But no, Bianca’s just one of those straight girls who kisses girls when there are cute boys around to see.
My phone buzzes and I realize I’m still lying by myself on the grass. It must take me a solid two minutes to get my phone out of my pocket. It’s a text from Bo. I gasp in excitement.
Bo: I may have overreacted . . .
I put all my energy into sending a text that doesn’t give away how drunk I am. It takes a few minutes, but I manage to send one with no typos.
Yami: You may not have.
I put my phone back in my pocket and close my eyes again, focusing on the blaring music from inside. I don’t know how long I’m lying down when I hear two someones lie down on either side of me.
“Whoa, look at the stars,” Amber says. I open my eyes. It’s her and David. Pretty stars. Prettier here than back home.
“Well, that’s bullshit,” I say.
“What’s bullshit?” David asks.
“Rich people even get better stars.” My voice cracks, and I think I’m about to cry. It’s not fair. I want pretty stars, too. David nods like he knows exactly how I feel, and Amber holds my hand without saying anything. I know the rules say I’m not supposed to let straight girls hold my hand, but it makes me feel better, okay? The rules are bullshit.
The music stops, and I’m curious enough to sit back up. There’s a chorus of shushing, then Cesar runs up to me and yanks me to my feet.
“Cops!” The adrenaline rush that comes with that word sobers me up enough to run with him. It’s a huge yard, and it feels like we’re running on a merry-go-round, but I don’t let that slow me down.
The wall at the edge of the backyard is too high for me to jump in my condition. Cesar tries to give me a lift, but we both fall over. He’s as drunk as I am. We scramble behind a bush near the wall and hide instead. I can see flashing lights over the wall, and I think I’m gonna be sick. I try not to think about what might happen next, or what happened last time we were in this situation. . . . I plug my ears and shut my eyes as if it’ll make the cops go away.
As I catch my breath, I realize we’re the only ones who ran. Everyone else is just quietly waiting to get breathalyzed and arrested. Not us.
After a minute, the music comes back on, just a bit quieter. People start dancing and smoking and drinking again. My head hurts.
“Guess they left. Perks of being on the north side, apparently.” Cesar dusts himself off, then holds his hand out to help me up, but I don’t take it. I lean my head back on the wall and look up at the pretty rich-people stars. Everything is so different over here. I don’t even try to stop the tears from dripping down my face.
Cesar sits back down with me. I don’t have to say anything. I know he gets it. I only went to one other “party” party before. He was there. Cops showed up there, too. They didn’t have a warrant, but they broke the door down and came in anyway. I watched one of them bash my friend Junior’s head into the concrete floor of his garage before I ran away. Not everyone was so lucky. Anyone who didn’t get away got MICs, even if they weren’t drinking. Junior’s mom got deported, even though she didn’t know about the party.
And here they just asked us to turn the music down. No one is getting arrested or deported. No kid is getting their head bashed into the floor. The party is still fucking happening.
“Yami? Where are you?” Amber calls out, jogging over in our general direction, with David right behind her.
I wipe my eyes and step out from behind the bush. So does Cesar.
“Here.”
“We thought you left!” David says.
“Nope. But I think I’m gonna go.”