James. Madden. James Madden.’
‘From History,’ she smiled, her hand tingling where it touched his. ‘Oh! Sorry. I’m Abigail. Abby. Knightley.’
‘I know. I used to look over your shoulder at the sketches you did when you were bored in class. I used to always make sure I was near you so I could check out what you’d draw. You’re very good.’
She blushed harder, looking down at the floor and wishing she could think of something clever to say back. ‘Hey, I…’ She was abruptly cut off when someone spilled their drink down her new shirt, the liquid cold on her hot skin. ‘Oh, damn!’ she cried, as James shoved the clumsy dancer away and grabbed a handful of napkins. He pressed them to her top, hesitated, then awkwardly handed them to her.
‘Bathroom’s through there and to the right,’ he said, pointing, and Abby thanked him and hurried as best she could through the swell of dancing people. By the time she made it through, another three people had spilled their beverages over her. Waste of money this was, she thought ruefully, frowning at the coloured wet stains splashing her shirt.
When she returned to the party, her top no better than when she’d left him, she found James leaning against the bar, tapping away on his phone. He smiled when he saw her, and just when she reached him somebody tripped into her and she dropped her handbag. ‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered, scooping it back up and standing as close to James as she could without seeming forward. ‘Nothing I could do with the shirt,’ she said, and he shrugged cheerily.
‘It will get more crap on it before you leave. I wouldn’t stress if I were you. Oh, I ordered us some drinks.’
Abby thanked him, then paused. Her mother’s warning came back to her, about men and drinks and never consuming anything she’d not grabbed herself. She bit her lip, wanting to trust James but suspicious all the same. Thanks, Mum, she thought sourly, then had an idea.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked, pointing behind James at a random girl dancing on a table. He turned, and she quickly swapped their drinks, holding her new cup to her lips as he turned back. ‘I have no idea,’ he confessed with a shrug. ‘She looks familiar…a little bit. Maybe.’ He shrugged, and took up his own cup.
After a short time James was noticeably different. Blinking owlishly, his head nodding, speech slurring, he squinted at her and mumbled, ‘I don’t feel so good.’
Despair filled Abby, humiliation that her mother was right and she, Abby, had misjudged James so horrendously. ‘Put something in my drink, did you?’ she said coldly, fighting the tears brimming in her eyes. ‘Got what you deserve, I think.’
James squinted harder, eyes unfocussed and gleaming. ‘I…bought you a drink, and…they served it when you dropped your ba…ba…bag.’ He struggled to speak clearly, and Abby leaned closer to hear him. ‘I…like you, Ab-by.’
Her forehead creased, and she glanced from the cups to him. The drinks were served when she dropped her bag? Surely he wouldn’t have had enough time to drop something in hers…
Confused, scared, she glanced at the bar, past the bar to the drinks in tubs filled with ice, and unexpectedly caught the eye of the blonde-haired man supplying the drinks. He tipped her a wink, then looked puzzled, gaze sliding from her to her cup, then to James, and back to her. Realisation bloomed in his face, a sort of horrified amusement, and he set down the stubby he was holding and darted out through the nearest door.
Abby sighed, sickened and yet relieved that she hadn’t misjudged James. ‘Poor thing,’ she sighed, wrapping an arm about his waist and starting to guide him through the heaving crowd. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
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