"New York to east California
There's a new wave coming, I warn ya
We're the kids in America(Whoa)
We're the kids in America(Whoa)
Everybody lives for the music-go-round."
-Kim Wilde, Kids in America(1981)

It was Saturday morning and the day of Matt Husler's party. I woke up and walked down the hallway and sat on the couch. The TV was really new, and was the only thing that wasn't broken in the house. You got all the stations and cable so, of course, I turned it onto MTV.

Immediately Kids in America came on. I found myself humming along as I took the liberty to wash the dishes. My mom had left the house later that night without my knowledge after I went to sleep. She probably wouldn't be coming back for a while, which meant I had the whole house to myself until 8:00 that night for the party.

It was not a very important one, I knew all the attendees and didn't have to find a place to fit in; I could really mesh with anyone. I didn't feel like picking up any alcohol either, because God knows enough people would bring it along. Not that I drank- it was a waste of my time and I'd hate to sink as low as my mother. She couldn't hold her liquor whatsoever and she got real loopy. If I took after her in that aspect I'd probably never be invited anywhere again.

Kim Wilde ended and WASP came on. My least favorite band, I had always hoped they would get in a horrible plane crash so they couldn't play music any longer. I thought things had been looking better.

"Come on, Mark Goodman!" I grumbled at the TV just above a whisper. "Where's my Mötley Crüe?"

I switched the channel to the news. It was a little dinky station that only broadcasted to the Ridge Bay Area. "And in the world events for today, we have the first artificial life conference held in New Mexico, Los Alamos National Laboratory." The anchorman continued discussing long, hard words even my science teacher probably wouldn't know.

I started daydreaming about robots and before I knew it I was asleep. When I woke up the channel was back at MTV and they had Pink Floyd album coverage, which I didn't really care for. I checked the time. 7:37. I decided to start walking.

It was the perfect day to walk to the upper class side of town. The sun wasn't shining but it was certainly not piss poor like usual. As I walked I began wondering what particular events would go down that night.

Matt Husler's parents were widely known throughout the school for two reasons. One, because his dad wrote tabloids for a living, or as his son put it, "He doesn't have a life, that's why he writes about other people's." And two, because his mother was a model and everyone thought she was really hot. But the best thing about Matt's parents weren't either of those things. They had a huge house that they left their son alone with for long periods of time. Tonight, for example, they would be returning from a fancy Hollywood bash at around three in the afternoon the next day. That was enough time to clean up everything in the aftermath.

The three story colonial belonging to the Husler's sat on a hill. You could look down at everything else and it made a good place to watch sunsets, which I didn't do too much of. The lawn was nicely manicured and groomed to perfection. It was too bad that by the end of the night people would be throwing up all over it or parking their cars there.

The party was in full swing when I crested the hill and just about got ran down in the street by someone's bus. Danger around every corner. That was usually one way to describe the parties at the Husler House. I stepped in the doorway and at first wanted to step back out. It was a little dark in there and I couldn't tell if I was stepping on a drunk fool or a carpet. It was also sweltering and smelled like sweat already.

I braved it and shoved my way through the crowd. It wasn't a rude thing to do. How else was I supposed to get around? The kitchen seemed less crowded so that was the first place I went. There it smelled very much like alcohol and also something tangier and smoky I couldn't pick out. I sat on top of the counter and waited to see someone I knew.

The first person I saw who I considered my friend was Eddie. He never went to parties, really, I mean, he babysat his own siblings on weekends. That was when his mom took double shifts. Maybe he was let off? He saw me right after I saw him and waded through the bodies.

"Fancy seeing you here," I said nonchalantly, and patted the counter next to me. In reality I didn't care but I often feel the need to make small talk at parties, even if said parties are teenage shebangs.

"I had some free time," Eddie replied as he sat down. "My mom says I needed to get out of the house. That I was looking pasty."

"As pasty as a sack of flower." I stated, wearing a shit-eating grin.

He pushed me and I almost fell off my place of rest: the Formica tabletop. "I need to tell you something I think is really crazy and I need your honest opinion," he began. I nodded and motioned for him to continue. "I want to start a band."

