"There's a party tonight," Specs announces.

It's funny how those four words change your life. I didn't even think that Specs was into parties.

"Dutchy told me. Blink and Mush's room."

That explains it.

"Who's all going?" Bumlets asks, not looking up from his laptop.

"Everyone," Specs flops on his bunk, the bottom one.

"I'mthere!" Swifty enthuses, shooting from the bathroom like Pietro Maximoff.

I've never been into parties. Ever. I don't do well with large crowds. I tend to babble continuously and basically make myself look like an idiot.

"Dave?" Specs raises his eyebrows.

"Sure," I say, forcing a smile.

What's the worst that could happen?

--

I never usually drink at parties. Hell, I never usually go to parties.

"Hey," Race drapes an arm around my shoulders. "You're in my classes right?"

I nod.

"Hey," I say, trying to remain chipper. "Isn't that Skittery?"

I'm proud that in my inebriated condition, I can remember his name.

He drunkenly glances in that general direction. "Yeah. Skittery with his tongue down Oscar's throat if you wanna get technical about it."

"Well I…" I just shut up and drink my vodka that someone has thrust into my hand.

"Which is dumb," Race continues. "Because they totally hate each other now and Skits says his music's crap."

Then he staggers off into the crowd. I force a smile and down the rest of my drink.

--

There are very few things I remember about the party after that:

Spot getting wasted and ranting and raving about his art teacher who thought that Andy Warhol was a childish git. Spot had gone on and on about how the disgruntled teacher was just jealous that he hadn't thought of it and that he didn't look half as good with the bleached locks.

Race exclaiming 'So quick bright things come to confusion' before leaping off of Blink's chair and screaming 'FLY, FLEANCE, FLY!'

Mush jumping up and down on his bed and singing 'London Bridge' by Fergie after consuming who knows what in addition to booze.

Having to watch Specs and Dutchy drunkenly make out.

Actually, there's one more thing I remember about the party. Something I want to pretend never happened.

Making out with Jack.

--

I had been so drunk; my spatial awareness was completely off-kilter. I cannoned off of Blink's desk and into someone's arms.

"Hey, Davey!" Jack chirped jovially.

"Oh, you!" I had been unable to think of something remotely wittier.

Then Jack was looking me over.

"Never knew ya to drink, Davey."

"Well changes," I said, not making sense even to my self.

I also remember Jack looking at me weirdly, with this glint in his eye.

"Whachu lookin' at me for?" I asked. "Like that."

"How am I looking at you, Dave?"

"Like that!" I repeated, stamping my foot. "Stop it!"

He pulled me close to him and, to my now sober revulsion, I let him. Then I vividly remember him leaning down and licking my lower lip.

"Ewww!" I squealed like a girl. "Stop it!"

But Jack didn't stop it. He grabbed me by my shoulders and pressed my mouth, firmly to his. And I let him. I even opened my mouth and let him do devastating things in there. I remember him tasting like beer and chocolate. And I liked it. A lot.

Dear God, what's wrong with me? Jack is the most annoying, childish, self-centered person on the face of the planet. He annoys me on a daily basis to the point of wanting to punch him with a knife! Why, oh, why did I let him kiss me?