Some time during our conversation, Vicky had left me alone too, probably gone off to chatter and gossip with some of her girlfriends. Or girl friends, rather, emphasis on the space. My sister was straight as an arrow and just as oblivious. I'd tested extensively. That is to say, I'd filled the `recommended content' sections of her favourite social media sites with pictures of scantily clad girls, by looking at pictures of said girls whenever she left herself logged in — which was all the time.
... It may not have been the most conclusive of tests. After all, it had yielded no discernible result, nothing visible to the human eye or to my touch. Not arousal or attraction, and not even suspicion about why her feeds were filled with so many bikini models. Just plain old interest in the bikinis.
And she'd probably be interested in them even if they weren't being worn by beautiful women. So my machinations probably hadn't affected anything. Not that it mattered either way. Even if it had awoken something, Vicky's sudden discovery of her probably-non-existent lesbian side wouldn't really solve anything for me. She'd still be disgusted if she knew.
I shook my head, dismissing the worthless thoughts. With nothing better to do, and no clue where my sister had gone, I wandered about Dean's house, observing the party-goers as they moved and interacted with a detached sense of boredom.
Raucous laughter filled one corner of the lounge room — where the couches had been pushed back to the wall, leaving a big empty area in which people could mingle — and whispering gossip-girls another, while angry shouts and shoves erupted from a third. But all of it was drowned out by the mind-numbing thumping of the music, playing off one of those little speaker sets someone had plugged their phone into and turned up too high.
I couldn't stand it. So I went outside and found a seat in the garden, a nice smooth rock. It was a little better out here; but only a little. I could still hear the music, and there were still other people around. One trio shared cigarettes by the porch and chatted about inane bullshit like the latest episode of some TV show I'd never seen, and how some dumbass pop star had knocked up his girlfriend while high on cocaine. I tuned them out.
Elsewhere, a couple sat beneath a tree on the lawn. They seemed to be playing cards, though I couldn't make out the game from my rock. One girl lay alone, supine on the grass, making snow-angels — or she would have been if there was any snow, instead of just grass. Was she drunk already, or on drugs? Or was she just a straight-up weirdo?
A car pulled up at the curb. A skinny girl exited the passenger side, a similar-looking man getting out of the driver's. Her father? They talked for a minute, the girl growing visibly annoyed.
"Taylor!"
I turned. The voice belonged to a new girl who'd just came out from the house. She laughed-slash-squealed and hurried over to the skinny girl's car. I couldn't hear what else they said — not that I was particularly interested — but their conversation ended when the man got back into his car and left. The pretty girl pulled the skinny one with her into the house, off to join everyone else. The skinny girl didn't look very happy at the prospect. I didn't blame her; this whole thing wasn't as fun as it was supposed to be.
I picked up a pebble, turning it in my hands, inspecting the little imperfections on its surface, running my fingers along its smooth contours. I put it back down, then picked up another; a brown one. I traced the edges with my thumb. There was something soothing about pebbles, beyond the fact that I could touch them without getting flooded with information.
I was still getting that information, from the bacteria that surrounded me everywhere I went, from the ant that had come with the pebble, and from the fly that had just landed on my ankle. I'd learned to tune that out long ago, but it was still nice to touch things that didn't require that acclimatisation. And I mean actually touch with meaning; not just touch in the everyday sense, like the clothes I wore or the floor I walked on.
"Shit," someone said from behind me. I turned and managed to jump back in time to avoid the messy, projectile vomit of a wobbly-legged teen as he sprayed the garden. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth and glanced at me. "My bad," he said before collapsing in his own mess.
Another boy stared at me with wide eyes. "Dude," he said, nudging his friend with a foot without looking. His friend groaned. "I think you just threw up on Panacea."
I restrained my sigh. "It's okay," I lied, patting down my dress. It looked clean, and it felt it too. Both in the conventional sense and in my... more unique sense. "He didn't get any on me, I think." I squatted down and poked the vomit boy's neck with one finger. He groaned again.