"Well, you have friends. And I think Cherie Hills High needs a little live music especially during prom season. Summer formal is getting closer," I said. "Go for it, bro. What instrument do you play?"

"Guitar."

"You've never touched one of those in your life. Better start practicing." He told me he knew that and practice made perfect. One of the phrases he had picked up from his mom.

"I'm heading to the crapper," I said, and jumped down. Eddie gave a mumbled bye.

The bathroom was located upstairs. I pushed past several couples making out against the landing and shut the door behind me. First I checked to make sure no one was sleeping in the bathtub that would wake up while I was doing my business. That happened to a guy I knew. He and the bathtub boy have never looked each other in the eye since. I could still hear the music through the floor which gave me an idea of how loud it was. Their bathroom was tiled blue and had a seashell theme. Several scented candlesticks were placed in wall sconces.

After I had finished doing my business I took the stairs two at a time. The music had switched itself to a Blondie song and I went back to my lair, or, the kitchen, as others may call it. There I stayed for an hour or so.

"Peter, heyyy!" A grip on my shoulder. I turned around and it was Sheila Erikson there. Sheila knew everyone's business and tried to butt in on yours, even if you didn't want her to. She flitted from boy to boy and wore large neon plastic hoop earrings that were very cool and styled her dark brown hair high, piled on top of her head. Sheila knew how to laugh and have a good time. It made many of the guys like her but all the girls hate her. Shelley in particular was the worst enemy she had. They were very opposite and I'm pretty sure Sheila tried to steal Rob once.

She must've had a few drinks. I could smell it on her from four feet away. Her lipstick was somewhat smeared and she wobbled on her feet. She wore a tight low cut black top and tight leather pants. I didn't understand at the time why you would wear that to a party. Wasn't it hard to dance in?

"Dance with me!" She declared without a care in the world. She spun around and around the kitchen. I wondered what she had had that night, looking at the cup she had in her hand. Its mysterious contents were spilling out onto the floor. Eddie and I exchanged glances. He had not yet left.

"Okay," I said hesitantly and allowed myself to be pulled into the large living room. Furniture had been pulled away to somewhere,(kicked down the stairs, perhaps?) this made it a lot easier to move. It was still close proximity between us two and the other people. A new song came on, I Can Dream About You by Dan Hartman, and it was slow. Naturally couples began forming and the sad single people as well as nerds left the room. I could breathe again!

"Don't be so tense." She chided gently. Then she wrapped her arms over my shoulders and I almost died. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DANCE! I shouted internally. Externally, however, I kept my arms at my sides. Sheila looked annoyed so I quickly put them on her waist.

"You're a natural." She assured. I did not feel natural. I didn't know how to dance at all, not even the hokey-pokey, and that gives you directions in the lyrics. It was a shuffle dance, that was the best way to explain it. Sheila didn't seem to care much. I caught her throwing a look at someone behind me but I pretended not to see it. It could be identified as the look one hunter gives the other on the African Serengeti when he sees game- this is mine and you can't take it.

The music ended faster than I had expected which was a saving grace for me. Sheila took her hands off my neck. I didn't want to stay there any longer than I had to. But when I tried to get away Sheila tightened her grip on my waist. "One more song," Sheila insisted.

"I really should go- ahhhh." I lost my voice as her hands went lower than my hips.

"Please?" She persisted.

"He said he was done with ya," came a female voice with a little lilt to it. Shelley walked up to Sheila and I. "Get lost- doll," she took my shoulders and guided me back to the kitchen. Eddie was gone. Hopefully back to his home- there were far too many lonely vixens afoot that night.

"Idiot- say no once in a while, will ya? She don't own you."

"I still feel bad," I said. "She's just lonely."

"She's not lonely, she's a predator."

"Why are you acting spikier than usual?" I asked.

Shelley took a sip of the cup in her hand. "Rob broke up with me this morning," she said in a straightforward voice. She always got right to the point.

"You could've talked to me about it," I said.

"Well Peter, here's the thing, sometimes I want ta say crap to my girlfriends and not you. Ya don't have relationship advice and ya can't make me feel better about that. And you're the mutual friend between us," she said seriously.

"Well, I'm sorry. Any chance you'll repair your relationship?" I asked.

