Page 13 of Dirty Chorus

“I’m serious. Where is he?”

“I dunno. Taking a leak.” He points his head down the hallway. I dip my head back and let out a frustrated groan. I was just down there.

“Who the fuck is that bitch?” I catch a glimpse of the girl throwing a drink in his face and strutting off, muttering “Fucking asshole.”

I push toward the hallway, dodging couples making out against the wall. I halt, seeing the massive line for that bathroom. That didn’t take long at all. Girls balance on heels, clutching their phones, and looking at the cameras to snap pictures.

He isn’t in line, and when the door bursts open, it’s not him. It’s another football player with alpaca hair. He's tall, thin and lanky. He flashes me a lazy grin, lifting his chin up. “What’s up, hottie?”

I grasp his shoulder, and he stops in his tracks. “Oh, you wanna have a good time, babycakes?”

“No! Have you seen Brody?”

He points his long nose toward the kitchen. “I think I saw him grabbing a drink. He was talking to Brittni.”

My heart skips a beat. Brittni? Did he stutter?

I race to the kitchen. The counter is littered with solo cups, puddles of melted ice, and of course no Brody. Just girls sitting on the counter singing along to the music, legs swaying.

“Oh my God! Charlie!” a girl squeals. I turn a full ninety degrees and it’s Naomi. The clumsy short cheerleader with the loudest voice and no volume control. I question how she got on the team sometimes. Her blue eyes are cakey with eyeliner and there's lipstick stuck to her front teeth. She’s drunk and too happy for my taste. “Girl, this party is lit! Come dance with me.”

“I’m sorry I can’t,” I wave a hand at her. “Have you seen Brody?”

She tilts her head to the side, tapping an index finger to her lips. “Uhh, yeah.” She bats her eyes. “He went into that room over there,” she waves her hand in the direction of a closed door. “With Brittni.”

My stomach sinks, the path to the door stretches out and becomes further away by the second. My ears start to ring, and the music turns into a dull roar, and I take a step, then another. My palms are slick, and my throat is dry.

I run to the door, but before I can even burst through, my brother Ryder grabs the door handle before me.

Chapter 9

Noah

Ihead over to Amy playing beer pong. She can’t even hold her composure. She’s swaying in place, hair plastered to her cheeks, as she bites down on her tongue, squints her eyes as she lines up her shot. The ball misses completely, bouncing off the table. She laughs too hard at nothing.

“Alright, that’s enough,” I say, stepping in. “Tony said you had until eleven, and it’s almost midnight. He’s gonna kill me.”

She squints at me, face churning into grey under the porch light. “But Noahhh!” she whines, “I’m winning!” Her words slur into one long, bubbly mess. She definitely isn't winning as the other guys are eating her up.

“We need to head out.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a party pooper.” She raises her cup to drink again, but her hand trembles, beer spilling down her arm.

“You said you were coming here to hang for a bit, not get shitfaced.”

“I’m...” she hiccups, and the gurgling is there. Shit. I don’t have any trash bags in my truck, and she's gonna be hurling chunks all the way home.

“You’re two cups from throwing up,” I mutter, taking the drink from her hand before she can fight me for it. “Come on. We are leaving.”

Amy rolls her eyes and staggers backward. “You sound like my brother! He’s sooo annoying!”

“I’m not your brother!”

“All the more reason to stay. Plus maybe someone here actually wants me.”

“I’ll take that as my cue to haul your ass outside,” I reply, but there’s no humor in it. Her pupils are glassy, her lips colorless. “We are done. I’m cutting you off.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, but her voice cracks halfway through. She tries to stand tall, but she has two left feet, tripping over herself. When she finally starts to turn green, I put a steadying hand on her shoulder.