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When I was younger, my parents would always tell me to not talk to strangers. Don't talk to strangers on the street; don't talk to strangers at the park or in the playground.
I can't blame my antisocial behaviour on my mum or dad or their stranger danger warnings. It's not their fault I was friendless until the age of sixteen.
Don't get me wrong; I was never lonely, I just liked things like drawing, singing, and spending time on my own.
Still do.
Which is ironic, because somehow I've ended up being friends with Vilde, who's way too excited about partying with third-years, and Chris, who's got the beer man on speed dial.
And then there's Sana, the most headstrong, outspoken, truthful person I've ever met. I wouldn't cross her. Ever.
I met them all last year, at the first revue party.
Ever since then, Friday nights consist of making sure that Vilde doesn't pass out, that Sana doesn't flip people the middle finger or throw a drink in their face, and that Chris doesn't spike drinks with hot sauce for laughs.
Parties have never been my thing. I've never touched alcohol in my life, I hate crowded places, and third-year boys don't excite me.
Yet, anyway.
Vilde is convinced that at some point I'll fall head over heels in love with some føkkboy. Apparently, that's just the way it is.
