Decode // Michael Clifford

Chapter 2

10 . 7 . 2008

“I don’t want to go to some stupid party tonight,” I mumbled as Haley and I trudged up the driveway to Michael’s house. It was a huge, white brick place with three stories and a ground-level window that signaled the presence of a basement. The house and surrounding lawn were spotless, untouched by age, nature, or pratically anything else. The large, ornate windows were practically shaking at the volume of the heavy bassline from the music coming from inside.

“You never want to go to parties,” Haley replied dismissively, rolling her eyes and waving her hand carelessly.

“Exactly!” I shot back. “Wouldn’t that give you a clue that I don’t want to go to this one?”

“Oh, my socially retarded best friend,” Haley sighed good-naturedly, looping an arm over my shoulders.

I shrugged off her arm and mumbled, “Social anxiety. I have social anxiety, Haley. I’m not retarded.” She wasn’t listening though, and I stopped trying to argue. Even if I decided not to go, we were already here and Haley was the one with a car. Resigning myself to a night of utter misery, I crossed my arms defensively over my chest and followed Haley, watching her light blond hair shimmer in the glow of the front porch lights.

As we walked in through the open front door, Haley pumped her fists into the air and yelled, “Party’s here, bitches!” A couple people who obviously knew her cheered; everyone else either ignored her or couldn’t hear her.

Her slim body squirmed through the mass of people, and I hurried to keep up, desperately attempting to not touch anyone and murmuring quick, “excuse me”s and “sorry”s. They did no good, no one could even heard me over the music, but I kept doing it anyway. I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening as the bodies pressed around me and voices and music filled my ears, but I ignored it as best I could.

I finally reached Haley as she approached a group she knew and immediately began chatting with them. I stood awkwardly off to the side, both arms crossed over my body, hugging my stomach. No one so much as glanced at me and I would have liked to keep it that way.

Unfortunately, Haley had other plans. Her dark brown eyes turned to me and she said loudly, “Everyone, this is Quinny! She’s been my best friend since, like, forever.”

All eyes were no focused on me, and my stomached clenched so painfully I felt like I might faint. I was so intent on the feeling of nausea and anxiety that I didn’t even notice the stupid nickname Haley called me. I could feel each gaze like it was a spot of fire on my body.

Slowly, I shot everyone a little wave. Haley blabbers off the names of all the people crowded around, but I knew I would never remember them. I let my eyes trail over the few closest to me hesitantly: a dark brunette with a puppy-like exuberance and a short, slim girl hanging off his arm, and a brown-haired boy with an easy smile and bright hazel eyes. I tried my best not to show how much I didn’t want to be there, a small, painful smile plastered on my face.

“You ever been high, Quinny?” The dark brunette was staring at me with a question in his chocolate colored eyes. My gaze behind my glasses flickered down to his hand, where he held a lit joint between his fingers. At least, I thought it was a joint. I’d never actually seen one before, but judging by the fact that it looked a lot like a handmade cigarette, I figured it couldn’t be anything else.

“My name’s not Quinny,” I mumbled in response. “It’s Quinn.”

The boy shrugged, obviously not giving two shits about my name. “Whatever. Wanna get high?”