If This Gets Out(11)

“It’s been over an hour, and no one’s seen Angel,” Jon says, his tone urgent. “Not even his parents. And I can’t tell them I’m freaking out without explaining to them why it would be concerning that he’s disappeared.”

“Okay, let’s be rational,” I say. “He’s probably on the property. I don’t think he’d miss his own party no matter what someone else offered. So, if he’s here, he’s probably inside somewhere, or someone would’ve run into him by now.”

Jon makes a show of turning around. “I can’t see many buildings here, can you?”

“I see porta-potties,” Zach says.

I turn to him slowly. “You don’t think…”

“Probably not,” he says, but he looks unconvinced.

“Great,” Jon says. “That’s just how I wanted to spend my night. Breaking into occupied porta-potties to search for our unconscious best friend. This bodes well for the tour.”

“Let’s keep those as a last resort,” I say. “I vote we try inside one more time.”

Inside, the party’s really started kicking off, with crowds of people eating, drinking, and filling the dance floor. I scan the room hopefully, but if Angel’s here, he’s buried by the crowd.

I start to head deeper into the room, when the DJ’s booming voice replaces the music.

“All right, everyone, if you’ll head on inside the main building, the guest of honor is about to arrive. Find a place and grab a drink, because I’ve just been informed the party’s about to really get started.”

I stop in place and turn to the other two.

“Well,” Zach says, blinking. “Sounds like we’re in the right place, at least?”

“Tell me he did not hide out somewhere for the first two hours of his own party so he could make a dramatic entrance,” Jon says.

I shake my head. “I need a drink.”

There’s a bar without much of a line to the left, so I head over to it, with Zach and Jon tailing me. “Erin said not to drink,” Jon says over the resumed music.

“Erin’s not here,” I say with a too-bright smile.

“You’re spending too much time around Angel,” Jon says.

“Honestly, I’m spending too much time around all three of you. Though you’d think your influence would balance me out, Jon.”

He scowls at me as we reach the bar.

The nearest bartender is a skinny guy with acne and blond hair. He barely looks any older than us. I flash a dazzling smile, and he wilts. “Hey,” I say, “Can I please get a whiskey and Coke and … Zach, what would you like?”

“Oh, um, the same, I guess.”

“Two Jack and Cokes, please?”

The bartender shifts his weight. “Do you, um … have your ID?” he asks, presumably stalling for time, because there’s no way he doesn’t know I’m underage.

Joy. Trust me to zero in on the newbie who hasn’t been given a proper induction. It’s generally an unspoken agreement that drinking laws don’t apply to us—especially at private parties. I smile even bigger. “You know? I left it in my suitcase. I’ll tell you what, we’ll get out of your hair for a minute, and you can leave our drinks on the edge there. We’ll grab them when we’re ready.” I slide a generous tip his way—not because I think we need to bribe him, but because the poor guy looks so terrified—and steer Jon and Zach by their elbows a few feet away to give him some plausible deniability. He greets the next customer, tells them he’ll be a second, and grabs a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, glancing sideways to see if his coworkers are watching. Like they give a shit.

Zach laughs and Jon rolls his eyes in a long-suffering way.

Drinks in hand, the three of us find a spot to stand in just as smoke starts to billow out from the ground at the far end of the room.

Nearby a girl asks in alarm if the place is on fire. No one answers her.

Then a row of cold spark machines lights up like a fountain, shooting blinding white flames into the air. The music surges into a regal chorus of trumpets and strings, before breaking into a hip-hop beat. I can’t quite see what’s happening up front at first, then I realize: Angel’s emerged from a trapdoor in the floor, standing atop a rising platform that’s also bordered by spark-effect fireworks. His arms are held to the sides and his head is tipped back, legs planted apart. Like a phoenix rising from the goddamn flames or something.

“What was that you were saying about a dramatic entrance, Jon?” I say mildly as the crowd breaks into applause.

“Bigger than Billboard,” Zach muses, before taking a sip.

“I hope he isn’t flammable,” Jon adds.

“Probably not, but he’s definitely high,” I say, taking in his manic smile and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Again?” Zach asks with a sigh.

“Why am I not surprised?” Jon mutters. “I just hope he doesn’t fall.”

“Thank you for coming here tonight!” Angel’s voice booms over the loudspeakers. I spot the telltale bulge of a mic-pack. “Is everyone having a good time?”

The partiers roar. Angel, probably a few drinks in by now at a minimum, sways a little, and Jon looks like he might faint. “Please, don’t fall,” he says, like Angel can hear him.