Pixie Dust | PJM

Shooting Star

"Whoa, did you see that?" you shout over the music, pointing dramatically off to the left.

Reed squints in the direction you're pointing. "See what?" he slurs into your ear.

You let out an irritated sigh. This is definitely the last time you volunteer as the designated sober friend at a party. It's never any fun when everyone else is too blitzed to even see the giant glowing streak that just shot through the sky.

"The big glowing streak across the sky?" you gesture toward the small crop of trees on the other side of the backyard where it seemed to have gone.

Reed shakes his head, jostling against you slightly as he hoists up his orange solo cup. "Shooting star! Make a wish! I wish for SHOTS!" he lets out a bellowing laugh. "SHOTS!" he yells again to which others parrot just as loudly back at him.

"Why am I here again?" you mutter, rolling your eyes as Reed turns back to the other party-goers standing out on the deck of the third-...no, fourth, frat house you've been to for the night. Someone holds up a bottle of liquor, a resounding agreement coming from the crowd as they begin to pour some into their cups and toss them back.

"To my best friend!" you hear Reed's voice announce as you take a few steps towards the stairs that lead from the deck down to the backyard. You glance back, seeing Reed in his slutty Buzz Lightyear costume downing his shot, he flicks the empty cup away with a smirk. "I love yo- wait, where are you going?" he whines loudly, finally realizing you've stepped away.

"Anywhere that's not here," you snark sarcastically to yourself before forcing a large smile and turning back towards your friend.

He's pouting, arms folded across his chest, his other cup dangerously close to spilling down his front. He petulantly stomps a white booted foot, eyes glued to you until you take a few steps back toward the rabble on the deck. "Don't leave me! I need my kitty here to keep me company. Plus," he immediately morphs back into party mode as soon as you're by his side, "Killian has been eyeing you all night, don't make me cause a scene."

You have to tamp down your irritation. The last thing you want is Killian-fucking-Lawson to be trying to feel you up. You had almost dated him last semester, he's cute and somewhat charming...at least until he's drinking. Then he turns into the monster from the black lagoon on steroids, all grabby hands, and sloppy tongue. Let's not even talk about the leering eyes and wandering thoughts of other women, thoughts he doesn't seem to be able to filter or keep to himself after even the smallest amount of alcohol.

"No thanks," you gag mockingly, turning a little to avoid facing the direction you know Killian is standing in.

"No fun!" Reed yells. He opens his mouth to continue, probably to spout something about your somewhat embarrassing dry spell, but he's knocked from behind and is sent straight into you making you stumble back a few steps and ultimately get drenched in Reed's drink.

Reed fumes, he spins around and starts yelling at the douchebags that bumped into him. Of course, it would be Colt and Jackson, the chapter President and VP of the frat whose party you're currently at. They ignore his rant, skirting around him. They're being rowdy, smacking each other on the back as they head toward the stairs off the deck. You see Colt carrying a large bag of...fireworks?

"That can't be good," you furrow your brow, watching them disappear into the darkness of the backyard. The light from the deck barely reaches a few feet beyond the railing.

You take a step toward the stairs, fully intent on following the douchebags. The last thing you need to add to your night is an out-of-control fire started by those nitwits. "No! Where are you going now?!" Reed whines. "Napkins are the other way!"