How to Rebel in Three Months

Step One: Get Into A Load of Trouble

Step One: Get Into A Load of Trouble

The bass is humming loud enough to make me question my life choices as I slowly walk up the path to Marcy Jones's house. It's the first Friday night of summer vacation, and the first step of phase one of my master plan to become the new and improved Reena May James.

There are three phases total: phase one is to wear all the right clothes and to start showing up at various parties all over town until I gain enough confidence and create enough buzz to start throwing parties on my own. Phase two involves throwing a minimum of three magnificent parties so that people know I can throw a party worth coming to. During this phase, I will select my close friends from my no-doubt numerous followers who will flock to me to ride my wave of party fame. Phase three is to leave everything behind and start anew in in my college town with thousands of new Facebook friends and enough contacts in my phone to radiate confidence so that everyone around me knows that I'm someone fun and popular. Then, I'll scope out the most popular people of the school, introduce myself and befriend them all, therefore ensuring I will have the movie version of college.

The plan is full proof. There is no way I can fail.

Anyway, that's the reason I'm standing outside a huge house in my plain black skirt and tank top with my good pair of shoes on my feet, questioning whether or not I should actually walk inside Marcy's house. I run over the options in my head. Option one is to walk away, never think about this every again, and go watch Disney movies at home until I pass out every night of my life and fade into obscurity forever. Option two is to hold my head up high and walk into this house, ignoring every instinct I have, get on with my life, and become the most popular person in the history of the world. Option one is looking pretty good at the moment. I look down at my skirt and make up my mind.

Swallowing all my insecurities, and taking long strides, I stand at the door and press the doorbell. Then I wait five minutes and ring again. Another five minutes and I timidly open the door and stare right into hell's face.

There are people against the walls. There are people on the stairs. There are people who look like they're about to do the dirty right in the middle of the hallways floor. There are people who look like they're about to watch people do the dirty right in the middle of the hallways floor. There are red solo cups all over the place and one of them is smoking. The whole scene is nauseating and mildly fascinating. How can so any things be happening all at once and how can nobody be paying attention to any of them? It boggles the mind. But maybe this is normal. Maybe, as I acclimatize myself to these kinds of things, I'll start to ignore little details like smoking drinks too.

I edge past the couple on the floor and round a corner to see the living room. There are eve more people here. There are some playing what I think is beer pong in the corner, and about twenty people watching the game like it's the playoffs for their favorite sport and their team is two points away from victory. Next to the pong game, there's a tiny space cleared for dancing. There's maybe two people who look like they're actually dancing. All the others are kind of withering around, looking like they're dying. And all around, there are people just standing around. Some are drinking, some are watching other people drink. Some are making out, some are watching people make out. Which is actually pretty creepy. The air in the room is too hot, and it's stuffy and humid. It's suddenly all too much for me and I have to shove my way out of the room.

I end up in the kitchen, which is full of empty pizza boxes and semi-full bottles of vodka and gin. The air is a littler cool, but just as humid. There are fewer people in here, but the ones who are are some of the messiest drunks I've ever seen. I recognize most of them from school. Amy Redger, the head cheerleader, is passed out on the counter, in a puddle of what could be either vomit or a smoothy. Right beside her is Chad something-or-other, the captain of the swim team. He's got his face planted in the middle of Amy's back and is snoring. Three girls from the track team are sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling, giggling. They might be high instead of drunk, actually. Next to them rest Adam Brant and Celina Chola. They were co-valedictorians at our graduation last Friday. They are having a contest to judge who can fit more of their hand in their mouth.