The night was young, the music was loud, and the company was good. Kids laughed and danced and tried to make the most of the night, but things quickly took a turn for the worse. I remember talking to friends when some senior girl ran downstairs and yelled: “Paramedics are on the way!”- Some kid had overdosed. My mind was running a million miles an hour- Who was it? Do I know them? What's going to happen to me? Where can I hide?

Within two minutes the basement was empty: a hundred people had found some nook or cranny to hide out in or had simply vanished into the night. I was able cram myself behind some boxes in the storage room and watched as some girl climbed into an empty box mumbling: "I'm not getting another MIP". We had a sneaking suspicion that the house would be searched and we would be found, so within a few short minutes we made a break out the backdoors where Sam was waiting for us in a field. We found a group of kids huddled together-waiting for things to cool down. I had ants in my pants, worried about sitting out in the open, but my friend TJ told me he knew of a trap door in the closet in the basement. He said we would be safe there; it was directly under the house but above the foundation. The two of us slowly crept back to the house, watching from a distance as a police officer search the yard with his flashlight. We ran through the back doors, past empty bottles and plastic cups—the only evidence anyone had been there at all. Opening up the closet door we could see the outline of the trapdoor. We opened it to discover we hadn’t been the first ones down there, we found a chair, a feather boa, a forgotten shoe, and other random pieces of trash strewn across the ground. Paranoia kicking in, I tossed the array of items out of view of the opening, so if anyone were to glance down it would appear as though no one was or had been there. We closed the door over our heads and made our way back from the opening. The only source of illumination was the light given off by our phones. We turned them off and let the inky blackness envelop us; the fine red dust from the dirt floor beginning to settle. The dead silence and complete and utter darkness gave us time to collect our thoughts and process all that it just occurred. It was then I realized… I simply didn't care. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about all that had just happened; it was that I didn’t care what had happened to the kid that OD’d. I didn't have any sympathy for him. I was so caught up in my anger that I didn’t even think of what could have happened to him. What if he had died? What about his family or friends? How they would feel if something terrible happened had happened to him? It was grounding. I realize that this could happen any of us.

However my thoughts were interrupted by the clunk of heavy boots over our heads—we held our breath as we listened to the muffled voices of the officers call out to each other. Subsequently, we heard the closet door swing open, light streaming through the cracks around the trapdoor. We watched in suspense as the trap door slowly opened and a voice called out: “If there’s anyone down there come out now. Don't worry you won't get in trouble.” After a pause that seemed to last forever, the trapdoor closed and the footsteps subsided. We finally exhaled-- worried our breathing and pounding hearts would give us away. We kept quiet and it had paid off, we had coasted under the radar.

We were so certain that they wouldn't find us. All we had to do now was wait for things to cool down and for the cops to leave. But all of a sudden I heard something: footsteps overhead again, but this time was different. Now they were quicker, and seem to move with a purpose. My heart sank. The trapdoor re-opened, but this time the officer stuck his head down-- his flashlight glaring into our eyes. He told us to come out, asking if there was anyone besides the two of us. As we clambered out of the hole in the floor we were met with stern faces from Alex's father, who had just arrived. We were escorted upstairs to the living room were upset girls were crying: waiting to be picked up by their parents. TJ said he was going to run, but I told them they would catch him, and then he’d be in real trouble. Three Golden police officers were busy writing up reports and instructing everyone to call their parents. The upside? Nobody would be getting a ticket or an MIP. Everything is going to be okay.

The ride home was quiet, even a little awkward, but my mom wasn’t angry, just flustered of being called 2 AM to drive me home. I found out the kid who overdosed was okay. He had a rough night in the hospital, but he would live to tell the tale. It wasn't until later the next day that I made the connection: the reason we didn't get in trouble is because we did the right thing and called 911. Without that call I don't doubt he would've died. Now anytime I go out, or go to a friend’s party, I use that night as an example. I remind myself to be safe and make good decisions, because just like I said before, it can happen to anyone.