With high school coming to a close, there's an excited buzz in the halls about an upcoming party; a final one, meant to rival their prom. There have been so many whispers and so much chatter that even the Eltingville Club has learned about it. It's open to everybody; surely, they won't notice four more people coming in.

They don't. While Pete makes a beeline for the kitchen, the others scattered about— either hiding or finding something to entertain themselves as, naturally, they aren't the party type— Bill drifts around. So many girls throwing themselves at subpar jocks, he needs to find some corner of the house where he won't be nauseous.

His eyes land on you almost immediately; the closest he's got to a hallway crush. Sitting on the bed in one of the many rooms— he'd overhead that whoever's throwing the party is loaded— your friends are sitting about in a lazy circle. It only takes a few seconds for them to notice him, how he's looking at you, before they're laughing and shoving you both in a closet. They're wholly aware of his feelings— what's funnier than a dork liking someone like you, right? Seven minutes in heaven is a tradition, they urged, amongst many blatant jabs towards him.

He glowered at you. Your friends are setting you up for a prank. Clearly, you think he's a loser you should take pity on, you can also wash your mouth out later. The closet is cramped, and he has to be in your personal space. What he can't help, is glance towards your lips. He wills himself to look away, scowling.

"Go to the corner or something. Barf in peace. You want to, I'm sure."