Remember Me: Part 16 - The Party “Okay, Locke, just stick by at least one of us throughout the whole party and you’ll be fine--we got you,” Sam said as we all walked up to the front door. Connor rang the doorbell. “B-but what about Mir--“ I said as the door opened. A tall, blonde girl answered and ushered us in with a “Hey, guys!” to us, and a “The rest of the hockey team’s here!” to the party. We got a bunch of hoots and hollers. I guessed hockey was a big deal at our school. The second she opened the door, the intense club music pounded in my ears. There were so many people it was insane. The house was so nice--I wondered if I’d ever partied here before. It was a huge house filled with expensive furniture and luxuries. The ceilings were high and there were a few chandeliers here and there. There was no carpet anywhere in the house, just hardwood and various stone tiles. As we walked through the door, I saw the grand staircase and balcony to the upstairs portion of the house. There was a short hallway, where we were, that lead to the kitchen by a decorative, ornate rug. To the right was a massive dining room with an entrance supported by marble columns that also connected to the kitchen. To the left, past the staircase, was another big room fully furnished to resemble a parlor, fit with two pool tables, a bar, and a bunch of other games. People flooded both rooms, as well as the main foyer area where we were. I couldn’t see into the kitchen yet, but it looked like there were people there too. The blonde girl stood in front of us, pointing. “You guys know it: drinks there, food there--“ Sam slapped a hand on my shoulder from behind and stepped to the side so he could see the girl. “Poor Locke here doesn’t ‘know it’, unfortunately,” he said. “He hit his head again the other day and has--yet another--case of amnesia.” She pouted her lips and made sad looking arcs out of her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, Locke,” she said as she gave me a sympathetic touch. She put her hand on her chest, “I’m Tiffany, but call me Tif. This is my house,” she gestured around, “and my parents are gone on their annual vacation to our condo in Florida. And this is Sansdale’s annual New Year’s Eve party--everyone is here. Juniors and seniors only though. Well, maybe a few sophomores here and there, but I’m friends with them, so--but no freshmen though!” “Alright, cool,” I said. “Make yourself at home, and party hard! I’ll see you around,” she said with a smile and a wave as she walked into the sea of people. Sam put his hand on my shoulder again, kind of hugging me from the side. “That’s Tif--Senior. Coolest chick ever. Thank God for her or else we’d never have cool parties like this,” he said as he pushed me forward into the crowd. “Her parents are, like, party animals,” he continued, talking close into my ear to make sure I could hear over the loud music and chatter. I scanned the faces of everyone around me, looking for Miranda. I still hadn’t figured out how I was going to approach her or what I was going to say to her, which made me anxious about how it was all going to play out. Nevertheless, I still was in desperation of finding her and fixing all of this. Sam went on, “it’s like they don’t even care! They stock up on all these booze before they go off to Florida, and they come home to them all gone, and don’t even question. They know what goes on, they kind of, like, encourage it...” “Locke! Connor! Sam! Randall! My boys!” some guy stopped us with his open arms right before we got into the kitchen. He was ripped, like the four of us. He wore an orange Nike athletic shirt and jeans. He had Randall’s haircut, but his hair was blonde. “Hey, Russell,” Randall said. They gave each other quick pats on the back. Randall looked at me, “This is Russell--he’s on the hockey team with us.” Russell cocked his head at me. “Don’t tell me,“ he began. “Yeah!” Connor shouted and swung his arms as if hitting something, “Locke’s hit homerun number three--he’s out of the park! Literally!” “Aw, maaan,” Russell said shaking his head. “That royally sucks, dude. I’m sorry. You were just getting better, too. That was pretty much all on me, dude, Nathan just pisses me off so much. I shouldn’t have knocked him over. But hey, at least you don’t remember that, right?” “Riiight,” I said, unsure of how he meant that to come across. “Right, man, well, we’ll be missing you at practice and stuff. Play-offs...mmph,” he grunted, squeezing his fist. “I know, right? I’m gonna have to get in the goal,” Connor said. “Lord, save us!” Russell cried to the ceiling. “I’m gonna go get a drink, later!” and he was gone. “I don’t think I like him,” I said. “You don’t,” Randall said as we walked into the kitchen. “No one does. But we pretend to. He’s too