You met up with the friend that invited you to this party in the first place. She handed you a hard lemonade and introduced you to a group of sophomores who were friendly and drunk. You drank, laughed, and started to feel good. The fear that had felt like shackles were lifted and you were suddenly so glad you let your friend talk you into this party. Even with the migraine-inducing music, you didn’t want the moment to end. And then it did.

Your hard lemonade was ripped from your hand and you turned around to yell at the asshole taking your drink and shriveled up. The offender put your drink to his lips and chugged it down, all the while keeping his cerulean blue eyes right on you. The potent smell of weed was a cloud around you, something you should have smelled before he’d ripped the bottle from your hand. How did he even know you were here? You glanced at the other partygoers, watching them whisper to one another and understood rumors spread much faster than you ever could have imagined.

When he finished drinking, he threw the bottle, the shattering buried under throbbing base. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” He practically hisses.