BEING EDITED
~†~
Local neighborhood orphan, Brooklyn Persson, has only ever wanted one thing:
Freedom.
Not family, not food, just pure unrestricted independence -although she can't deny that money would be a nice addition too.
However, just three m...
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BROOKLYN
In front of me stood the Palace: a building sited a far distance from the actual school premises where the students' unofficial parties —most likely without Anette's knowledge— were held.
I'd passed by The Palace a couple of times, immediately thinking it to be some abandoned tool shed or makeshift darkroom for —and I can proudly say this— people like me. But now, bathed in party lights and streamers, it was nothing compared to what it looked like during the day. I couldn't even begin to fathom what sort of preppy ass sorcery they'd done to fucking transform what I'd once thought to be uncompleted and old into this new retro building, oozing neon and undiluted gen-z vibes.
Nonetheless, I liked it. Probably a lot more than I should've. I mean, it was that fucking glorious; it really couldn't be helped.
Madison, linking my arm with hers, pulled me along excitedly. "Come on."
I let myself be pulled, deciding to let someone take the reins this time just so I could blend in and not steal —or ruin— anyone's show for once.
You see, the inauguration afterparty aside, I'd been to quite the number of parties and one way or the other, due to my damned bad luck, I'd ended up crashing them, more literally than most. From falling —down and into— cakes to unintentionally stepping on a lady's dress so forcefully it tore to juvy celebrations and that one time house party where I may or may not have pushed someone off a roof —depends on who's asking.
In conclusion, if there were to be an award for greatest party wrecker, I'd bag it without any hitch. At all.
With the music growing louder by the second as well as the number of people hanging around and trooping in and out, the party was already in full swing, that much I could tell as I stepped feet into the main room, welcomed with the smell of alcohol and sweaty bodies that'd been dancing for Lord knows how long.
I'd forgotten just how gross parties could be, to tell you the truth.
Madison pulled me into the heart of the crowd and mere minutes in, although still very much drenched and wearing that silly boob apron that a couple of boys staring (or maybe it was just the smeared makeup), I couldn't help but get carried away with the energy and excitement the party channelled, feeling it flow through my veins. So far, blending in seemed to be working great. I danced with Simon, Madison, the girls and even some third years, singing way off key to the song blasting through the speakers.
At one point, they started calling me 'party princess', saying something about challenging the Crown Prince for the crown because apparently, he'd also been tagged the 'party prince' one too many parties.
