I've driven Timothy around before. To his football games, play dates (although he'd never publicly admit to them being play dates) and on Saturday I have to take him to a birthday party. I'm his unpaid chauffeur. But I've never driven him at night before without my parents permission.

It's a risky game I'm playing. One that keeps me looking over at the rear view mirror to see if he's still safe in the backseat. My hands are wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly it's slick with my sweat.

But I refuse to leave him home alone when he could be safer with me.

My GPS leads me to the street of an affluent neighbourhood. Another party with bouncy music, intoxicated teenagers and bad decision making hanging in the air like smoke. As well as actual smoke in the air. The only thing different about this party is that it's not an Irvine High event. Not that anyone one who goes to my school is in a turn-up kind of mood today. Not at all. This is a North-side party. I'll be walking into all enemy territory.

I drive off the road and slide into an empty parking spot that's far way enough from the party. The last thing I need is a drunk driver giving me a fender bender on their way out.

Before I go, I lay down the law with my brother, "Do not leave this car under any circumstances. Don't start the car or open the door for anyone who isn't me either."

"Mmmh," Is the only thing he says.

"Listen to me," I say handing him Micah's phone. "If anything happens call 911, okay. You can only call mom and dad if it's life or death."

He takes the phone from me, "This is a rich kid neighbourhood, Hazel. What do you think is gonna happen?"

He has a point there. This is the last place you'd expect something illegal to happen. Maybe he'll get lucky and witness a white-collar crime in progress, tax evasion or money laundering. Whatever it is rich people do for fun.

"Fine. I'll be gone for fifteen minutes. Max." With that, I close the car door and leave him with the keys.

North-side students are even more intimidating without their preppy uniforms. The few people I see wandering around the block are all in dressy fresh-off-the-rack casual. There are more cocktail dresses here than at last year's Winter formal. In my hoodie and tights minus my phone I feel more than a little under-dressed.

I start making my way up the wide driveway but stop in my tracks like an actress whose forgotten her lines when I see them.

"What the hell are you guys doing here?" I spit out.

*****

As it turns out Samuel, our substitute power forward and Darnell are on a rescue mission of their own. After a few moments of confusion, we clear things up. They had seen the panther posts on a tweet in the same way I did and figured it was Micah under the suit. He was the only person on the team who wore size eleven Vans.

To put it concisely I wasted an entire trip down here to get our mascot back. His buddies were already on it. I'd dragged my kid brother to a stupid party for nothing . I'm half-tempted to go back the same way I came.

It seems every time I set out to do a good deed, I'm sidestepped. Usually by Darnell Washington. It doesn't exactly do much to endear me to him.

"We were supposed to play Halo at his house." Sam explains pointing a thumb at Darnell. "But the dude didn't show. Then we find out he was playing some kind of Fifty Shades of Gray type shit with North-side."

He shakes his head sadly. As though this is something that happens regularly with Micah.

I notice one other thing, apart from the fact that both of them are dressed head to toe in black sweatshirts and jeans. Like the lead characters in a low-budget heist movie. If they slap on a pair of ski masks, they'd be just about ready to case the joint. They're so well coordinated it looks like they spent time picking out matching outfits.

But I digress. What I notice is that all the substitutes were going to play Halo and no one had bothered to invite me. I'm not going to lie, that information stings a bit. I'm only comforted by the fact that if I had been there I would have mopped the floor with both of them.

But I've been snubbed by my peers before. I can handle this with the grace and dignity I'm known for. I won't even mention it. It's water under the bridge to me.

"You were playing Halo without me." I blurt out. Making it very apparent that I don't even know where the bridge is. I face Darnell who's been avoiding eye contact with me for the whole time I was standing here.

He rushes over the words with at least the decency to look guilty. "I didn't know you still played. I would've invited you..."

Sam looks between the two of us, confused, but doesn't comment.

"Whatever," I say shoving my hands deeper into my hoodie pockets. His hoodie pockets, unfortunately. Darnell seeing me wear his clothes like I've staked a claim on him is next level embarrassing. Mercury must be in retrograde again, causing the apocalyptic chaos in my life this week. "I'm here to get my uniform and you're here to get your friend. Cool."

No. Not cool.

