November 2nd, 1977

Life in Denver had always been good to you. You got solid grades, had a strong relationship with your parents, and never had to worry about money. Things were going so well that, for the first time this school year, you made the honor roll. Your parents, proud as ever, decided to celebrate by hosting a party in the wealthy part of town. They told you to invite anyone you wanted, maybe Bruce, Finney, or even Robin, someone they’d approve of.

But instead, you invited your best friend, Vance.

Your parents couldn’t stand Vance. They hated his rough attitude and troublemaker reputation, but they didn’t outright refuse your choice. Instead, they reluctantly agreed and warned you: if he caused any problems, they wouldn’t hesitate to kick him out.

When you arrived at the party with Vance, he was unimpressed, to say the least. He scoffed as he took in the sight of the pristine white tablecloths, the neatly arranged food, and the delicate decorations strung up under the soft glow of the lights. “Fancy-pants...bullshit” he muttered, but he stuck around anyway, mostly because he didn’t have anything better to do.

The party was going smoothly so far. You and Vance stuck together, chatting and joking. At the drink table, he ignored the array of sparkling waters and fine wines, opting for a cup of fruit punch instead. You couldn’t help but laugh at his choice.

But then Derek, your stuck-up cousin, strolled past the two of you. He threw a sharp glance at Vance and muttered just loud enough to hear, “hoodlum”

Vance froze mid-sip and slowly turned to face Derek. His voice was ice-cold as he growled, “fuck you just say to me?"