beneficial to our team, we all decided we had to try to keep him.” “He’s a real douche,” Sam said. Granite-topped counters, beautiful dark, wooden cabinets, polished stone tile flooring, a tall kitchen table, and even a matching Grandfather Clock all made the kitchen look more like a place of showcasing rather than a place of messy cooking. There was a long, granite island with about ten barstools. I sat down there after pouring myself a Solo cup of punch from the kitchen table. The guys looked thirsty, because they had gulped all of theirs down before even walking over to me. They looked like they were having a race, because Connor counted off his fingers to three, then they chugged. They did that a few times before coming over and sitting down. I sipped the red-orange liquid and winced. There was clearly alcohol in it. I sipped some more and wondered if I was a big fan of drinking before my second-to-last accident. “Hey!” a girl yelled from the left. She pushed through a few people before coming over and hugging Connor. Short and dainty, the girl wore tight, black jeans and an oversized, beige sweater with a black cross on it. Her hair was short, like a pixie cut, and brown. It poked out messily in different directions on the top and back of her head, while she sported swept fringe across her forehead. Her facial piercings and dark plum lipstick made her look a little rebellious. “What’s up?” Connor asked, still hugging her. “God, been waiting for you all to get here. That’s what.” Her voice was a little raspy. She took Connor’s drink out of his hand and sipped. “How you guys doin’? Haven’t seen you all since break started--well, except you,” she said, looking at Connor. Randall answered first, “I’ve been good. Been really bored since break started. All I’ve been doing is going to the gym. A lot. How ‘bout you?” “Ugh, don’t get me started,” she rolled her eyes. “First day of break, my car decided it wanted to die in the middle of 17 when I was going to the mall. I don’t even know what’s wrong with it. All I know is I don’t have a car and my dad is too lazy to take it to the shop. Fuck’s sake! So I’ve been stuck at the house most of the time. Connor comes over and all we can do there is play video games, since he’s a bum and doesn’t even HAVE a car.” Connor looked up and then looked over at her, “OK, we all know WHY I don’t have a car, so that can’t even be an excuse for you break being so lame.” “Psh,” she echoed into the cup as she took a long drag. “You know I’m joking.” She smiled, then stopped, “but really, get a car. How about you, Locke?” I opened my mouth, but Sam cut in, “Locke, Rachel; Rachel, Locke,” he said, gesturing to us both. Rachel was halfway through with taking another gulp from the cup. Her eyes fixed curiously on me as she lowered it. I took the liberty of introducing myself this time. “Hi, I’m Locke,” I said, “and the other night I woke up from a nightmare and hit my head on the bed. And I don’t remember you.” She laughed. “You’re kidding.” And put a hand on her hip. “He’s not,” said Sam. Rachel looked at me with concern, holding the cup inches from her face. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she said and took a sip. “Congratulations, buddy.” “Thanks,” I said. I took a long, long drag. “Love’ta stay and chat, but me and Connor are gonna go dance,” she said, looking us dead in the eyes. She took a last sip and threw Connor’s cup over her shoulder, grabbed his arm, and dragged him past us to the living room where a large group of people was dancing to the music. I looked at Randall and Sam, “Wow.” “A little much, right?” Randall said. “Connor’s into some weird chicks,” Sam said. “The last girlfriend he had tried to give him a septum piercing!” Randall said. He started laughing really hard. “Connor. A septum piercing!” “Guys,” I said seriously, “you gotta help me find Miranda.” “You know what,” Sam said sincerely, as if agreeing with me, “I think you need to just reelaax.” His hot, alcoholic breath hit my face. “For real, Locke,” Randall said, taking a sip, “we just got here.” He got off his stool and shoved me off mine, “Here. Let’s go to the parlor.” Sam agreed and they shoved me in front of them, back through to the main foyer, past the staircase, and into the parlor. Guys were hollering and bustling about. Two groups were spread around both pool tables, actively engaged in the games. I wondered whether they were drunk enough or not to play the game properly. A ton of people were at the bar, being served by some guy in a suit. “Check it out,” Sam said as we approached the bar, “Tif’s butler doubles as a bartender. Pretty sweet, huh?” “Uh,” I paused. “HEY! HEY-“ Sam said as he pushed through the crowd to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey! Let me