I scan the rest of the driveway and I don't see the black Tesla I've grown somewhat accustomed to. "How did you get here?"

"We walked," Sam answers. "We were like five blocks away."

I'd forgotten that this was his neighbourhood too.

"And you were waiting outside because..."

"We, uhh..." Long pause, no answer.

The players of the losing team walking into a party hosted by the other side right after the game. If that doesn't say stupid I can't tell you what does.

"I see. You were scared." I say, summing up their hesitancy.

Before they can protest, I continue the rest of the walk up the driveway without looking back once. I have some experience when it comes to crashing parties. I should add uninvited guest to my resume.

On any other day the house would be beautiful. Two tiled staircases run up along the walls and lead to a second floor. Above us is a structured glass chandelier packed with what I can place as Swarovski crystals. Floor to ceilings give 360 degree views of the ocean and arching doorways break up the foyer into rooms. One leading to a dining room with a table seating twelve and a fully stocked bar. On the other side is a living room with a massive surround sound system.

It would be beautiful but today it's too busy playing host to one of the biggest social functions I've ever born witness too.

Xavier's party was something, yes. But this? This breaks the scales.

And the guests are just as dolled up as the house is.

I pause at the threshold to gather my bearings.

"What's the game plan then?" Sam asks from behind me.

I don't know, I realize. I'm stumped. "Let's split up and look for clues." I say, deadpan.

He rolls his eyes but Darnell doesn't. He gives me a crooked half-smile.

Sam steps forward, turning to us. "It's pretty obvious that you two don't know what you're doing." He clears his throat in a thank God I'm here then way and continues. "Follow my lead, okay. We'll blend right in."

He points at Darnell and looks him squarely in the eyes: "And you, don't embarrass me."

Then he rolls his shoulders, determined. The same way he does when he's on court about to shoot and stalks into the throng. I throw Darnell a look as we trail behind him. Shoving past bodies and ramming into strangers. He takes a sharp turn into the dining room and heads straight for the bar. Which is already packed with patrons. I hope they aren't charging for drinks because my current net worth is in the decimals.

But he cuts us through the crowds anyways.

When we get to the front he cheers, "Open bar."

Scrambling around it, he grabs a long bottle of whiskey from one of the lower lying shelves. He passes the bottle to Darnell and darts back around to grab a few plastic cups.

"I don't think we're going to find him like this." I shout over the music.

But he doesn't seem to hear because he starts to pour the golden liquid into all three of our cups.

He grabs his own and takes a healthy sip. "We have to look like we belong here."

"I'm not drinking dude," Darnell says with a frown.

Sam places a heavy hand on Darnell's shoulder, "One drink won't kill you."

"I— "

"Nope, don't argue with me on this one." Sam says, swirling his drink. "Thirty years from now you won't remember how many AP classes you took, how high your IQ was or even how many early acceptances you got. You'll remember the few times you actually had fun and say damn, when Sam gets out of jail, we should catch up."

Darnell laughs and I watch their interaction, amused.

"You could loosen up a bit," I say to him because it's something Anika would say to me.

He pauses for a minute weighing my words then he nods. He takes a sip of the liquid and retches, spitting it right back into his cup.

I laugh. "Smooth."

"I said don't embarrass me."

He makes a face at me and tips his cup back and swallowing it all with an uncomfortable grimace.

Sam claps him on the back, "See, it didn't kill you. Next time don't go all at once."

"Hazel," He says turning to me. "Your turn."

"I can't drink this," I say, guiltily remembering that I still have to drive back home. "I'm driving."

Darnell takes the cup from me, pours my drink into his and sips. A little less stilted than before.

Sam snorts, "That's the spirit."

I narrow my eyes. Boys are...Weird. I sincerely hope my friend hasn't become an alcoholic at my behest.

"Can we find Micah now?" I ask.

They both agree.

Music with base drops blaring from the speakers and the crowd around us starts to gyrate to the rhythm. Making it even harder to cut through them. We're walk up the staircase to search the second floor.

Although the three of us look largely out of place no one calls us out. The alcohol and the sheer number of people at this gathering make it hard to focus on any one thing. Pete the panther could probably walk past us right now and we wouldn't see him.

We go room by room but find nothing.

After checking one of the bathrooms and again coming up with naught we pause to regroup.

