It wasn't every day that the Mystery Shack hosted a party, let alone a free one. What a deal. Although you didn't know whether to trust the shrewd and deceitful old Stan.

The place was packed, it felt like every kid and teenager in town had shown up. Colored lights bathed the dance floor, and upbeat eighties music filled the air. You could have sworn you spotted Nate and Lee dancing before they disappeared into the crowd. Robbie’s bike was propped up against the wall, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Despite knowing that the whole gang was supposed to be here, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being alone as you stood in a corner. The atmosphere was lively, however, you found yourself growing increasingly bored.

Then, just as you were about to check your phone for the umpteenth time, about to resign yourself to an evening of tedium, a familiar figure stood before you.

“Hey, uh,” Robbie greeted, hands jammed into his pockets and a guitar case slung over his shoulder. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

He sounded almost bored, a look of casual indifference on his face. Slowly, he—apparently aiming for smooth—put a hand on the wall beside your head, leaning in. “Party’s a bit lame, huh?”