Falling in the Dark | ✓

1 | Blindfold

I scan the crowd around me, hoping that no one notices my trembling hands. I tighten my fingers around the cool plastic cup. The condensation leaking from it is oddly comforting.

A guy in black jeans and an Ivy University sweatshirt appears in my line of vision.

"Excuse me," he says in a rush as he whizzes past, into the kitchen.

I step away from the crowd until my back is flush against the cream wall. Suppressing a cringe, I take another sip of my drink. Unfamiliar, fruity and strong, the alcohol refuses to taste better with time.

To an outsider, I probably seem like a timid eighteen-year-old who has never been to a college party before. The anticipation in the stifling air isn't helping, but this party isn't the source of my anxiety.

My phone vibrates from within my pocket. I wipe my clammy hand on my dark jeans and reach for it. I unlock the screen to find a text message from Vera.

Vera Manning. The source of my anxiety.

The small black words inside the gray speech bubble seem to jump out at me: Are you worrying about me instead of enjoying the party? xoxo

A smile stretches the corners of my lips despite the anxiety. Even after five years of friendship, Vera's ability to read my mind still surprises me.

Setting my cup on a wooden table to my left, I type a reply.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

Vera: I'm fine, babe! With Liam now.

I raise my eyebrows at Vera's text. Her latest fight with her boyfriend, Liam Archer, had been their worst yet. After what had happened, Liam and I were furious with her. I knew I had to deal with her calmly, but Liam voiced his anger without restraint. A defensive Vera had exploded, causing a tense, heated fight between the couple.

Me: You two made up?

Vera: Yeah! At his dorm now for movie night. Now go and enjoy the damn party! xoxo

Me: I'll try. x

Two hands land on my shoulders suddenly, causing me to look up from my phone with a start. I find Astrid Jacobsen smiling down at me. She's dressed in a pink jumpsuit that resembles a giant discarded candy wrapper. But with her five-foot-nine-inch frame, black stilettos and lustrous blonde hair, she manages to look like a fashion-forward Hollywood A-Lister.

"Carmen!" she shouts to be heard over the party music, her blue eyes wide with excitement. "Come on, we're starting."

I met and befriended Astrid, a sociology major, over cups of FroYo on a sultry Wednesday afternoon during the very first week of college. Five months later, over similar cups of fruit dessert, she told me about an 'exciting experiment' that she had planned for the upcoming Friday night party.

"Okay," I nod, pushing myself off the wall.

Astrid walks over to the stereo, fiddling with the dials until the song is reduced to a distant hum. Her voice - marked with the traces of a Norwegian accent - travels the length and breadth of the living room as she calls the attention of the partygoers.

In the next three minutes, almost thirty people are crammed into the center of the living room in Astrid's spacious, modestly-furnished home. I can barely raise my arms without coming in contact with someone.

"Please take one and pass the rest," Astrid instructs, handing a big bunch of blindfolds to the boy immediately next to her. As the blindfolds get handed out, she says, "Like I said before, you get three dances. You'll switch partners after every song. And remember, you cannot look at or talk to each other whatsoever. I'll question each of you separately after the three songs are over. The girls will be interviewed before the boys."