"Are you ready to fucking rage?" A clear voice rings out across the suburban neighborhood, a rather expensive speaker amplifying it loud enough to be heard from the next block over. In response a flock of joyous shouts arise, their individual voices indecipherable among the crowd but their approval clear as day. The first voice, that of a young teenager, blasts once again with an air of absolute exhilaration.

"Get ready to jingle bell ROCK ON!"

A short distance away, two teenagers soldier towards the noise, each wearing a slight look of apprehension on their face.

"Michael, are you sure this is a good idea?" The taller of the two boys, wearing a blue and white sweater covered in tiny menorahs, crosses his arms and shudders against the cold. Maybe he should've brought a jacket. He glances over at his friend, who seems completely oblivious to the temperature, and is casually gazing at the displays of Christmas lights and decorations on the surrounding houses. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, a flurry of snowflakes spill down from a tree branch a few feet above their heads, dusting the teen's shoulders with a thin powder of flakes. Fuck.

"Hey, the flyer said anyone and everyone is invited." The other boy, wearing a few layers of various thickness, strides a few paces ahead of his friend. He pulls off his headphones and unzips his outermost coat, his fervent excitement heating him to a degree of discomfort. Underneath it is a bright red sweater, boldly emblazoned with an image of Darth Vader's mask and the words "Merry Sithmas" below it.

The taller teen rubs his arms, trying to stave off the cold. "What sort of idiot makes a flyer for a party? That's just asking for the police to show up and chase us all down. I mean, as much as I want to get drunk with girls our age, I don't need my parents finding out about it because I'm a slow runner."

"Yeah, but it says the address is on Bluebird Lane, which is nearly an hour away. Come on, Jer, it'll be fuuuuuun." Michael turns to face his friend and walks backwards, hoping he won't bail after coming all this way. They already hitched a ride to reach the neighborhood of the party, and were planning on doing the same to get back to their respective houses. The pair can't just show up and immediately ask someone for a ride home without looking like total dweebs. After a few more steps, the shorter teen stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet. He catches himself, then goes back to walking normally. Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, he uses the other to wave the flyer back towards Jeremy.

The flyer is flashy to the point where it's impossible to miss. Bold, blocky letters spell out "Jake's Holiday Extravaganza" in neon blue, all outlined in multi-colored vectors of Christmas lights. Below that details the basic where and when of the party, along with a few notes in small text near the bottom of the flyer. Neon yellow stars border the page, and a small image of Jesus with abs is displayed in the upper right corner. It all looks like it was put together in a Word document in fifteen minutes, and that just adds to its charm. Michael had found it pinned to the board of community events at a local pizza place, but he had seen other copies in various places around town, ranging from the public library to on the sides of electrical boxes in nearby neighborhoods. Although the address is fake, it wasn't difficult in the slightest for the two to find the party. Information about the party began circling along with the usual gossip early in the previous week at the teenagers' high school.

But even Jeremy has to give the fake address idea some credit. The police have busted Jake's holiday get-togethers multiple times, despite the fact that each party has been held at a different location. This has just lead to Jake being craftier in hiding the affairs, since the cops don't actually dish out any punishments to, as they put it, 'kids just trying to have some fun.' They mostly just dish out lectures, make a few calls to parents, and call it a night. It's a sort of weird paradox where the pigs will do whatever it takes to barge in on the illegal activity, but won't lift a finger to try and prevent it in the future. Well, as long as Jeremy can get wasted on drugstore-quality vodka, he doesn't care.

"So you're sure we'll get in?" The two teens aren't exactly known for being popular, or athletic, or even likeable in the slightest to those that don't know them. They aren't purposefully malevolent towards anyone in particular, but they just seem a bit shut off from the rest of the school due to their lack of social skills. The taller teen is sure that if it were up to Jake's crew, his appearance would most likely be greeted with a 'Who are you?' or an even more frank 'Go away.'

Michael isn't bothered in the slightest. "What are they gonna do, check if we're on a guest list? From all the yelling, it sounds like half of our school is there already. The flyer says we only need an ugly sweater for entrance, anyways. We'll be fine!"

"So you went with your Star Wars sweater? I thought you wore that last week at school, you know? And I know you practically have a stockpile of weird sweaters," Jeremy says, gazing out in front of him. The pair are only a minute's walk from the house by now, and the noise is growing louder by the second. They might have to start shouting just to hear each other.

"Well, I wanted to wear my 'Now I have a machine gun, ho-ho-ho' sweatshirt, but I thought it would give off school shooter vibes, and I'm not about that life." Michael simply shrugs and continues walking.

"Good choice. I mean, even in context, it's kinda…" Jeremy searches for the right word, but can't think of anything that won't sound rude or dismissive.

