The slightly grating sound of green glass against the tile floor made your ears tingle as the bottle spun with the precision of whoever’s clumsy hand brought it to life.

Perhaps to a poet’s eyes the silly party game could be taken as some complex symbolism one way or another.

You felt a little too out of it to dwell on that, though.

Sipping your something-and-juice concoction from a classic red plastic cup, you watched as the bottle chose the fate of a curly haired redhead sitting diagonal you.

You didn’t know her name, nor the name of the boy that she kissed shyly on her left.

The classic thrum of 90’s pop and rock played at a reasonably loud volume in the background. You adjusted the clips in your hair, shifting where you sat, eyes roaming about until locking with a familiar pair of hazel green irises. Nat.

You smile dryly.

The expression is met with a lazy grin from Natalie, as her ring decorated hand spins the bottle. Round and round it goes, clinking against the floor. It lands on someone tall, someone brunette—no other than Lottie Matthews. The extent of your knowledge on her being that she was on Natalie’s soccer team.

You didn’t expect the misplaced feeling of uncomfortable jealousy when Natalie kissed Lottie right there in front of you.

Okay. That was a new feeling.

Shaking it off, you chose to ignore it and down the rest of your drink—a mistake, seeing as the contents were definitely more something than juice.

Oh well. All in the spirit of shitty teenage parties.

The bottle makes its way around the circle, landing you a few consensual kisses upon the cheek or on the hand. Safe to say you were bored with them; by the people they were from, anyway.

You can’t help feeling a little burn of jealousy every time Natalie kisses someone else. This is ridiculous. She’s my friend, my best friend.

The bottle finally comes back to you. Eyes half lidded in a mix of boredom and laziness, a flick of your wrist sends the bottle spinning, spinning, spinning…

…landing on Nat.

Oh. Great.