Who: Jamie & Thomas Kemp What: Well...shit When: About...2 years ago? Jamie is 17. Where: Some party, then Long Island, NY
It had been pretty easy to spin a story about spending the night at a friend's house. And it wasn't even a lie, not really. They just...weren't going straight there. Jamie's friend Eric had heard about a party being held that night, and after some wheedling, he'd convinced Jamie to go with him.
So Jamie packed a bag, grabbed his phone, and hopped the train to Eric's place. They were going to meet up there, then take Eric's car the rest of the way. The place was full to bursting when they arrived, and the music playing definitely wasn't Jamie's favorite. But hardly anyone looked twice at him, and there was cheap vodka and cheaper beer, so he didn't really care. Once he'd had a few drinks, he relaxed a little, dancing with a few people and making out with at least one.
Around 3 in the morning, Eric found him, looking pretty trashed himself. "We're gonna go out the beach," he said, slurring just a little. "Wanna come with? One of the guys' parents own a beach house out on Long Island."
"Please tell me whoever's driving isn't as drunk as you," Jamie said. "I don't wanna die on a joyride."
"Naw, man, it's fine," Eric assured him. "He just got here, he's still outside."
Jamie shrugged and nodded, following him out of the house. (Sober him was going to wonder what the actual fuck he'd been doing, once the buzz wore off.) There were about 12 people, of both genders, piled into an SUV and a convertible. They took off into the night, music blaring and spirits high.
They built a bonfire on the beach, drinking more beer and roasting marshmallows until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, they all headed into the beach house, passing out in various places in different rooms.
Jamie woke up about six hours later, staring at someone's foot. His head was killing him, and he only remembered bits and pieces of last night. His phone told him it was past one, and he groaned. No one else was awake yet, and he'd been expected home around noon. His stomach flip-flopped, but he knew there was no other choice. He padded into the kitchen, looking for a piece of mail, or something with an address on it. He found it, and then pulled out his phone to call his dad.