It Started With A Toothbrush

Part 1

To start off, I would like to claim that I am not particularly a 'party' person. Most of the time, they are not my scene – I like privacy, so I'd rather be at home, alone, listening to something and doing homework whilst watching some movie I'm not actually paying attention to. But, on this occasion, I was, indeed, contradicting just about everything I know about myself by being at a party.

The first very important fact about this party is that it was held my one of my good friends (his name is Oliver, if you google rich teenager with workaholic parents, he'll come up.) So, who was I to say no to one of the guys I've known all my life?

The second is that my other two friends, Bethany and Yasmin, came over for the three of us to get ready. This one isn't much of an excuse, but Yasmin is a complete whiz with a makeup brush, and I had this dress that my mom bought me that I had to try on at some point (and Bethany told me I looked cute in it) – so why not at a friend's house, who happens to be throwing a party?

The third, and possibly most important fact of the night, is that I have never personally been to a party before. I've watched countless movies where people get shitfaced from mystery concoctions in red solo cups – and I've always told myself that parties like those don't actually happen; or they do, and I just haven't been invited to one. Yet.

Which brings me to the wonderful predicament that is tonight. To recap: I haven't been to a party before. In the daytime, I probably know this house back to front with how much time I've spent in here. But when it is full of people – most of which I don't even know – I have somehow confined myself to one of the many bathrooms on the second floor, with my phone that is very close to dying.

I knew I should've brought a book.

I can't be sure, but I think that there are two people making out on the other side of my door with how much banging is going on against it. Not that I've ever heard anyone make out before. That would be creepy. But the constant banging is getting kind of threatening, and I don't want to open the door to see if it really is two people connected at the mouth on the other side.

I look down, just in time to see my phone die in my hands. Well, isn't that perfect.

"Open up!" Someone says from the other side of the door. My head whips up to look at the door, as if somehow I'm going to get X-Ray vision and figure out who it is pounding on the door.

At least it isn't the two playing tonsil tennis.

Reluctantly, I stand up, going to the door and unlocking it. A guy – tall, broad, out of control curly hair – brushes past me and takes a lunge for the toilet basin, falling to his knees. Before I can blink, he is dry heaving, clutching the toilet like it's some form of life support.

Holy shit. That is not what I was expecting.

He heaves again, and I cringe as he vomits no less than a foot away from me. What do you do in this kind of situation?

"Umm... excuse me? Are you okay?"

Another round of vomiting hits the boy as my answer.

Feeling bad, I go up to him – slowly – and place a soft hand on his back, rubbing slightly in comfort. "Did you really drink that much?" I ask, somewhat jokingly.

"What's it to you?" He manages to slur out, before his body forces out more of his stomach's contents.

"Oh." Somewhere in my head, I guess I forgot that he was a real person, over all my awkwardness. "I'm sorry." I pull back my hand, only to be stopped as one of his grabs my wrist and places it back on his shoulder.