Kim Diehl's house parties are kind of a big deal.

And not just because there's always a hearty helping of horny teenagers grinding up on each other and or that she has a really kickass heated pool.

Okay, sure, that helps, but it's more because of Kim's hot (hot) older sister with the bountiful curves and penchant for low cut shirts. Kim's general badassery and good looks are reason enough to rocket her towards the top tier of the social hierarchy, but mix in a bombshell older sister who enjoys chaperoning the underage drinking that'll inevitably take place, and it's no wonder Kim is the most popular girl in school.

Maka wonders briefly if it will be as terrible as she suspects Her experience thus far with popularity has been decidedly sour; she's gone from Maka Albarn, class nerd to Maka Albarn, floozy who sleeps with college guys in the matter of just a few days. It's got to be a new record. The dress rides high on her thighs, not any shorter than her normal pleated skirts, but something about the circumstances (and probably the low-cut front and her depressing lack of cleavage) makes her want to cover up or hide behind Cal's pompous stride.

More than just a few people stare as the three of them walk in. Vaguely, Maka hears a Ke$ha song play in the back of her head as the weight of it all finally sits in her stomach. Summoning her courage, she pushes her shoulders back and tightens her grasp on Cal's wrist. He shakes her away easily and strides forward, that frat-boy swagger in full force.

"Hey, Albarn!" someone calls. "Nice legs!"

Before she even has the chance to flip the guy off, Hiro's slinging an arm around her shoulder. He mutters, "Ignore them," into her ear, trying purposefully to look like he's whispering seductively in her ear. "Straight guys are basic."

She tries to smother her snort. "No offense, but most men are basic."

He laughs against her cheek and apologizes quietly before pressing his lips just behind her 'd already agreed on boundaries and what was fair game on the ride here, went over what made Maka uncomfortable and what really wasn't in Hiro's list of things he felt alright doing with a girl. The general consensus was face kissing is fine, lips included, as long as there's no tongue action involved and no boob touches. Still, he mutters a quiet "sorry" when he sinks lower and kisses her neck and Maka feels safe when the group of leering men look away.

She exhales through her nose. "Thanks. I could've snapped them in half, but that probably would've been in bad taste..."

"You think?"

She smiles bitterly. "Still, thanks."

Hiro squeezes her shoulder. "Not all men," he jokes, slowly meeting her eye before sobering his gaze. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

He bumps her head lightly. "Just follow my lead."

She has to. Part of the plan involves pretending to be piss-drunk and that's something Maka's never experienced before. Sure, she's seen her Papa come home after having a few too many and pass out on the couch with his shoes still on, but she's never been drunk herself. It's not so much her being prim as it's she has never really seen the point. The extent of her under age drinking is family game nights, where Papa and Uncle Stein drink leisurely while Aunt Marie lets her steal sips from her strawberry daiquiri while they play Skip-Bo. She's never been intoxicated enough to stumble. She's never been drunk, never enough to actually make a threesome seem like a feasible course of action.

She's also never had a boyfriend. And her first kiss was with Ox Ford, which was entirely disappointing and nothing more than an awkward mouth-touch, which means she's an everything else virgin. But she's supposed to be some super sexy femme fatale, right? Shouldn't she be playing the part?

Maka bumps his hip with hers. He nudges her back, and they stumble behind Cal together, dragging their feet and slumping along. The giggles aren't entirely forced - she's not buzzed, but trying to figure out how to believably lean with Hiro while they both remain on their feet is amusing, to say the least.

"YOU!" Cal exclaims. Kim nearly drops her plastic cup. "Tell me, girl, where is the nearest bedroom?"

Kim chokes a bit. "Excuse me?"

"My posse and I require privacy," he says very seriously. Kim leans to stare at the two of them and something in Maka's stomach shifts uncomfortably. Her eyebrows disappear beneath bright pink bangs and she shakes her head. "I will repeat: where is the nearest bedroom?"

"Depends," she grumbles. "Are you going to put a towel down?"

"Why would we need a towel?" Maka whispers to Hiro. "It's not like we're finger painting?"

