probably should be talking about, it’s almost not completely bad being at the party. The punch really

sucks, though.

Invisible fanfares announce the arrival of His Majesty the King, and everybody seems to stop talking

for a few seconds. And sure enough, a minute later, Rizzo casually enters the room with his date. I only

get a glimpse before they’re immediately surrounded - like he’s some kind of rock star.

I exchange a look with Casey, and his smile seems to carry a trace of sadness somehow.

“That’s just the way he is, I guess,” he says quietly, and I nod.

“Yeah, that’s the way he is.”

I let my gaze wander through the room, and frown when I notice someone staring at me darkly.

Great. Look who’s here: Danny’s little “friend” from the cafe, aka the Tall Pale Nuisance that just

doesn’t seem to know his place. And wow, in such a brilliant disguise too, wearing a dark red shirt

instead of the usual black one. Nearly unrecognizable, if it weren’t for that familiar murderous look he’s

giving me. I’m not even gonna dignify this by staring back. I don’t get a chance to anyway, because

suddenly Danny steps to Casey and me, and I turn around to face him.

Tonight he‘s dressed all in black, with a head scarf that gives him the air of a bandit. His ruffled shirt

is unbuttoned all the way down to the last two, showing that amazing, perfectly tanned chest that just

makes me want to whimper. I don’t even dare to take a closer look at his costume. He has a sword, and

a pistol too.

“Who’re you supposed to be? Zorro?”

“Me? I’m a pirate, mate,” Rizzo grins roguishly. Dude. He’s got a fake gold tooth! And a golden

earring, I notice now. Looks awesome. And he’s sizzling as ever, maybe even more so tonight with that

sparkle in his eyes. Casey’s positively drooling, and I can’t even blame him. Who wouldn’t?

“And your date?” Casey asks with a glance at the girl in the pretentious period dress across the

room.

“She’s Scarlett. I was supposed to be Rhett, but the man has no sword, and I had to have a sword. So

now she’s that lass from Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Elizabeth,” Casey helps quickly.

“Bless you, laddie, that’s the name.” Danny grins, doing a fine pirate accent, and nonchalantly leans

on his shoulder. Casey seems to tense at the touch, and Danny’s grin broadens when he leans in close to

his face. “Where’s the rum, boy?”

“Uh. They have punch over there.”

“Punch.” Rizzo arches his eyebrow only slightly, but there’s something truly menacing to it, and

once again I know exactly why he’s the reigning star of the drama department. Then that irresistible

roguish grin is on his lips again. “I think we can do better than that!”

He gives Casey a little push in my direction, winks at me, and disappears in the crowd. A minute

later, I get a brief glance of a funny looking King Kong handing our pirate a small bottle with dark

liquor, then the two of them are gone.

* * *

Okay, I’ve really had it now. With this messed up birthday, and this hellhole of a party. Everybody just

keeps disappearing! Where the hell did he go? I can’t see Casey anymore as I’m fighting my way back

through the swaying masses with two brimful paper cups occupying my hands. Punch for him, mineral

water for me, and I’m mincing like a ballerina, trying to avoid elbows and people abruptly stepping

backwards for no apparent reason. It’s all moving bodies and absolutely no air, and a wave of

claustrophobia is just about ready to hit me. I manage to dodge an enthusiastically outstretched arm,

when suddenly someone bumps into me really hard from behind. I get pushed into the next guy’s back

like it’s a goddamned game of dominos, beautifully emptying the entire content of my cups on him.

“Hey, what the hell?!” the involuntarily showered one snaps angrily.

“Ah, for god’s sake!” First I turn the other way and stare right into the yellow eyes of Dracula, who

was apparently waltzing with a chick who’s either supposed to be a mermaid or a really bizarre looking

dragonfly.

“Forry,” his fanged mouth opens to a wry smile. Before I even get a chance to inform this jerk that

this is not the dance floor, I get an unexpected push from my other side. Irritated, I spin back around to

stare into a pair of really pissed off eyes.

“Back off, asshole!” someone spits at me.

I push back automatically, before I even recognize Goth Boy. “What’s your problem, man?”

With the black eyeliner smeared, his blue eyes seem all the more intense, virtually turning into fiery

daggers as he gets even more worked up. “My problem is that I’ve got an arrogant little fucker spilling

punch all over me!”

And it keeps getting better and better. Out of all of campus assembled, of course it had to be him

Dracula pushed me into. Why am I even surprised? Trust good ol’ Foley to find the most strained and

worst possible moment to have his first face to face encounter with this son of a bitch. “Do I look like I

did it on purpose?”

“Well, why else would you be spilling your crap all over me?”

Oh boy. This doesn’t bode well for either one of us getting out of this little heart-to-heart without a

couple of bruises. I take a deep breath and try to stay calm, and I say to him like I would to a little child:

“Room full of people. Carrying punch does not seem to go with that.” I guess I should also apologize,

but then again, that jerk shoved me. And so I just glare at him instead.

“Right. And I’m supposed to believe that it’s some huge coincidence that you spill it on me? I’m not

buying it.”

I roll my eyes. From the gigantic size of his widened pupils, I’m prepared to encounter a bit of

paranoia. “Well then, don’t. Whatever.”

“Don’t give me your damn ‘whatever’. Not when you’re coming over here, ruining my shirt and

pissing me off.”

“Right, that’s my purpose in life, pissing you off. All I do every day is wonder how to best piss off

Rizzo’s little lap dog.”

Bingo. For this, I immediately earn another hard push, and my being impressed with his eloquent

ways is growing by the minute. Real smooth. God, I really, really want to shove that bastard’s pushing

hands right down his throat. It’s not like I’d be missing much of a conversation.

“Screw you! I don’t even know what he sees in you!”

I don’t blink when I stare into his eyes, and he’s staring right back at me. “Someone not as messed

up as you are, I’d say, you sad little punk.”

The reaction to my calm words is unexpectedly rapid, and even more unexpectedly painful, because

this time, the push is so damn hard, it rams me right into a table, loudly knocking all kinds of things off

it; glass scatters on the floor. Oh hell! Everyone around us stops dead and gapes mindlessly.

“That’s not too difficult, is it?” His thoughtless reply is pure hatred, and it takes him at least three

seconds to realize what a clever thing he just said.

I smirk. “No, not really.” Slowly I stand up straight again and stare into the pale boy’s eyes.

“What’re you gonna do next, sophisticated? Hit me?”

Our audience starts to laugh, and I think I even hear some cheers, but I pay no attention to them.

Right now, I’m locked in his gaze, as he is in mine. And I swear, I can tell that he wants to beat the

living shit out of me, so much. But now he can’t, and even in his current state, he gets it, and it

infuriates him even more. I seriously doubt he’d manage to land a hit without tripping over his own feet

if he tried. My fist is practically twitching to be sent straight into his face, but I will not start a fight on