CHAPTER SIX

Before I knew it, it was the eighteenth. I had completely forgotten about Michael's party until I looked at the calender posted on the back of my bedroom door. Miranda was invited, too. She called in the morning to ask me what I was going to wear, and I asked what she was talking about because I literally forgot all about it. I wasn't too good with dates. Besides, I was never much of a partier.

I'd managed to make myself look somewhat attractive that night, dressed in a slim skirt and a tight red top Miranda let me borrow. It wasn't my style at all. I felt uncomfortable even attending a party, let alone looking like I belonged in a men's magazine. She assured me I looked fine, which I believed after a while because plenty of cars beeped as we walked a few blocks over to Michael's house.

I was nervous. Nervous that this was all wrong, that I shouldn't even be doing this. The sun was just setting, the sky glowing an orange-pink color. It was quite a pretty sight, even while my stomach was doing flip flops and making me feel sick. I tried any excuse I could to get out of going to Michael's party, but Miranda wouldn't budge. Not even a little bit. And within a few minutes we were there. Michael's house.

People poured out the front door, and into the backyard. It was surprising to see the cops hadn't been called yet, because the music was so loud you could hear it from the next street over. His parents must have been out of town. But then again, when did they ever care if he threw wild parties in their house? It's not like they were ever home to witness it.

Almost immediately after we arrived, Miranda escaped into the crowd.

I grabbed her by the arm just in time.

"Where are you going?" I yelled above all the noise. 

"Around. Go mingle, party girl!" She teased, but smiled to let me know she'd find me later. I was in sheer panic; What in the hell was I to do now? I certainly wasn't going to indulge myself in the party scene. Over half of the girls were already trashed and nearly naked, which of course brought upon a lot of wild hoots from the male population. It was already bad enough that I needed to attend.

I instantly felt alone, despite the large amount of people Michael invited. On top of my massive claustrophobic tantrum I was silently having, he wasn't anywhere to be found. I thought I had seen him once, but when I went to find him he escaped again. Typical.

About a half an hour later, I worked up the courage to pull aside one of Bradford's cheerleaders. Her name was Brooke; She had long blonde hair, a fairly large chest, and was quite under the influence of probably more than a few things at the moment. That was all I knew about her, and all I ever wanted to know.

"Hi. Excuse me..." I said, trying my best to raise my voice over the ridiculous noise level. My head was beginning to hurt from all of the commotion.

Brooke looked at me, in all different sorts of highs.

I figured this was my que to go on. "Do you know where Michael is? I can't seem to find him anywhere."

"You're, uh... the girlfriend? S**t. What's your name? Casey? Colleen?"

She laughed, and I felt like giving her a good, hard smack to the face for being such a trashy idiot, but I contained myself due to the fact that I'm a nice person and have never laid a hand on anyone in my life. Dad says I'm the type of person who would never hurt a house fly. Now, I am not one to promote violence, but I do get the urge to cause physical harm to others once in a while. I believe that is natural for everyone, though.

"My name is Courtney, actually. Do you know where Michael is?" I asked again.

"Michael... Uh. I don't know... His room, maybe? I don't know, sweetie."

I rolled my eyes, so close to walking right out of the door and back home. Miranda would be okay; She was a big girl and knew how to take care of herself. It wasn't like I would find her in this mess of people anytime soon, anyway. Especially in a house as big as Michael's. I can only imagine how the drunks feel trying to navigate around the maze.

Just as I turned away from Brooke, I ran head on into the devil.

"Hey, I didn't think you were coming." His normally ice-cold eyes were warm. He looked a lot different than how he does during the week. Cute, even. I was surprised to see him looking so alive. It was probably the most alive I've seen him look in ages.

"I'm here. I was just looking for you." 

"I'm glad. Can we talk? Not here, though. In private. Want to take a walk?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

We walked in silence, a few streets over from his house, to the point where we couldn't hear the music anymore. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at me with such curiosity I couldn't help but wonder what was going through his head. Michael and I haven't really talked at all lately. It seemed weird, because we were together every morning at school, but conversation usually wasn't a part of it.

"Courtney," he said after what felt like an eternity.

"Yeah?"

"I've missed you."

No. No, no, no, no, no. My mind raced; It did twirls, spins, and loops throughout my whole body and my face felt warm and my heart was still. 

"I've missed you too," I started out slowly, choosing my words carefully. "But not who you are now. I've missed who you used to be."

He ran a strong, masculine hand through his hair and looked at me. "I know... I know. Can I ask you something? Why haven't you broken up with me yet? I'm a terrible boyfriend."

"Michael, please don't say things like that." I shook my head.

"I'm sorry about how I've been lately. It's not me. It really isn't. I've been making so many mistakes and I haven't been paying much attention to what really matters. And that's you." He pulled me towards him and kissed me deeply. This kiss was full of meaning, and suddenly I felt just like I did the first few months of our relationship. 

"Michael..." I could hear the uncertainty in my voice.

Everything was all wrong. An instant red flag appeared in my head: What about Jackson? He was the one I wanted to be with, wasn't he? This couldn't be happening now, when things with Jackson were just getting perfect. Especially not after what has happened. Not after I cheated on Michael.

"I know I haven't been good to you. But I promise, I'll make up for that." He half-smiled, and hugged me tight. And as we made our way back to his house, he reached out his hand, and his fingers found their place in between mine for the first time in a long time.