Because of You

Plastic Cups

My grades had never had such a wide variety of letters penned onto them before.

They'd only ever seen A's, and yet, in the following week, my papers were becoming very intimate with the first portion of the alphabet. Mr. Owens was the only teacher that actually tried to discuss it with me, but it was evident he believed what everyone else did;It was just the grief talking. And it would pass.

My mom even seemed to think it normal, and on the occasions she was home, didn't even bring it up. I knew Thalia would if she'd known, but she hadn't spoken to me since my outburst and I was actually grateful for the space.

Yet, when Friday arrived again, the novelty of imperfect grades had begun to wear thin, along with my anger. Which was dangerous. That meant turning to the darkness and I wanted to keep that emptiness away from me for as long as humanly possible.

Which left me only one, and possibly very stupid, idea.

I was potentially making a grave mistake, but right now it didn't feel that way. I knew something I wanted, and I knew only one way to get it.

Earlier this week, I'd overheard a cluster of clucking girls talking about a party taking place at Gregory Himmon's house. I had no idea who that was, and it took a few interactions with classmates I'd never spoken to for me to get the necessary information.

Gregory Himmons, I discovered, was captain of the football team.

His address was even easier to come by, given out by some girl whose name I was sure started with an S. I actually found it concerning how simple it was, but no one wanted to deny the girl whose boyfriend had just been gunned down in a seven eleven parking lot.

I wouldn't even be attending for the partying anyway. No, what I wanted was only to forget for a little while. My mind ached for some respite. For a moment when I didn't have to be asleep to not think about defibrillator paddles or the wailing echo of sirens. Because I felt if I kept going like I was, I'd eventually snap.

I actually found myself looking forward to it all as I dressed in jeans and that white blouse I'd worn to Octavia's. I debated on whether or not to bring my phone, but the thought of someone disturbing me was reason enough to keep it plugged into the wall.

It was only six when I drove up to the house, but it was already pulsing with life, strobe lights and the pounding of music assaulting all my senses. It had me pondering if I should turn back—give up on this inane plan I'd concocted—but I killed the engine before I could give myself the proper time to think it over. It wasn't like I was being completely reckless; I was acting like a teenager, for the first time in my life.

I got out of the car, the sound louder beyond the inch of glass. It grew worse as I climbed the porch steps and walked through the open door.

I was greeted by a crowd of people, elbows and stomping feet and shouts ringing from around the room. I was stunned a one-floored house had the capacity to hold this many people; I couldn't even tell what the place looked like through the mass of moving bodies and shoved my way through, standing on my toes to see over the sea of heads.

I only stopped when I spotted the "bar,"-just a large keg, erected in the middle of the kitchen. A line of people already had plastic red cups in hand and I found the stack and pulled off my own.

Stupid idea, reason chided me, but I blocked it out, waiting impatiently as the line thinned and I got my turn at the keg.

The person manning it blinked at me in surprise. Then his face broke out into a wide grin, as he eyes roved over me. "Look who we have here," he beamed, as if taking credit for getting me to this party. "Has the Princess gone rogue?"