He was fine. Nothing he needed me for. All the same, I gave him a minor fix-up and broke down what I could of the remaining vomit in his oesophagus, redistributing the nutrients through his body. I wasn't sure why. Habit, maybe. It just felt like something I should do.
"I'm really sorry," his friend said. "He, uh, went a little overboard on the free pizza. He's a bit of a cheapskate."
I stood and brushed off my knees, even though they weren't dirty in any way. "I told you, it's okay. And he'll be fine. Just get him some water."
"Water. Right!" With that, the guy turned and hurried back into the house, quickly gone from sight.
I glanced at his friend. He'd started laughing with wheezy breaths. Or maybe he was crying; it was hard to tell. I allowed myself a sigh and headed inside.
* * *
I drifted. Through the house, through the party, through the people. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, but I just couldn't bring myself to do the same. I didn't know anyone here, and Victoria hadn't kept her promise. I hadn't really expected her to, but her... abandonment... Well, it just kind of drove the point home: there was no place for me here.
I wanted to leave, to go home. But at the same time, I didn't. I may not have belonged here, but most days it felt like I didn't belong there, either.
In much the same way, I wanted to see Victoria, but I also didn't. I had a good idea what I'd find. And I didn't want to see that, to confront it again now, no matter how many times I'd seen it before.
Everything blurred together. A haze of boredom and disinterest overwhelmed me. Faces faded, sounds were drowned out by nothingness.
I found myself with a group of people I didn't know, all of us just standing around in a hallway. I had no idea how I had arrived there. My hands held a plastic cup containing cola. It was full almost to the brim. In however long I'd been holding it, I'd not taken a drink. I didn't feel the thirst.
The people around me talked amongst themselves. Laughter was frequent. I stood and listened. They switched between topics at the drop of a hat. I remembered Victoria's advice — I couldn't make friends without speaking to people.
So I tried. But most of the time, I had nothing to contribute.
Occasionally a topic arose that I did have something to say about, but they all moved on to the next before I could find the right words. And on those rare occasions when I did manage to get a few words out, it was at the same time someone else spoke — someone with a louder voice and more charisma than me — and I was drowned out. Even the girls on their phones were more active participants in the conversation than I was.
It was frustrating. I soon stopped trying.
The guy beside me bumped my arm, spilling cola onto my shoes — but thankfully not on Victoria's dress. I shook my foot out, grumbling under my breath. He didn't notice any of it. Nor did anyone else.
I'd had enough of this. It just wasn't working. I wasn't clever enough or outgoing enough or fun enough or whatever it is that makes people like you, and I didn't have the patience or stubbornness to get past it via pure will. This just wasn't me.
I withdrew without comment, and set out to find somewhere off the beaten path. Everyone here moved around in groups. If I found somewhere solitary to sit, somewhere I could be alone, I wouldn't be bothered.
Unless someone decided — without Victoria's prodding at every corner — to hit on me. That would be an interesting change of pace. But it would also never happen. Of all the people here, no sane girl — or guy, I suppose — would pick me to hit on. Unless they were cape junkies, but... they'd probably just be intimidated. After all, I'd often been described as standoffish in Victoria's celebrity gossip mags.
I spotted a small, two-seater sofa in a corner of the lounge room — unoccupied. It looked comfy. I headed for it, going around the edges of the room and skirting the makeshift dance floor. The crowd had thinned out somewhat as people had grown hungry or horny and went to find food or a secluded spot in which to violate each other's mouths.
I reached the sofa... just as another girl arrived from the other direction. We stopped short, looking at each other. She looked vaguely familiar — not surprising, since she probably went to Arcadia.
I wasn't sure what to do. I wanted to sit there on my own, but I couldn't exactly tell her to fuck off. Even if that wasn't a plain shitty thing to do, Carol would kill me. We were always meant to appear charitable and friendly. So...
I smiled at her as best I could. I was never great at smiling, but I'd had lessons, so I could manage in a pinch.
"You take it," we said in unison.
Silence.
Okay, not silence. There was a party going on around us. But neither of us two spoke or moved for a long while.
"Seriously," I said on auto-pilot. I wasn't thinking about the words; they just came out of my mouth. "You take it. I can find somewhere else."
