Sixteen | Self-Saboteur

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I am drunk

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I am drunk.

Definitely drunk.

But it's nice. Because I'm not plastered. I'm at the perfect level of drunk. The level where I can enter this baseball house and make one drink last all night.

Our group waits in the semi-short line that leads outside the house, waiting until it's our turn. It doesn't take long for us to get through.

The house is packed to the brim, college students of all ages and all levels of intoxicated partying throughout the first floor. The house is beautiful. The kind of beautiful that's annoying considering how much nicer the men's sports team houses are compared to the women's. Chandeliers, nice wooden floors, and marble countertops all scattered around.

We all begin to make our way to certain places. Kofi, Sawyer, Declan, and Beck all make their way towards the kitchen to say hi to the guys that they know and to probably take advantage of the free beers.

Cal and Serena quickly latch onto me and Blanca's hands, pulling us into the sweaty crowd to dance to the classic, David Guetta frat remix music that blares through the surround-sound speakers.

I'm drunk enough to let loose. I'm a decent dancer. Or at least decent enough to not look like I have a pair of two left feet. Me and Cal are coordinated enough to look good while dancing. Serena and Blanca, on the other hand, both danced for most of their lives. Blanca, just casually, as she went from foster home to foster home, and Serena, for a studio until she built up the courage to tell her parents she wanted to quit in her junior year of high school.

Needless to say, when the four of us hit the dance floor, it didn't take long for men to flock towards our general area. Every once in a while, men would get a little too grabby, which occasionally led to Blanca putting their arm in some type of lock behind their back until they apologized.

We were banned from two frats because Blanca did that there. Guess they didn't take it too well. But it had happened about five times in college, and luckily, the baseball team was full of objectively good guys, and J.D would always have our back if any of the guys even attempted to "ban" us from any of their functions. And if it happened at Dale's, security quickly took care of it and never penalized Blanca or any of us considering it was essentially self-defense.

The four of us danced casually until it got too stuffy in the crowd. We all linked arms to push our way out of the crowd, Blanca leading the charge considering her significant height advantage over most of the other people on the dance floor.

We flop down on an empty couch, all panting and sweaty while running our hands through our hair and opening up our front cameras to double check that our makeup was still intact.

"Okay. Kitchen break? Maybe get drinks?" Blanca states.

We all agree in unison, and stand up once satisfied with our appearance.

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