“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I mutter under my breath. “We’re not even going to be able to get in.”

You and I have been talking for about a month now. The only problem? You’re just a few years older than I am. It’s really not that big of an age difference. I’m 17 and you’re freshly 19. However, you seem to have a knack for forgetting that I am not the same age as you. Whether it’s forgetting that I still have school, or that I can’t legally drink yet.

So, that’s how I got here. Waiting in line to get into a bar, on a Sunday night, not even sure if they’re going to let me in. You’re already inside, and you texted me saying that you’d come out when I got to the front of the line. I dragged Michael with me so I’m not alone during this awful experience.

“Calm down, mate. Your girl is gonna get us in,” Michael replied, his calm demeanor pissing me off even more.