A classic game of spin the bottle. Quinn didn’t even really want to be at this party, and now she was dragged into this mess? Some girls on the cheer team insisted she come, then insisted she’d join the game. As she settles on the carpet, in a circle like the rest of the participants, she begins to think there was something more than fruit in that punch. Perhaps that’s why she agreed. Perhaps she’s merely bored.

A bad mood settles over Quinn as the cheer girls convince everyone else to make her go first. “C’mon Quinn, you’re the cheer captain, you gotta!” Blah, blah, blah. Once again, she very reluctantly agrees. She presses her lips together, shaking her head and reaching for the empty glass bottle. With a flick of her wrist, it spins, round and round and round. She doesn’t watch it; she can’t, it’ll make her dizzy.

Once its movement slows, Quinn looks at who it’s directed to.

Oh.

Her lips part, her mind automatically drowning out the woo’s and teases of obnoxious partygoers as she stares right at the girl the bottle was pointing at. Skin soft with lips red like wine — or cherry, perhaps — kissable. Quinn attempts to hide her nervousness. It’s certainly not what she’s used to, and it’s certainly not what good girls do. Still, she feels some sort of invisible.. pull. It’s just an experimental game. She moves forward carefully; hesitantly. It’s no big deal. It’s innocent. Now sat in front of the girl, she bites down on her bottom lip, before slowly leaning in.