get a good strong something for my boy, Locke over here who busted his poor, fucking head for nothing!” And out slid a short glass of clear liquid. He handed it to me. “Drink up, man!” “Nah, that’s OK,” I said. In case Miranda was here, I definitely didn’t want to be drunk and end up talking or acting like a complete fool in front of her. “C’mon dude, it loosens you up,” Randall said, nudging me. “I’d really rather not, I’m tipsy as it is. What was in that punch?” “You want some more punch?” Sam asked. “Here,” he handed me the glass, “I’ll go getcha some.” Sam headed off, pushing through the crowd. He stopped when some guy tapped his shoulder, making him turn around. They smacked hands and shook. The guy patted Sam on the back before they both walked off. “So, you’re not drinking that?” Randall asked, pointing to the glass. “’cause I will.” Before I could say anything, he snatched it out of my hand and finished it in three gulps. “Whoo!” he shouted, shaking his head. “Randall,” I said, “Miranda. Please. Help me find her. I don’t want her to be drunk by the time I do. I have to fix this, goddamn it.” I was getting frustrated. If she was already drunk, then my night was over; I’d probably have to wait until school started again to try to find her. By that time, I might not have the guys to help me out. I had to move quickly. What would be the point in trying to have a serious conversation with someone who’s drunk? “OK, man, yeah,” he said, “if that’s really what you want. I don’t think it’s a very good idea, though.” He started walking toward the living room. I trailed behind. He walked a little slowly and waved to a few people. “So, what are you hoping is gonna happen between you and Miranda after you talk to her? I mean--for the millionth time, Locke--it was forever ago.” I could tell Randall was becoming drunker by the minute because he wasn’t really watching the things he said. “You can’t just show up at some party and make up with you ex from freshman year and get back together.” “You don’t get it,” I said. We stood under the archway connecting the parlor to the living room. It would’ve been too difficult to go into the mess of people dancing to try to find one person, so Randall bobbed his head around, trying to look over peoples’ heads. “The lights are too low, and people are moving around too much; its hard to look there right now,” Randall said, turning to look at me. “OK, well, let’s try somewhere else,” I said. I thought I had a clear image of what she looked like in my head, but then I realized the only photo I’d ever seen of her was from three years ago. “What does she look like now?” “She’s tall, like, as tall as Tif... maybe a little shorter, actually.” He said, looking around. “Her hair is long, about down to here,” he pointed to his waist, “if she’s wearing it down, it’ll be straight, and the ends will be cut like a straight line,” he said, drawing a horizontal line with his finger. “And it’s black.” “Okay,” I said. I thought finding Miranda was going to be easy, but looking around at all the girls in the parlor with black hair, I took it back. “She’s got bangs like Rachel, swept across,” he continued. “If her hair isn’t down, her bangs always are, so it might be hard to find her, but not too hard.” I found a little hope in his words. We were both looking around now. “She doesn’t wear make up,” he said with a slight laugh, “’cause she doesn’t need it.” Most of the girls I was looking at had on at least some make up. “I don’t know what she’s wearing, obviously, but she’s probably wearing a dress like most of the girls here.” We started back through the parlor, looking all around. There was a group of guys taking shots at one of the small tables against the wall. A girl with a disbelieving look on her face showed a group of other girls her cell phone. Someone sank a ball playing pool and everyone cheered. I kept looking, but she was nowhere to be found. We searched around the bar with no luck either, so we went to the foyer. Tif was at the front door, greeting more people that came in. A girl and guy walked up the staircase holding hands, and another girl and guy were making out to the side of it. There were people huddled in groups talking and eating off the paper plates they held, while others were squirming through moving from room to room. There were short girls, tall girls, tan girls, pale girls, ones with long hair, ones with tied-up hair, short hair, colored hair, fancy hair. Most wore dresses but some went casual. A lot of them wore make up, but some went without. Some had glasses, some had piercings, and some had tattoos. It really was overwhelming that there were this many people here. “We’re never gonna find her,” I said. “C’mon, we haven’t even looked around that much yet,” he