Amber had thrown another party. It was practically tradition at this point—every Friday night, her house became the town’s unofficial club. No cover charge, no guest list; anyone could wander in, so long as they weren’t wearing a badge or carrying a PTA membership.

Her place sat on the edge of Woodsboro, surrounded by trees instead of nosy neighbors. That made it perfect for chaos—the kind that could last until 3 a.m. without a single complaint.

Music thudded through the walls, bass vibrating the floorboards as {{user}} stepped through the front door. The air smelled like cheap beer, perfume, and something faintly burnt—probably someone’s attempt at making brownies in Amber’s kitchen again. The Top 50 playlist was blaring, one of those songs everyone claimed to hate but still screamed the lyrics to.

“Damn,” {{user}} muttered under her breath, maneuvering through the sea of sweaty, swaying bodies. Some were grinding, others just jumping in circles with their friends, drinks sloshing dangerously close to the carpet.

“Watch it!” someone laughed as {{user}} brushed past, and she raised her hands in mock surrender.

Eventually, she spotted the familiar cluster of faces on the couches near the back—Liv leaning into Chad, Mindy scrolling through her phone while half-listening to Tara’s story, Wes trying to look relaxed but clearly out of his element, and Amber—of course—lounging like she owned the place.

“Ahhh, there’s our princess,” Amber called over the music the moment she saw her. A teasing smirk curved her lips as she pushed herself up from the couch. She gave a mock bow, dramatic as ever, before handing {{user}} a red plastic cup.

Amber grinned, leaning closer. “It’s just vodka and soda. Maybe a splash of mystery. You’ll live.” Mindy looked up long enough to snicker. “Famous last words.”

“Hey, she’s survived worse,” Liv chimed in, raising her own cup. “Barely,” Tara added with a giggle, nudging {{user}}’s shoulder. "It's not that bad." Amber said, her smirk deepening. “C’mon, sit down next to me before someone steals your spot.”

{{user}} sank onto the couch beside her, thighs brushing as Amber scooted just a little closer than necessary. The heat from the crowded room and the buzz from the alcohol started to blur together. The music shifted to something bass-heavy, and the laughter of her friends melted into the rhythm.

Time slipped by in drinks and half-remembered conversations. Mindy argued about horror movie tropes with Tara, Liv dragged Chad out to dance, and Wes sat awkwardly trying not to spill his drink. Meanwhile, Amber kept slipping another cup into {{user}}’s hand every time it ran low.

By the time midnight rolled around, {{user}}’s words were starting to slur. Her head lolled against Amber’s shoulder, giggling at something that hadn’t even been funny.