Seventeen

Chapter Eight: Friday Nights

Usually, I spent my Friday nights drafting my suicide notes or plotting my revenge on the entire student body of Skyview High. Just kidding—my Friday nights weren’t nearly that dramatic. They typically consisted of sleeping them away, hoping Saturday would somehow turn out better. Spoiler alert: it never did. This Friday night, however, felt different. An event totally out of the ordinary was unfolding right outside my house.

Skylar Chance stood there, an eager grin lighting up her face like a firefly in the dusk. Her dress, or what she thought was a dress, was too short to pass for one, and the platforms she wore looked like they could send her tumbling at any moment. Yet, despite the questionable fashion choices, her makeup-free face radiated a natural beauty that could’ve graced the cover of Vogue. I felt like a ghost in comparison.

"Hi," I said awkwardly, my voice barely cutting through the thick air of reluctance.

"It’s Friday night!" she exclaimed, waving her arms like a conductor orchestrating a symphony. "You are totally going with me to my brother's party."

Why did she keep trying? I didn’t want to go to her brother's party. High school parties were just an excuse for teens to get drunk, make reckless choices, and regret them in the morning. I didn’t want to be part of that chaos.

"No," I replied, hoping my refusal would be enough.

"Come on! There are gonna be hot boys," she insisted, her eyes sparkling with the promise of teenage dreams.

"Yes, and I’m pretty sure they’ve got a collection of STIs to share," I shot back, my sarcasm dripping like the rain saturating the night.

"You are way too bleak," she said, disappointment shading her voice.

"Thanks for your opinion, though I clearly don’t remember asking for it. If we’re done here, I’m pretty sure you know your way home."

She fell silent, probably taken aback. There I was, doing what I did best: pushing people away. If this were a job, I’d be rolling in dollar bills.

"When you’re done failing to piss me off, we can walk home. The party just started." Her confidence was admirable; I would’ve quit by now.

"You don’t quit, do you?" I asked, a hint of admiration seeping into my tone.

"Nope," she replied, shaking her head.

"You won’t give up no matter what I say?"

"Right again, Andy."

"Fine, I’ll go with you. But if I find any reason to leave, I’m out."

"Noted."

---

As we approached Aiden’s house, it was clear this was the epicenter of what was probably the only party in the neighborhood. By the time we were eight houses away, obnoxiously loud trance music assaulted our ears, a cacophony of bass that vibrated through my bones. I felt like taking a U-turn and heading back home, but instead, I plunged into the chaos, bracing myself for whatever disaster awaited.

The lawn was filled with a motley crew of teenagers in various stages of intoxication. Some chatted, others drank from Styrofoam cups, while a few were locked in passionate embraces or sprawled out, blissfully passed out on the grass. This was how regrettable choices were made. I gave Skylar my best bored face, hands buried deep in the pockets of my sweatpants. Yes, I was wearing sweatpants to a high school party—a fashion crime if there ever was one.

"Great party you have here," I said flatly.

"I wish you meant that," Skylar replied, her frown deepening. "Anyway, I still refuse to believe you’re bored already."