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09 | ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔫 -
OCTOBER 7TH, 1989
I was feeling anything but excited ━ sweaty palms, bottled up emotions and a heart beating faster than normal ━ I was anxious, but what for? That my dress was making me panic every five seconds and constantly pull at it to feel self-conscious? If people thought I was trying too hard to be noticed because I'm the new kid on the block needed to be seen to keep everyone on their toes? Or is it the fact that I will, more than likely, encounter Lucas at some point in time tonight? Or, or, or would it be the fact that everyone's eyes were on me as if I was a delicious chocolate shake?
I'm unsure, really, but it was overwhelmingly disturbing.
Despite every girl's jealous glare and fake smile, I could hear every whisper, every murmur, and every mumble underneath their breaths. There was a clear sense of intimidation in the air smelt from a mile away, but was I phased by their side eyes, and constant mugging? No, I was too busy worrying about getting hit on by the next jock.
It didn't take long for us to find our little crew huddled up in the living room corner playing a simple game of truth or dare. Marisol had quickly joined, giving the game a little twist of her own. For every truth or dare they rejected they had to take a shot of vodka. Everyone was skeptical at first but with a little bit of persuasion, they agreed.
A few rounds later, an argument was stirred in the midst of chaos. A challenge was appointed to Rocky. It was obvious he didn't like alcohol, but he kept denying saying he wasn't a punk and could handle anything that came his way. But Devon begged to differ. So, she took it upon herself to challenge him 10 shots back-to-back, no breaks.
Everyone watched Marisol line up ten shot glasses full of clear liquid before stepping away. She had set a time for them as they began downing each shot. They had gone through the first five glasses before Rocky started gagging and coughing up a storm.
"You good over there, Rock? Ya lookin' a little pale, buddy." Devon smirks, but all Rocky did was grumble, "Shut up..." before continuing to take his sixth shot.
At the last shot everyone's eyes fell on Rocky. He sat back on the couch, chill, as if it was nothing, as if it was light work. And I started to believe him until he burped and then gagged once again. From the looks of it, it seemed like he took it like a champ, but then he jumped up and ran off to the nearest trash can.
While everyone "ooh'd" at the loud sound of vomiting. Devon scoffed, "Weak ass," before downing her last shot and sat back in the loveseat with a red solo cup in the other.
Pushing myself from off the wall, I stalked off where Rocky was with Marisol behind me. Stood up straight holding onto the counter for leverage, he breathed heavily lifting his eyes to us. "Do you ever get tired of losing?" Marisol scowled as if he was a troubled five-year-old.