"We will get the job done cleanly." Cal tips his hat. Maka barfs a little in her mouth, despite her lingering confusion - is sex really that messy? - as Kim points over her shoulder. "Many thanks!"

She watches Maka lean on Hiro with a raised brow and peculiar look in her eye. The suspicion is easy to decipher, white-hot as it burns the center of her chest, and Maka squeezes his arm and forces a giggle, teetering after him in kitten heels.

With every step, she gains a little more confidence. None of it really matters in the end. Kim's judgement is hypocritical at best, considering all the hookups and partners she has under her belt. Who is she to judge Maka for getting a little adventurous? Wasn't that what everyone always told her? Live a little, Albarn. Let loose. Why wait around for Soul if he's not interested in her?

She's let loose alright. Just to prove it, she smacks Hiro's ass as he trots into the bedroom before her, flips her hair and scurries in after him.

Maka slams the door behind her with a huff and makes quick work of locking it. The rumble of footsteps is like a stampede behind her and she rolls her eyes; expected, yes, but still annoying. Still, an audience is sort of the whole point of putting on a show, so she disregards the burn in her throat and pounds her fist against the center of the door for good measure.

Hiro squawks and rubs his behind, brows furrowed. "Did you have to hit so hard? Yikes!"

"Sorry!' she stage-whispers. "Guess I don't know my own strength. I just wanted them to be able to hear it."

Excalibur produces something black and lacy from his terrible hat and Maka sputters, indignant. "What is that?"

He strides over to the door and dangles a thong over the doorknob. "Evidence, my dear."

Hiro closes the blinds and adrenaline pumps through Maka's veins. It's probably an awful idea - a terrible idea - but it's a challenge, and she's nothing if not stubborn and proud. When Hiro turns back to face her, Maka howls and tackles him onto the bed with a running start. They both gasp as they collide messily, legs tangling and foreheads bonking as they hit the bed. He shouts, kneeing her as he attempts to detangle a shoelace from the buckle of her shoe, limbs flailing.

"What the-!"

Before Hiro can finish, Cal's diving into the dogpile. It's apparent he's not one to be outdone, as he shoves an elbow into Maka's stomach, and she grunts and kicks, accidentally catching Hiro's soft hair in her fingers as she fights tooth and nail for dominance. The three of them tumble and squirm, trying to fish out their own legs and arms from the knot they've tied themselves in as Cal continues to grunt loudly.

If sex is a battle, she's going to reign victorious. If nothing else, she wants to exude power and grace, because her extent of knowledge of things that go bump between the sheets begins and ends with the sex scenes in her young adult novels that fade to black before any real fireworks happen. The vanilla stuff, to say the least. Not threesomes, with her sandwiched between two men.

"What porn have you been watching?" Hiro hisses. "Are you a linebacker or something?"

"Can't take the heat?" she taunts. "Don't you like it, baby?"

"Children!" Cal practically booms. Maka winces - that's not really a kink she wants broadcasted for the better part of the student body, yikes. "Play nice. There is enough of Daddy to go around!"

"Daddy?" Maka squawks.

Hiro detaches her hand from his hair, wincing. "More moaning, less death grip. Trust me."

It only escalates from there. Maka learns quickly that she knows even less about sex than she had originally anticipated. Hiro leaps on the bed like a chimp on a mission, long arms flapping like he wants to take flight as his boyfriend pounds his fists rhythmically on the wall behind them. She stands between it all, knees wobbling as she struggle to keep balance on the trembling mattress, still in her heels and completely out of her element.

"Scream!"

Maka stumbles off of the bed. "I was under the impression that sex shouldn't hurt-"

"You're getting double penetrated," Hiro says very seriously, each word punctuated by a heavy breath. Jumping on the bed seems to be exhausting. Maka wonders if sex is the same way. "Scream."

So she does. A full, blood curdling scream. Gasps are heard on the other side of the door. Hiro waves his hands in front of himself wildly in 'x' formation, head shaking, muttering, "No, no, too much pain! It sounds like we're murdering you in here!"

"You said scream!"

"In pleasure!" he stresses, blue eyes wide with horror.

