Who Said I Can't Change the World?

Expressions of some kind of artificial joy fill their faces. My stomach twists further with each intake of air, as if their decaying youth is giving off a foul scent that might make me gag. I can’t help but fear that I would be one of them if I hadn’t faced my demons earlier.

Each second seems to pass similar to the way rain leaks through a roof. One drop at a time, slowly and carefully, as if the alcohol and sex is the protective covering that is keeping the partygoers away from the cold water we call time. I can’t help but notice that Charlotte was supposed to have met me more than fifteen minutes ago, since all I am to her anymore is a chauffeur. The ethical side of me urges me to go find her, telling me that she could be hurt. However, the angry and tired side tells me to leave her, making the argument that she can always catch a ride with her new man-candy.

A synthetic beat makes the house throb erratically, and I begin to listen more to the red devil on my shoulder.

Two more minutes. That's all she gets.

Silently, I beg whatever may be listening to convince whoever is in control of the music to play something that won't make my ears bleed. I'd even settle for Rick Springfield at this point, and I'm not much of an eighties girl.

One minute left. Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight...

"Little fair Farrah?" a disbelieving, accented voice calls my old nickname above the music.

I look up from the floor, instantly losing the concentration that I'd placed on my mental timer. A vaguely familiar boy with curly, brown hair and green eyes stands in front of me. He's partaking in the festivities, judging by the drink in his hand. No one's called me "little fair Farrah" since fifth grade... In fact, only one person ever did.

My jaw drops open. "Harry?"

The most memorable face of my childhood nods enthusiastically, and we grab each other into a tight hug.

"I saw you from across the room, but I didn't know it was you and someone caught me staring and asked if I was going to talk to you! I said I didn't even know your name and they said that it was Farrah Newark and I thought that there was no way, but it is you!" he blurts, his face consumed in that smile that I always loved seeing.

Laughing sheepishly, I look down. "Yeah, wow. God, how have you been? It's been nine years," I attempt to say over the music.

Thankfully, I'm successful. Harry runs a hand through his mess of hair. "I've been okay. Growing up, I suppose. How about you?" His voice is slightly raspy, and I can see a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Growing up... Right.

"Better. I had a rough patch through middle and high school, but I got through it. What are you doing here? I thought you'd moved back to London!" I want to fall into him and tell him everything, then watch Disney movies and eat gummy bears like we used to... But we aren't kids anymore.

"Moved back the second my parents let me leave! I missed the life I had in Seattle too much to stay over there," he chuckles, looking around. "Do you still listen to the Jonas Brothers?" The age old teasing in his voice brings back so many memories that I almost laugh and cringe at the same time. Memories.

Rolling my eyes, I push his shoulder playfully. "I've been growing up, too, Hazza! I prefer anything from the sixties over this century's idea of music."

He smiles wider. "Glad to see you've got good taste now! Are you here with anyone?" I tell myself that I didn't hear flirting in his question and glance around to see if I can locate Charlotte. Nowhere.

"I'm just here to pick someone up, but she's M.I.A."

"Great! I mean, not great that your friend is missing but great that you're not here with an insanely jealous boyfriend that would rip my arms off for talking to you. Wanna come back and meet my mates, maybe have a couple of drinks?" He gestures to the back of the house where I assume his friends would be.

Blushing, I pull on my hair. "I'd love to meet your friends, but I don't drink or anything anymore so I might be awkward."

"Nonsense, come on!"

Like that, Harry grabs my hand and begins to pull me through the mass of sweaty, drunk bodies. All to introduce me to his new life.

Charlotte can wait, if she decides to show up where we were going to meet.

Notes

I tried! Opinions?