"We won't find him like this," I say over the sound of a Drake song.

Sam shrugs, "We tried. We should just try to enjoy the party before we get kicked out."

Darnell ignores him and says, "I can track his phone and see if he's still here."

I shake my head, "Won't work. I have his phone."

"How do you have his phone?"

"We switched bags, and now he has mine."

We're at quite an impasse. I glance at my watch, if we don't find him in the next few minutes, and the chances of that happening are slim, I'm leaving. I told Timothy I'd be back in fifteen minutes and I meant it.

Maybe he isn't even here. Maybe he's still tied up in the back of a van somewhere. Maybe they let him go and he's wondering why no one showed up to Halo night.

"Found him," Sam says triumphantly.

"What?" Darnell and I both ask.

Sam points at the window, down to the pool and sure enough, a duct tape bound Panther is on a lounger in the center of the action. Like some kind of trophy.

"Good," I say. "Let's go."

Darnell grabs my forearm before I can start walking back down the stairs, "We can't walk out there and just take him."

"Why not?"

"North-side won't just let us take back the mascot they stole."

"They don't have to let us do anything," I say. "We'll just take him."

"Reason with me, here," Darnell says. "We're surrounded by kids from North-side. We're outnumbered. Even if we wanted to take him we can't."

"What do you suggest we do then?"

"We wait it out," He replies. "In a few hours, everyone will be too drunk to even notice if we take him back."

Sam nods in agreement, "He has a point."

"Let me get this straight," I ask. "You two athletes are scared to get your own mascot back."

"Not scared," Sam says.

"Apprehensive." Darnell offers up.

You'd think all the liquid courage they've had would work in my favour but no. Nothing.

"He's your friend guys," I say with a hint of desperation. The thought of going down to the pool alone, actually makes me want to hurl. But after my critical assessment of them, I no longer have a choice.

Neither one responds to that.

"Fine," I say. "I'll go by myself. Maybe I'll find the y chromosomes you two girls clearly dropped somewhere around here."

This time neither one follows me. I jog down the stairs until I reach the landing. I make the turn into the wide hallway that leads onto the pool area.

As crowded as the area is, nobody is actually swimming. People are lounging on the seats, standing as they make conversation, and sitting on top of the bar. No water activities. Which I get, if I was wearing a shiny, low-cut dress the last thing I'd think about doing is swimming.

I spot Pete immediately. I figure that if I do this fast enough I won't be noticed. It's a plan that relies heavily on my own invisibility in dense crowds and how fast I can wrangle a basketball player across a courtyard.

With that in mind, I walk up to the mascot.

"Hey Micah," I say when I'm close enough.

Micah's voice is muffled when he speaks, "Hazel?"

"Yup."

Say what you want but the Lizards don't play when it comes to taping up their captives. And that's not a compliment. They've double wrapped him so tightly there's no way we can leave without setting him loose. I start to peel back the tape that's holding his legs together. In the back of my mind, I'm hoping that the tape isn't damaging my panther's fur coat.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Someone shouts.

The words send a chill down my spine but I keep tugging at the tape, pulling it away.

"I said, what the actual fuck are you doing?"

I don't turn around, I know who's talking.

The Lizards team captain, Marco Reyes. I don't need to see him to recall what he looks like: Tall, dark, and handsome. A walking, talking stereotype. I like to think he's the reason we lost the game. He scored in such quick succession. One point after another. His aim spot-on throughout the game.

He grabs me and I stumble back away from Micah.

I turn to face him and yank my arm out of his grasp.

With a raised eyebrow, he runs his eyes over my outfit in a quick once-over, "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Doesn't matter," I say annoyed that he's so close to my face. "I'm taking our mascot back."

It's not the smartest thing I could have said given the fact that I'm surrounded by people who actively despise my school.

"Not happening, babe." He says. "The door's over there."

"I'm not done. He's coming with me." I say.

There's a you and what army? hidden in his smirk as he says, "Why? If I were you'd I'd be embarrassed to rep the worst team on the league this hard?"He laughs saying. "57:23? That was the easiest win we ever had. Your boys didn't even touch the ball."

"We were having an off day," I say with a shade of vehemence. Okay, not a touch, an entire handful of vehemence.