Cal slams his hand down again and groans low. "DADDY WILL ATTEND YOU, DO NOT FRET!" he exclaims, winking at her. His stupid hat tips and she catches glance of more of his bleached hair. Something stirs in her stomach uncomfortably.

It's the worst time for her to be reminded of Soul. Maka shoves the thought very far away, banishing warm red eyes from her thoughts as she throws her head back and tries screaming again.

This time, though, she takes it down about three notches. She watches as Hiro's panicked expression becomes proud, takes his hand as he offers it and bounces on the bed with him, trying hard to sound less childish with her giggles and more sexual. Maka's jumped on her bed hundreds of times during pillow fights and sleepovers, but never during anything this bizarre.

Thinking about childhood slumber parties while trying to sound like she enjoys being pounded by two penises is probably in bad taste. She fumbles for a moment, wondering when everything went wrong in her life to lead up to this moment.

"How long does this last?" she whispers to Hiro.

"Ehhhh, for us?" He wobbles his hand. "Half the time it should be for you."

"What?"

As if to punctuate his point, Cal gives a low, low moan and stops his thumping. Hiro takes his cue and leaps off the bed, crooning like a dying bird as he lands on his feet. This is probably supposed to emulate the sound of an orgasm, but they don't sound sexy in the slightest to her. Unsure if she's supposed to scream or groan also, she stops jumping and wobbles, barely catching her balance. She can hear the whispering behind the door, a steady rumble of not-so-secretive teens sharing their noisy opinions as Hiro gives her a funny look.

She mouths "what" again. He twirls his hand in the air, expression morphing into overall exasperation. Maka decides "what" is a suitable response again, because what?

"Your I-max!" she thinks he mouths back.

It makes zero sense. She's not at the movies? Are there cameras hiding somewhere? Because she definitely didn't consent to becoming an actual cam girl and her dress is staying on her body, thanks. Maka fits her hands on her hips and squints at him suspiciously.

"CLI-MAX," he whispers, stressing the syllables.

Oh!

"Oh," she says dumbly. Maka fits herself with her best porno voice and pushes a hand through her hair. "A… Aaaah? Yeeeees?"

Cal pats her head, hand clapping with her fingers. He's straightened his stupid fedora on his head and doesn't look even a little bit brotherly as he says, "My dear, you're a virgin, aren't you?"

Maka scowls and shoves his hand away. Pompous ass. But he hops down and lets Hiro kiss his cheek, and yeah, maybe the whole thing was a little worth it for the dazzling, mega-watt smile on the blond's face. He looks at her, grin fading into something more sincere and actually thankful and Maka's heart warms in her chest. You've done good, Albarn, she thinks, even as she straightens out her dress and watches Hiro try to turn the doorknob without making direct contact with the lacy thong.

"Come come, Hiro," Cal says, waving his hands as he speaks. "We have a grand march to do. At attention, now!"

Hiro marches out, high knees and all, and Maka really, really doesn't know what he sees in him.

It's funny how different Hiro and Excalibur's walk of shame is compared to hers.

And by funny, she means not at all. It's actually rather demeaning.

She does not feel like queen of the world as she makes her way down the crowded hallway. There are no high fives, no compliments, no fist bumps. She is not an adult, bursting with sexual prowess and maturity. She's not even feeling proud, and everyone's gaze sliding up her backside feels slimy and uncomfortable, like they're eating her alive. While Hiro and Excalibur kiss messily and sneak off to presumably hook up for real in Kim Diehl's bathroom, Maka practically has the word "SLUT" tattooed on her forehead in bright red ink.

Maybe she really is her father's daughter. A harlot.

A fake harlot, she reminds herself. She didn't actually fuck two gay men at once.

But it's impossible to really hate herself for doing it. Hiro had looked so happy when his boyfriend had held his hand and lead him off. If her first lie had done nothing but hurt her rep, at least her second is helping someone.

