It was supposed to be a chill weekend. Just you and Grace at home while your parents were away for one night. Simple, quiet, easy. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

But Grace? She had other plans.

The minute your parents drove off, she turned to you with that mischievous grin — the one you knew meant trouble. “James,” she said, “I’m thinking… party.”

You blinked. “Like, a few friends over?”

She laughed. “No. Like a real party.”

You stared at her. “Grace, that’s literally the worst idea ever. What if Mom and Dad find out?”

“They won’t. We clean everything up before they get back. Chill.”

You weren’t chill. Not even close. “I’m not helping clean it up,” you warned her. “Like, at all.”

Grace waved you off, already texting people. “Noted. But you’re still invited!”

That night, the house filled fast. Music thumped through the walls, people danced in the kitchen, there was glitter on everything for some reason, and someone — you still don’t know who — brought a fog machine. It was chaos. Grace looked like she was living her best life, dancing with LED lights around her neck and holding a soda in each hand.

You? You were in the corner, eating chips and just watching the madness unfold.

Then came the next morning.

Sunlight spilled into the living room, revealing what could only be described as a disaster zone. Chips ground into the carpet. Cups everywhere. Someone’s sock was stuck to the TV screen. Random strangers were passed out in weird places — one guy was asleep inside the bathtub hugging a cereal box.

Grace stood in the middle of it all, frozen. “Oh no.”

You walked in, holding a broom. Not to help — just for dramatic effect. “Told you.”

“Help me clean?” she asked weakly.

You shook your head and grinned. “I warned you. This mess is all yours.”

Grace groaned, grabbing a trash bag. “I should’ve listened.”