"An off day? Come on. The one time you did get the ball you were about to shoot into your own net."

Around us, the guests stare, at our little altercation. To them, it must be free entertainment. Given the frosty glares I'm receiving from some, it doesn't look like they're on my side. They're just waiting for Marco to stop being so patient and set his hounds on me.

I don't dignify his comment with a response, instead, I try to twist away from him and get back to Micah.

He doesn't let me. This time he grabs my arm with such force to pull me away I'm sure it'll bruise. The thought makes me so mad I place my hands on his chest and shove him away. The last boy who tried to kick me out of a party walked away with a broken nose. And I think Marco's perfect face could use a bit of rearranging.

But I don't get to make any contact with his face. Because the next thing I know Marco is half-dragging, half-lifting me. Without warning, he literally throws me into the pool.

*****

I think of my mother.

Tall and pretty with big gray eyes and black hair. Those are all details filled in by a grainy photograph taken at the hospital. A photograph I still keep. I don't remember her voice or what she smelled like or if she loved my dad. I don't remember if she liked to cook or ordered takeout, if she could sing or if she was tone-deaf just like me.

I don't remember the night my neighbors found me on their porch, shivering from the cold or maybe from the subconscious realization of what I had just lost. Or what had just lost me.

Dad, still overseas with the army didn't find out until much later that his wife had not only left him but had left their daughter on a porch swing. With only a yellow sticky note apologizing. For what, I'm not sure. Leaving and never explaining why or maybe taking my ragged blue teddy bear with her.

In the days and weeks that followed Dad would clutch my head to his chest, pushing back my sparse hair, his tears falling onto my cheeks.

"It's not your fault," he'd whisper over and over.

And I'd only shush him pressing my fingers onto his mouth and telling him he was blocking my view of the Rugrats.

It's a memory that I'd buried so far in the mess of my brain that I wasn't sure it happened up until now. It's funny the things one thinks about when they should be focused on reality. My life doesn't flash before my eyes. I'm grateful for that, I've already watched enough cringe compilations on YouTube as it is. But one thought stays with me. That I'll never get to share another pretzel with Darnell.

The crowd cheers as I'm shoved under. But it grows distant as the sound of water rushes into my ears. The moment I hit the water it's like my world tilts onto its side and reorients itself.

Then I'm falling and falling. The force on top of me keeps my hands pinned down and I can't lift them to swim up. In the back of my mind, there's an alarm bell ringing, reminding me that I can't breathe, that I need air. That there's water everywhere, soaking my clothes and shooting up my nose. All this information sends a shot of panic down my veins. In situations like these panic is the last thing you need. It takes hold of my heart, sending me flailing in the water.

I'm aware that I've been under for only a few seconds but it feels like longer. Every second increasing the pressure on my chest until it burns.

I can almost see the scene playing out before me in some kind of out-of-body experience. My hands outstretched trying to push me out of the water. The worst part is that above me no one seems to notice. The party just goes on.

God, I wish I'd taken swim lessons in third grade instead of basketball. I live in California for heaven's sake. We're surrounded by water 90% of the time, this sort of seems inevitable.

My vision starts to blur. I see for just long enough to catch a blur in the corner of my eye before it all goes to black and grainy again. Despite my brain's direct instructions not to, my mouth opens taking in water. It's like my flight or fight response is broken.

Then by some miracle, I'm yanked upwards. Hands looping under my arms to pull me up. The motion is slow and laborious but it's effective. And the weight on me starts to ebb. When I break through the surface it almost feels like being birthed. Like the time I was baptized in the church pool. Except when I'm lifted, instead of purposeful, I feel exhausted. As though the minute I was under, required and used all the strength I had left.

The world remains black and heavy for a few more moments.

My lungs struggle with the weight placed on them. I still can't breathe through the pain of it. Pressure rises and falls onto my chest and then I'm choking out water. A steady burn starts to scorch my throat and I finally peel open my sore eyes. I prop myself onto my elbows and take it all in.

Someone shakes my shoulder and my sight focuses, zoning in on one person.

"Oh hey Darnell," I say in a knee-jerk reaction smiling despite the situation. My voice cracked and dry to my ears. Before he can reply I turn over to my side and throw up, right into the pool that tried to drown me.