"I don't think I wanna," Shelley said. "I started thinking he wasn't good for me."

I smiled. "You'll find someone nice. You're very social. Do you want me to boycott Rob until then?"

"I'm not asking ya ta do that, stupid!" She punched my arm in a joking fashion. "All it means is I'll be looking around for some guys."

"I'll see you later." I put a hand on her shoulder before walking out the door of the house. I was tired, I wanted to go home, I didn't want to talk to anyone: all I wanted was sleep.

Alas, I was not going to be granted any of those wishes that night.

I left the front porch into the yard where somebody had lit a fire. Teens were sitting in chairs around it and passing heavy liquor around in a bottle. Their faces were lit up from the fire to make them take on a hollow-eyed ghoul appearance and were singing a random uncatchable ditty. Probably a sea shanty.

I found Rob skulking around there, not sitting, not singing, and definitely not drinking. He looked completely sober. It made the words he would say to me a little more believable. He had an anxious look on his face and was wringing his hands.

Rob's dad was on the police force. It was a tough job, we were a rowdy crew, us Ridgeton teens. Usually the only time his car got used was when he was taking home a teen not sober enough to drive. Maybe a klepto too, once or twice. I honestly thought most of the other calls were from my house. Our neighbors heard my mom screaming and throwing stuff and called the cops. They issued her fines and she never showed up in court when she was called. They never came back for the same thing twice.

"Sit on the ground," Rob said when he saw me.

"Am I under arrest?" I asked, doing as I was told. The grass was dry and it wasn't very comfortable. Good thing the fire didn't spread past their makeshift fire pit.

"No, I got to tell you something," He sat across from me. Clearing his throat, he said, "my dad dropped me off here coming back from a call. And the call was from your house."

"Did they find the meth lab in the basement?" I asked, which Rob knew didn't exist.

Rob shook his head. "Your mom's friend, well, one of them, stopped by the house and your mom was in her room with the door locked not saying anything or responding to him shouting. He got nervous and called 911. And when they broke the door down she was lying in her bed. She OD'd dude. Your mom is dead."

"Rob, don't joke about that crap! It's not funny," I said. "She's not dead, I mean, I saw her yesterday."

"Where was she today, then?" Rob demanded. "I'm being completely serious, Pete. She's as dead as a doornail."

"She went out last night," I said. At that moment I didn't feel anything, just a wave of shock washing over me, but no pain. And I didn't know if I should've been in pain. I had been hurt mentally and physically by my mom, so I wasn't very sad. But she had also raised me and was my biological mother. My only legal guardian.

"Sit tight here, dad's coming back for us. You can sleep in my room for tonight," he said.

"Goddamn," I said, "I need a drink."

I tried to get up but Rob pulled me back down on the grass. "If your drunk it's not going to look good for anyone. Stay put. Go to sleep if you have to."

We started drawing some attention from around us. I started to feel some bile in my throat. I had a really bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Sooner than expected Rob's dad pulled up in his police car. Everyone on the lawn scattered, but came back once they realized he wasn't there to break up the party.

"Come on, son, into the car," his father said. I allowed him to put me in the backseat, usually reserved for criminals. I always wondered what it looked like in there. Then I realized it wasn't that special. Rob sat by my side as well. I think he was there to catch me if I fainted or something dumb like that.

Since Rob hung out with the druggies all the time, I assumed his house was a rundown one, or maybe he lived in the trailer park- but it was very nice actually and gave off the scent of snickerdoodles. Although if Rob was actually an addict or something he must've been a real black sheep. Because why would you ever get started down that road if your dad is a cop? Some cops know a lot, they can be very sneaky. Not as much as moms, but they're up there.

It was his sister that made the snickerdoodles. She was very pretty, his sister was. You know girls are pretty when no matter what they wear makes them look good. In this case, she was wearing a Washington University sweatshirt and jeans.

His mom was pretty cool, too. She was waiting on the porch for us with a bag of potato chips in one hand. For herself though, not for me. Wordlessly she led me up to Rob's room where I immediately fell asleep on the floor. I didn't even have time to change out of my clothes. I only knew that because I got stepped on in the morning. After that morning, pretty much every aspect of my life changed.