The shorter teen crosses his arms and fakes a pout. "Hey, that movie is a classic! And it's perfect for this time of year. You know, Die Hard takes place on-"

"On Christmas, I know. But that means, like, approximately nothing to me." Jeremy gestures to the menorahs on his sweater.

"Oh, um, right. I kind of forgot for a second-" Michael desperately backpedals.

"Dude, we just had latkes fifteen minutes ago," The taller teen says.

"But those are just like hashbrowns! They just remind me of breakfast." They aren't really like hash browns aside from the inclusion of potatoes, but the teen doesn't want to sound like an insensitive dick. In his mind, he's probably just making things worse. "Well- I mean-"

"Breakfast… at 10PM?" Jeremy raises an eyebrow, the amusement apparent on his face. It really isn't a big deal to him whether or not Michael talks about Christmas, but Jeremy just isn't able to relate. Even if they do visit each other's houses over each year's holiday season to partake in their various holiday traditions, it's still foreign to him. And, to Jeremy, that's fine. He mostly participates in the Christmas festivities for the gifts and food, not to mention spending time with his best friend. Although, he really could never wrap his head around the whole fat red magical guy breaking and entering into kid's houses every year…

"Breakfast food is like, supreme munchie fuel. And McDonalds has a 24 hour breakfast menu, so…" Michael can't find the words to finish his thought, so instead he makes a vague hand gesture that ends up looking like a walrus signaling for help.

The taller teen stares at the display before him, unable to keep himself from breaking into a wide grin. After another second of silence Jeremy breaks into a short fit of laughter, which prompts Michael to do the same. They really can't take each other seriously half the time.

The taller teen takes a moment to regain his composure. "So, should we-"

But he's quickly cut off by an announcement from the party's host. "Alright, my holly jolly houseguests! The ugly Christmas sweater contest is about to begin, so anyone who wants to enter should go to the living room for the chance to win a kiss from the girl of your choice! Some restrictions may apply, fellas. We don't have Jessica Alba here, so don't pull that bullshit and ask for her. As for the ladies, expect a similar contest in an hour!"

The shorter teen isn't impressed in the slightest. "Jesus Christ, what is this, the 1960s? What kind of dou-"

"Do you, um, think Christine is gonna be there?" Jeremy squeaks out. This is the third time this week he's mentioned his puppy-dog crush on Christine, and Michael isn't having it. This is supposed to be a night all about getting into drunken teenage adventures, not trying to woo some girl who probably doesn't even like him back. This is seriously going to cut into their boyish shenanigans. Convincing both of their parents to let them stay out so late was hard enough, and Michael certainly doesn't want to spend the night drinking alone, surrounded by strangers hopped up on teenage hormones and rebellion, among other substances.

"Dude, you can't seriously be considering-" Michael begins, but is quickly cut off.

"At least it would be me kissing her and not some jerkwad." Jeremy's voice is laced with hope that can only be found in the likes of a teenager hopped up on hormones and rebellion.

The shorter teen is swift in his rejection. "You don't even have a Christmas sweater, Jer. And we don't know if she's in there."

Jeremy mulls everything over for a second. "Well… you do. Have a sweater, I mean. And I bet it would fit me."

"No," Michael says.

"But- oh, come on, Michael! It'll only be for a few minu-" Jeremy lightly punches Michael on the arm, in jest. It mostly comes off as awkward and forced.

"No," Michael says, with slightly more force.

There's a noticeable twinkle in Jeremy's eyes. "I swear I won't do anything to it, and I-"

"Hey, you two!" A deep voice booms from up ahead. Oh. The pair have already reached the house. Their bickering must've distracted them. Standing in front of the door to Jake Dillinger's house is a rather frazzled looking 'bouncer' of sorts. He's wearing shades, probably in an attempt to look tough, but since it's so dark outside they can't be of much assistance in any sense of the word. His hair is wildly messy, and he looks almost too drunk to be standing straight. Doesn't that break bouncer code, or something? The bouncer says something, notices that his voice can't be heard over the noise, and tries speaking again with more volume. "Are you coming in, or what?"

Jeremy gives Michael a hard stare before pulling him through the open door towards a mass of drunk teenagers in surprisingly skimpy outfits, considering the weather. This is the seventh layer of hell, and Michael is far too sober to deal with it. But Jeremy has a look of pure fire in his eyes that Michael has never seen in all his years of knowing him. He looks as if he'd move heaven and earth for the chance to enter a contest where he doesn't even know the prize.

Maybe he'll lose. Maybe Christine isn't even at the party. Both are possible. Probable, even. Jeremy knows this. And yet…

"Ten minutes. That's all I'm asking."