ivy; s.m.

t h i r t e e n

ALL those stories you hear from college freshmans about the wild parties they attended in highschool... not true.

I don't know what highschool they went to, but it sure as hell wasn't mine.

The party was less than impressive, girls standing in clusters pulling down their too-short skirts, and boys joked about in a corner feeling their jelled locks.

I was the odd one out, not a beach-blond with tight clothes. My loose, grey long-sleeve and ripped jeans did not fit with the short skirts and heels.

"This is your idea of fun?" I whispered loudly to Shawn, while playing with my necklace.

"Just wait," he said, "the real party will be arriving with my brother."

His older brother arrived a couple minutes later, sporting several cases of beer and two bottles of vodka. The alcohol was spread across the room, and red cups were filled to the brim. Someone connected their phone to a speaker and terrible pop music was blasted through the house.

I felt a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. This is not a good idea, I thought. I should go.

I winced at the pure noise and crinkled and uncrinkled my cup. The fowl-smelling liquid swished around grossly. I was leaning on the kitchen counter, watching the people dancing and laughing.

Shawn walked over with a strawberry red can. "Hey Ivy, not drinking?"

"I've never tried alcohol before... I don't think this is a good idea." I said, like a question.

"Not that garbage," he said, looking at my drink. He smiled. "I thought you'd like this, my mom does." Shawn took my cup and dumped it into the sink, cracking open the red can and pouring a pink, syrupy liquid into the cup.

Shawn left, and I stared down at the cup.

I'm not this girl, I thought, setting it down on the counter. I shoved past the drunken teens and walked flat out the door.

oops, really short. well, i tried