Underage

[4] The Grove

[4] The Grove

There are only two rules to the Grove: you must park alongside the road and walk in, and if you drink, you do not leave until morning.

The Grove on Thornhill is on the edge of Berband's town limits. It's acres of already picked orange groves. Now, the bushes only serve to conceal. Jacob Miller, a recent college graduate, owns the land. He built the Grove years ago when he was a freshman at Berband High. He created the ideal party spot hidden inside.

It's a half-mile walk down the narrow gravel path that leads from the black top road, up through the bushes, and to a large circular clearing off to the right. Against the furthest edge of the Grove, large tents are set up. They're all grey and black and each have a rectangular chalk board hanging from the top. Many people come early to the Grove, before the party, to write their names on the chalkboard, to claim a tent as theirs for the night. First come, first served.

The party doesn't start until the sun has cleared the sky and sunk beneath the ground. A large fire is in the middle, an even larger pile of wood beside it. Four kegs sit in a square far enough away from the fire but close enough so that you can still feel the warmth. Fairy lights are strung through the bare branches of the bushes and around each of the tents. A 'Congratulations Seniors' banner is hanging from a few of the orange groves. We've had other parties here throughout the years, but underclassman respect their elders' seniority. No one but the graduating class of 2016 is welcome here tonight.

We've come early, just as the sun is beginning to disappear, to get a good parking spot and put our things in our tent. It's the one in the middle with Ethan's almost ineligible handwriting sprawled on the chalkboard. Grace and I ditch our bags and zip up our tent. For the most part, people respect the chalkboards, but once the alcohol has clouded minds you never know.

Despite the massive amount of beer, coolers are brought in with harder liquor. And, for those who don't drink, labeled coolers beside those have soda and water inside. Most people bring their own food to the Grove, some order pizza and have it delivered to the entrance, but for the drunk munchies there are bins of bags of chips and a cooler filled with sandwiches.

Most parties held at the Grove are formal and we treat them like a black tie event. All except for the graduation celebration held every year for the seniors. Tonight, we're all in our pajamas. Grace and I are no exception. Grace is in a penguin onesie and I am in my giraffe onesie. And, although it took a lot of kisses and pleading, both Cooper and Ethan are wearing matching onesies to us—Cooper in a penguin, and Ethan in a giraffe.

Although it took a lot to get them into the onesies, they don't seem to be too bothered by them now. Ethan is standing beside the fire about to be lit, his hood up around his head to make sure everyone knows he's a giraffe and that we're matching.

By the time it's dark and the stars are out, the entire class of eighty-five graduating seniors are fitted comfortably into the Grove. Some have ventured off into the groves, alcohol in hand. Some have set up chairs around the fire. Most have gone straight for the food.

Somehow, I was expecting more than this. Something better, more extravagant. Seniors before us have raved about this party, but they've never given anyone that wasn't there too much detail. They would say it was the best party they'd ever been to, but maybe they just lied to make us envious. The seniors had something that we never had. But, now that we're here, experiencing what all the gossip was about, it doesn't live up to the expectations.

"I know that look." Grace slides into a chair beside me while handing me a cup of beer filled to the brim. "You're bored already."

"I just was expecting something more."