The Secret of Ella and Micha

stood in the corner, drinking water and sulking.”
    I flop down on the bed with my arms and legs slack over the edges. “That party is nothing like a college frat party. They’re the kind of parties you wake up from the next day on a park bench with no shoes on and a tattoo on your back, with no recollection of what happened the night before.”
    “Oh my God, is that how you got that tattoo on your back—the one you refuse to tell me what it means.” She lies on the bed next to me and we stare at the Chevelle poster on my ceiling.
    “It means infinite.” I tug the hem of my tank top down, hiding the tattoo on my lower back, and drape my arm over my forehead. “And I don’t refuse to talk about it. I just can’t remember how I got it.”
    She gives me a sad, puppy dog face and bats her eyelashes. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top. This might be my only chance to go to a party like this. The ones at my old neighborhood consist of limos, fancy dresses and tuxes, and a lot of champagne.” When I don’t respond, she adds, “You owe me.”
    “How do you figure?”
    “For giving you a ride here.”
    “Please don’t make me go down there,” I plead, clasping my hands together. “ Please .”
    She rolls onto her stomach and props up on her elbows. “He’s an old boyfriend, isn’t he? You were lying. I knew it. No one can draw a picture like that of someone they’ve never loved.”
    “Micha and I have never dated.” I insist with a heavy sigh. “If you really want to go see what these parties are all about, I’ll take you down there, but I’m not hanging around for more than five minutes.” I give in because deep down I’m curious to check up on the world I left behind.
    She claps her hands animatedly and squeals, looking out the window one last time. “Holy crap. Someone’s standing on the roof.”
    They say curiosity killed the cat. “Come on, party girl. Let’s get this over with.”
    ***
    About fifteen years ago, this town used to be a decent place to live. Then the factory that supplied jobs to almost the entire town shut down. People were laid off and slowly it began to dwindle into the bottomless pit that it is now. The houses across the street are painted in graffiti and I’m pretty sure my next door neighbor makes moonshine in his garage, or at least he did before I left.
    Inside Micha’s house, there are people loitering in the entryway. I push my way through them and into the kitchen, which is crammed with even more people. On the table is a kegger and enough bottles of alcohol to open a liquor store. The atmosphere is overflowing with the scent of sweat and there are a few girls dancing on the kitchen counters. People are making out in the corners of the living room where the sofas are shoved to the side, so the band can flare on their instruments, screaming lyrics of pain and misunderstanding at the top of their lungs. I’m surprised Micha isn’t up there playing.
    “Holy crap. This is…” Lila’s blue eyes are round as she gawks at the people jumping up and down in the living room, shaking their bodies and thrashing their heads.
    “Like a mosh pit,” I finish for her, shoving a short girl with bleached hair out of my way.
    “Hey,” the girl whines as her drink spills down the front of her leather dress. “You did that on purpose.”
    For a split second, I forget who I am and turn around to blast her with a death glare. But then I remember that I’m the calm and rational Ella; one that doesn’t get into fights and beat other girls up.
    “What, preppy girl?” She pats her chest, ready to throw down. “You think you scare me.”
    Lila bites her thumbnail. “We’re sorry. She didn’t mean to.”
    Chants fill the living room and the chaos is giving me a headache. “Sorry,” I strain an apology and squeeze between her and the wall.
    She snickers at me and her friends join in with her laughter as they sashay to the back door. It takes everything I have not to turn around and tackle her to the floor.
    Lila makes a beeline for the bar set up on the counter, dumps a drop of vodka into a cup, and mixes it with a splash of orange juice. “Okay, that was intense. I thought she was going to kick your ass.”
    “Welcome to Star Grove.” I shout over the music. “The Land of the Intense and Poverty-stricken, where the adolescents roam free without sober parental supervision and try to start fights wherever they can.”
    She laughs, takes a gulp of her drink, and