The whispering steadily increases as she exits the house. She shuts the door behind her and it mostly mutes the sound of the pounding bass and dubstep. Without realizing she'd been doing it, she releases the breath she'd been holding and rubs her eyes. The rush of power she'd felt when she decided to say fuck it and really sold the show has mostly dissolved and now she's left with the residing dread and guilt. It hangs heavy in her throat, like a rock, and swallowing hurts.

There's a cough. Maka flinches.

"Fancy meeting you here," Soul Evans drawls.

Her heart stops. She turns slowly, dreadfully, to see Soul slouched on the porch railing, features shaded in the dark. His lips quirk in the murkiness of the porch light and he nudges his head at her.

"Why are you here?" she blurts, voice high and brittle. "I thought you didn't like parties."

He shrugs and rolls his neck. "I don't. Star dragged me out."

"Oh."

"Oh," he repeats, tilting back to stare at the sky. "Full moon tonight."

She walks to him stupidly, feet moving with a mind of their own. It's mostly quiet, sans the clicking of her heals, the dulled sound of the party and the crickets chirping, and Soul tears his gaze from the sky to watch her. He looks at her, really looks at her, and Maka feels more self conscious in front of him than she has all night.

"... Soul?"

He snaps back to attention, cheeks burning. "New dress?"

"Is it too much?"

"It's just… different," Soul says slowly. "Nice. But it doesn't seem like something you'd wear."

The railing is cold beneath the palms of her hands. She shivers involuntarily. "Maybe I'm changing."

"Hm," he grunts, looking to the bushes instead. "Maybe. Aren't you cold?"

"It's not bad," she lies. She's actually freezing; she curses Hiro for convincing her to disregard a bra, because low temperatures and nipples never play nice, especially in a thin, tight dress. She leans, pressing her shoulders in and hoping to keep all attention off of her chest, because things are awkward enough and she doesn't need a wardrobe malfunction on top of everything else. "How long have you been out here?" she asks finally, determined to steer all conversation safely away from her choice of clothing and embarrassing chest.

Soul shrugs wordlessly.

Her throat feels tight. What if? she wonders, dread curdling in the pit of her stomach. "Soul?"

"A bit," he says shortly. "I guess. Party's a little too stuffy for me."

When he doesn't meet her eye, Maka knows he heard it all.

Soul's a closed door most of the time. He's so good at maintaining careful indifference usually, steeling himself with bored stares and lazy eyes, snarls and the likes if all else fails. And for the most part, he's got everyone fooled. It must suit him just fine, because she knows he's wanted to be the cool guy forever, wanted to play the part of aloof bad boy, leather jacket and all. It's the skin he wants to wear. But it's not the truth.

He tightens his grasp on the railing. Soul's not a careless and bored guy at all. No, he cares so much - maybe even too much, enough to crush her at the way he worries and stresses for his friends. He's the best kind of friend, and it melts her to her core.

Maka backs away and steadies her heart. "I'm going to get going."

"You sure?" he asks, though he still won't look at her. "I can give you a ride. It's dark. And cold."

"It's fine," she lies. The reality is she doesn't want him around when the weight of it all finally hits her full force and she pukes her guts out. Suffering isn't pretty like in the movies, not sad foreheads pressed against car windows as Kelly Clarkson croons in the background. No, it's much more ugly; snivels and snot and getting so anxious that she empties her stomach in Black Star's yard.

He forces a breath through his nose. "Maka."

"No, really," she says, shaking her head. "I've gotta get home before Papa gets back anyway. I'm not really supposed to be here. I'm under house arrest."

Soul rolls his eyes. "Dramatic."

"Yeah, well." Her heels clank as she stomps down the stairs. It takes everything in her not to break out into a run. "Papa doesn't know how to deal with his daughter following in his footsteps. But don't worry, I wasn't stupid enough to not use protection."

She knows he's staring at her as she leaves. They're more alike than he realizes, and part of her hopes that he'll read her like a book. Great minds think alike, after all. And if this whole fake reputation thing has benefitted Soul, who suffers from social anxiety, then maybe it won't blow up in her face as spectacularly as she's afraid it might.

A wolf whistle follows her as she walks down the street. It trails behind her and staples itself into the clicks of her heels, perfect punctuation to the leering call.

Or maybe it will.