sign {h.s.}

chapitre treize

"SO WE ALL know the rules for tonight, right?" In spite of her relatively easy attitude, there is something deadly serious in her face. The juxtaposition is enough to turn my eyes on her rather skeptically; uncertainly.

"Rules?"

She nods her head, unwavering. "Obviously. We only drink drinks that we saw poured. We don't leave each other. We leave together unless we feel we are in control of the situation." Michelle continues listing them off, ticking off her fingers as she goes. Lana and I share a look, but ultimately nod our heads in agreement. "Call me crazy, but I've gone to this school for several years. I know how these parties go. I'm just looking out for us all."

There's a sort of warming in my heart. Obviously there is the natural response to find the pity in the fact that this is something that must be done at all as a woman in the twenty-first century. Instead, I choose to focus on the positive: Michelle, a girl that I only just barely know from class, cares enough about mine and Lana's well-being that she is taking control of this situation. I find there to be something very empowering in the notion of women supporting women.

"Thank you," I say, bowing my head slightly. I speak on the behalf of myself and Lana. "I think that's really smart." My voice is overly-sweet and I can tell that Michelle appreciates it. Without much more complaint from us, she turns her back as she moves to lead us into the party.

As soon as he back is turned, Lana hisses to me, "I most definitely do not appreciate it."

With a half-hearted wave, I dismiss her concerns. "Oh, just let her say her piece. I doubt if she'll police you all night but that being said, please watch out for all of your drinks." I've settled rather nicely into my role as the middleman between the two of them. Their personalities are strong and on opposite ends of the spectrum. Rather naturally, I find myself in the middle; even if my personality closer resembles Lana's in the first place.

Lana doesn't issue anymore complaints. Without another word, she locks her arm with mine as she leads the two of us towards the frat house. Michelle is still a couple of steps in front of us, waiting towards the front of the line that is starting to form. Easily we slip in with her, just as the brother at the door turns to look at her.

With Lana and I by her side, the three of us are a rather attractive pair. Still, that doesn't stop him from considering for a moment. "Who do you know here?" He asks, buffing himself up. It's rather obvious that he is trying to make himself intimidating in front of us. Michelle only scoffs but Lana works on twirling her hair and boosting her breasts.

Before we even have to answer the question, the brother next to him shoves him slightly. "Girls get in for free, idiot. Especially the pretty ones." He swoops out of the way, leaving the both of us room to enter the house without much other issue. As we're walking past, Michelle and I remain silent. It's obvious that they're both studying our frames with a bit too much enjoyment. On the other hand, Lana—much more bold than either of us—colorfully invites them to fuck themselves if they don't want her foot where the sun doesn't shine. Almost as quickly, their eyes redirect northward.

The three of us giggle as soon as we are past them. Though within seconds, the childish giggles are silenced as the strong waves of potent smells overwhelm us: alcohol, sweat, weed, and pizza. It's an odd mixture of smells, though entirely predictable for inside of a frat house.

We take a moment to gather ourselves in the doorway. Of the three of us, Lana is the first to be ready. "This is going to be good," she absently admires, immediately making a beeline for the kitchen. Both Michelle and I are left to follow hot on her heels.

Naturally, we assume that the kitchen is where they are keeping the alcohol and after a few minutes of shoving through bodies, we emerge in the chaotic kitchen. Like us, most others had assumed that there would be a heavy storing of alcohol here. A large gatorade-branded cooler is sat on the counter and I can only assume the free-for-all of alcohol that has been mixed in there. Just beyond it my gaze catches on an open door leading into a basement. From the noise carrying up, I assume that is where most people are. "Want to head downstairs?" I point to the door, intrigued by what is down there.