The girl gave a lopsided smile, tilting her head a fraction. I wish I knew how to read body language, to understand what that expression meant. My power doesn't help with that as much as you'd think. "I can't do that," the girl said. "Besides, you got here first."
"No I didn't," I said, then thought, What the fuck, mouth?
"Take it anyway," she said. "It's no trouble, really."
She turned to start walking away and, like an idiot, I grabbed her elbow. "Wait," my bitch of a mouth said, taking matters into its own treacherous hands once again. "There's — I mean, it's a two-seater. So really, this whole conversation is stupid. Neither of us have to go anywhere."
She... huffed — a minor exhalation of air from her nostrils; a sort of almost-laugh, or almost-snort — and quirked her lips. "I don't know if arguing about a chair really counts as a conversation."
I laughed — that's the appropriate thing to do when someone makes a joke — but it came out as more of a nervous giggle and made me sound like a complete idiot.
The girl turned around, and my hand dropped from her arm. "You don't mind?"
"No." Yes. Dammit. "Not at all."
She looked at me for a moment. It seemed like she should have been pursing her lips in thought, but her expression didn't change at all. Finally, she shrugged and said, "Alright," then sat on the sofa.
I sat beside her.
Neither of us said anything else.
I took a sip of my water and watched the other party-goers as they danced — badly, for the most part — in the clear space in the middle of the room and chatted in small groups around the peripherals.
The girl beside me coughed quietly into her fist. Once. But other than that, she sat weirdly still, staring out across the makeshift dance floor at nothing I could locate. The only movement I could perceive out of the corner of my eye was the slow rise and fall of her breathing.
And that was it.
Nothing happened.
...for quite a while.
My eyes were drawn toward a girl seated alone at a dining table across the room. She was pretty — from behind, at least — but that wasn't why I noticed her. A boy had just walked up to her and tapped on the table, catching her attention. He smiled and said something. She laughed and said something back. A few more exchanged lines, a shaking of hands, and then the boy sat beside her, and they kept talking.
I remembered Vicky's advice again, from earlier in the night. About how I'd never make friends if I never spoke to new people.
I looked at the girl seated beside me. She was pretty, in a unique sort of way. And tall. Even sitting down, I could tell she was taller than me by a good margin. She might even be taller than Vicky — provided my sister wasn't cheating with her powers or high-heels. Vicky looked good in heels. This girl was wearing more nondescript sneakers, but actually, she'd probably look good in heels too. Long legs were good for those... or so I've heard.
Of course, my imagination immediately jumped to an image of Vicky making out with this girl, the both of them wearing nothing but heels. Good job, brain. You couldn't even put me in there.
I shook my head. Point was... uh, actually, I don't know what the point was. The girl was reasonably good looking — when compared to normal people, at least; so, people that weren't Vicky. I could see myself talking to her. Being friends, maybe.
On the other side of the fence, if I didn't talk to her, I could easily picture Vicky finding out somehow and admonishing me for ignoring her advice. And it was good advice, really. Talking to her would be a great step! I just... well, saying I didn't know how to do that would be an understatement.
I'd read like a hundred blog posts on the net about making friends, but they were all pretty much useless. "Be yourself" and "smile a lot" were the most common tidbits of advice there. But you couldn't carry a conversation on smiling. And I certainly couldn't carry a conversation by being myself.
Maybe... find something we had in common? That was common advice in Vicky's magazines. They meant it more in regards to flirting, and I wasn't really intending to flirt with this girl, but the principles should be pretty similar.
Besides, I knew we had one thing in common already.
Neither of us wanted to be here.
Yeah, I thought, taking a deep breath. I can do this. No problem.
I didn't give my brain time to object.
"Hi," I squeaked.
It took her a moment to realise I was speaking to her. She turned to me — a little surprised, if her expression was anything to go by. "Sorry?"
Good job, Amy. You could run for president with charisma like that.
Trying to keep the embarrassment off my cheeks, I cleared my throat and smiled again. It made me feel sickly. "Uh, hi, I said."
"Oh," the girl said, then smiled after another moment's pause. She had nice teeth. "Hi."
