It starts on a Friday.
Schools awards students two “stress-free” nights, and one homework-crammed Sunday. So, her friends decide to go to a party, meet people, get drunk and hopefully forget about college admission deadlines and overbearing parents.
That afternoon her friends start asking around, texting contacts, getting potential party addresses. But, upon invitation, most guys ask for pictures of each girl that may come. Because, of course, the only way to judge a person’s character is through their edited and filtered Instagram pictures.
As afternoon starts to fade into the night, her friends start to get ready. She watches as her friends put on layer after layer of makeup, and she then starts to mimic the art. Slowly, her pimples and pores disappear until her face is a creaseless mask of slightly tanner skin. She circumferences her eyes with black eyeliner, adding a slight wing at the end of each eye lid. She gets closer and closer to the mirror, inspecting every aspect and imperfection on her face, and covering each one with more makeup. She backs up from the mirror, looking for other places on her face which are not completely covered with makeup. Finally, she decides that it’s as good as it’s going to get.
Next, she has to find clothes to wear. Something that shows off the “hot” parts of her body, so basically her butt, boobs or stomach. She has to make sure to wear something that shows off her body, as her friends say, because that’s all the guys are looking at anyway.
Then they get in the car, and start driving over. Hopefully the designated driver decides to be sober that night, but really, they’re young so who cares. So then they show up, and start drinking. The party is dark, with just the bar and ping-pong table illuminated to show off the greatest game of beer-pong in the world. Or at least of the night. There are about 40 people there, maybe more, really you can never tell how many people there are in a basement. You can only smell the sticky sweet vodka and the covered up smell of sweat with axe.
She has to pace herself, and drink the perfect amount, so that she is just drunk enough, but not too drunk. Never too drunk, and never too sober. She has to be sexy, have a great body and know how to use it. She has to be open to anything, but not too slutty. She can’t initiate anything or else she is a predator, but she can’t be closed off either. There are a lot of thoughts traveling in and out of her head as everything begins to get off balance.
Then he walks up. He’s taller, has white Nike socks and a vineyard vines shirt. He probably has an Iphone, a sports scholarship and girls as his best friends on snapchat. He sits next to her, and says, “Do you want to go somewhere?”
She of course, says yes, because he is pretty cute in this lighting, she’s pretty drunk and he gets a lot of likes on Instagram. They go into come convoluted closet, sit in the dark as clothes slowly start peel off. He pressures her into going down on him, and they leave in 30 minutes. He takes her phone number, and says he will text her after
She meets up with her friends and decides it is her life mission to get even more drunk, as drunk as possible she says. Whether it’s to forget what just happened or to remember it differently, she never lets herself know. Later her friend drives her home, but really she doesn’t remember the ride. She tells her friends all about the guy: “he was so nice”, “we talked about life” and the best lie of all, “I don’t care what happens anyway.” Meanwhile, he tells his friends they had sex, and that she was easy.
The next day she wakes up in a different bed, in her friend’s house. Her mouth is dry and cracked with the slight aftertaste of Bacardi and flesh. She only slightly remembers what happened the night before; it hits her in segments during the day. Each time she becomes more and more disgusted with herself, regretting what she did. And even so, she waits next to her phone, hoping for a text from him.
But, invariably, she never gets it. She tells herself that it’s okay. That she doesn’t need him. That he hasn’t responded and it is probably her fault.
She mostly enjoyed it.  
I had a fun night.