said. “Oh, look,” he pointed. “There’s Steph--she’s friends with Miranda. Hey, Steph!” he called and waved. She turned around and waved as we made our way over to her and her group of friends. She gave Randall a hug and asked how he was doing. She had huge hoop earrings and brown hair that was twisted up. She was as tall as Randall in her high heels. “So, Steph, do you know if Miranda is here?” he asked “Oh, yeah, she’s here,” she said, flipping her hand. My heart fluttered a little. “Why?” “It’s just--Locke, here, has been looking for her,” he said. “Oh,” she said, a little surprised. She looked at me cautiously. “Last time I saw her she was in the kitchen getting a drink.” “Okay, great, thanks,” I said. Randall thanked her and we bee lined for the kitchen. We pushed past people to get through and Randall almost knocked some girl over. “Okay, you go look over by the table and drinks and I’ll look over by the island,” he said, “that way, if she’s here, she’ll have less time to go somewhere else.” “Okay,” I said, and we split up. First, I went straight for the table and scanned around. A few times while we’d been looking for her, I thought I’d found her when I’d see a tall girl with black hair. I saw a few more girls with the same dark locks, but they didn’t fit the other criteria. She wasn’t at the table. I circled around a few times with no luck. I must’ve pushed past every person in that side of the kitchen before I stopped pretty close to the living room. There was no archway separating it from the kitchen like there was for the parlor or dining room. I was about to turn around to find Randall when I saw her. She was in the living room dancing, and although the lights were still low, she was close enough to the kitchen and the regular lighting to where I could see her face. It looked similar to the picture I had; it just had a more adult form to it. However, she looked nothing like the girl in my dreams. I wondered if my amnesia erased her image from my head. I didn’t really care. All I knew was that she was beautiful. Her hair was down, and straight like Randall said it would be. Her short bangs fell in her face as she moved back and forth to the beat of the music. No make up. And by God, she did not need any. She wore a short, black dress that was tight all around. When she flipped her hair out of her face, I could see she wore gold, dangly earrings that matched her long necklace. She held a Solo cup and shimmied up and down against some guy who was behind her. Randall came up next to me and started talking. “I couldn’t find her, man. Have you had any--“ Without looking at him, I knew he was looking exactly where I was. “Is that her?” I asked. “Oh, sweet Baby Jesus,” he said, “she is HOT!” He clapped his hands a few times then smacked my shoulder. “Well, there ya go, my man. What are you waiting for?” “That guy behind her to go away,” I said. She had turned around now, facing him. “Oh, shit,” he said. “Oh, God. I wonder if they’re dating.” ‘Well, fuck me,’ I thought. “How do you not know?” I asked. “Sansdale High is a huge school,” he said, “and it’s not like I’m friends with Miranda and know all of her shit. I do know that’s Matt. Matt Daily. Shit. Shit.” I never thought this would happen; I never imagined Miranda with a boyfriend. “Well,” I said nervously, “what do I do?” “Well, if they’re not dating, I think it would be appropriate to go in there and pull her out,” he said. I looked at him harshly. “But if they are, that move might get you punched, and you might miss your chance to talk to her. Plus, you definitely don’t want to start a fight in Tif’s house. You’ll get kicked out, meaning I’ll get kicked out, as well as Sam and Connor. Rachel would go berserk, and... it just wouldn’t be good for any of us.” “Well, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” “It’s okay man,” he said. “We’ll figure something out. Plus, they can’t dance forever. Let’s go ask Steph if they’re dating--as awkward as that might be.” “Ugh,” I groaned, and followed him back out to the foyer. We found Steph and her friends, still in the same spot they were before, thankfully. “Hey, guys,” she said. “Find Miranda?” “Yeah, yeah,” Randall said. “Except... She’s grinding on Matt Daily. Are they together?” “Yeah, they are,” she said. She looked at me, “Uh-oh, is that a problem?” Randall made an uncomfortable expression, “Yeeeah.” Steph sucked a sharp inhale through her teeth. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I can do to help.” I felt like I was going to throw up. “Please, please, Steph,” Randall begged. “I really need to talk to her alone,” I said. “Is there any way you can peel her off of Matt for just, like, five minutes?” “Hmm,” she said, looking around. After a moment, she began: “Okay, yeah, I have an idea.”