Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,30

at a Mexican café debating the endings of John Hughes movies with a hot guy? Now if only the hot guy in question wasn’t on a date with another girl, I’d be all set.

“What are you guys talking about?” Jennifer asked, returning to interrupt our debate.

“Eighties movies,” Jamie said. “What’s your favorite, Jen?”

She rolled her eyes and turned to me. “Oh Maddy, don’t get him started. He’s like a girl with that stuff. You’d think he was gay.”

I laughed. “It’s okay. I like them, too.”

Jennifer shot me a sympathetic smile, as if to say she understood I was just humoring her deluded fiancé and then launched into another tirade about acting in independent films.

At the end of the meal, Jamie insisted on paying for ever one. I protested, of course. But he laughingly forced my money back in my pocket. Then we headed out into the balmy San Diego night air and for a moment everything seemed all right with the world. The two of them walked me to my car and both hugged me good night.

I got into my car and waved to them as they walked away. What a weird night! Definitely not how I planned it. But somehow it all seemed okay.

Still, I was exhausted. Trying to be ultra-charming through a whole meal proved more than a bit tiring. I couldn’t wait to go home, crawl into my cozy IKEA platform bed, and go to sleep.

I pulled into my neighborhood about ten minutes later. Unfortunately, there was no street parking to be found. Sometimes this happened on Saturday nights in Pacific Beach (known to the party-loving locals as PB). One resident would invite fifty of their closest friends over for a little get-together and there’d be no place to park for the poor slobs who actually lived there. I didn’t mind walking ten blocks back to my house as much as I minded the noise, and prayed that the party was on the other end of the street.

Unfortunately, this time around the party noise seemed to be coming from my apartment building. Worse, as I got closer, I realized it seemed to be coming from my actual apartment.

“What the hell?” I muttered as I fit the key in the lock. The door swung open. There was a rave going on in my house.

Techno music blared from my stereo. Kids in baggy pants, bright-colored T-shirts and even brighter-colored hair packed the place to the brim. People were dancing on my beige sofa. They were smoking and flicking ash on my carpet. There was even, I realized in horror, a smoke machine puffing out billowing clouds. The neighbors were going to think the place was on fire!

“Lulu!” I screamed, slamming the door. Like one of those ‘80s movies we’d just been discussing, someone turned down the music. Everyone stopped dancing. And stared. At me. The evil adult, come home to ruin the party. As I fielded their disgusted glares I suddenly felt very, very old.

“What?” demanded my sister, coming out from the kitchen. She had a bottle of beer in one hand and a lollipop in the other.

“Outside. Now,” I said, pointing to the front door. She grudgingly complied.

“Who are these people?” I asked as I shut the door behind us. I could hear someone inside requesting the music get turned back on, now that the “wicked witch has left the building.”

“Just some friends,” Lulu said sulkily. She popped the lollipop in her mouth and sucked. “We were at this rave and, like, the cops came and busted it up. So I figured you wouldn’t mind if I had some people come by for a little after-hours …”

“I wouldn’t mind?” I asked. “Since when did you think I wouldn’t mind?”

“Well, you had a date. I figured maybe you’d get lucky and not come home.” Her rationality was truly amazing. “What’s the big deal anyway?”

“The big deal is that I’ve had a long night and all I want to do is go to sleep, but there are fifty freaks sprawled around my living room.”

Oh, man, I sounded like my father. I, Maddy Madison, was officially a party pooper.

“They’re not freaks. They’re my friends.”

“And you’re drinking! Is anyone here even of age?” Lulu shrugged. “I think Bill is. He bought the beer. Though I guess he could have a fake ID….”

I couldn’t believe this. I had to stop the party. Now. The cops could come and bust me for allowing underage kids to drink in my home. And they probably wouldn’t