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“Has anyone ever told you you’re an evil genius?”

Ava laughs loudly, a playful smirk crossing her striking features. “A couple of times.”

The two of us are perched on my worn-out bed, in prime position for peeking mischievously out of the window every couple of minutes. It’s been a long day, but after lounging around in my room for hours on end and doing absolutely nothing, at just gone seven in the evening, our plan is finally coming together.

Quite frankly, I didn’t know my best friend had it in her to be so devious.

“Any movement yet?” I ask.

Ava twists round, using her fingers to push the blinds apart a fraction so she can peer out toward the house next door. The house that just conveniently happens to be the home of our main target.

Because, after a long period of deliberation, the two of us – well, mostly Ava, being the smart one of the pair – had hatched a plan we deemed evil enough to serve as sufficient revenge for Connor Murphy. And a very clever one, if I’m honest. For our strategy consisted of all the important elements: technology, a crowd of teenagers and the promise of underage drinking.

In other words, we spammed everyone’s Facebook with invitations to Connor’s fictitious party this Saturday night.

Suddenly, my best friend lets out an excited gasp, jolting me from my daydream at once.

“What?” I query, eagerly pushing myself upwards and straining to see whatever promising scene might await outside.

“People are starting to arrive!”

I squint my eyes, peering through the window in an attempt to get a look at the situation below. Sure enough, the first car has pulled up outside Connor’s house, and it’s a beat up looking truck holding a group of rowdy looking jocks. As the driver cuts the engine and they all pile out, I can’t resist the urge to smirk inwardly. Seeing their eagerness to get inside as well as the beer packs they’re carrying only makes me wonder why we hadn’t thought of this idea sooner.

If only we had planted hidden cameras – I would pay good money to see the look on Connor’s face when he realizes what’s happened.

Before the jocks have even started up the front path, another car comes speeding around the corner before coming to a sharp halt a couple of meters away from the truck. Immediately, I recognize its stark newness and shiny exterior as Charlotte’s famous BMW convertible – the winner of North Shore’s most expensive car award, hands down.

“Hey!” I hear her squeal, as she hops out and hastens towards the group of guys, her loyal cheerleading cronies in tow.

Her choice of attire is about ten times more indecent than her cheerleading uniform. An unnaturally tight lacy black dress squeezes her slim body, her chestnut-colored hair is teased into perfectly messy waves and a pair of extra high hot pink heels stand between her dainty feet and the floor. It would be a lot more satisfying if she found it a challenge to walk in her deathly shoes, but of course, years of practice means she’s able to hurry up Connor’s front lawn as easily as if she were barefoot.

Of course, I can only dream of having that much elegance in flats, let alone sky-scraping heels.

One of the jocks says something and Charlotte laughs hysterically, throwing her head back before the group head towards Connor’s house and disappear out of view on the porch.

“What’s happening?” I hiss to Ava, sending her a confused look. “Why aren’t they coming back out?”

“Surely he hasn’t let them in…”

Before we can converse any further, another group of people become visible across the street. Obviously, none of them are so privileged as to own a car – either that, or no one wanted to be the designated driver, which is probably more likely – as the girls are staggering across the concrete in impractical shoes, looking incredibly cold in the harsh evening air.

They approach the house, merging with the group of people that are already waiting on his doorstep.

After a couple of seconds, the door swings open. Connor’s standing there, but instead of looking totally bemused like I’m expecting him to… well, he doesn’t. Dressed in casual jeans and a shirt I haven’t seen before, he greets his girlfriend with a kiss before stepping back to allow them to traipse into his house.

Uh, what?!

He’s actually let them in.

Is he crazy? Does he want two hundred intoxicated teenagers bursting from the seams of his house? Does he think walking in on couples getting up close and personal in his bedroom and trying to remove vomit from the carpet is an appealing prospect? Of course not – that’s why we came up with the idea in the first place.

We’ve obviously done a good job at spreading the word, because the people begin to arrive in swarms from this point onwards. Girls in dresses that look like they’ve been painted on, guys with multipacks of beer cans under their arms. Bottles all colors of the rainbow are brought in.

The thumping of the bass on a crappy dance track starts up, reverberating through the house.

More time passes.

More people enter.

Our street becomes gridlocked with teenagers’ trusty vehicles. They seem to be blocking up every inch of concrete in a five-mile radius around Connor’s place. If any of the neighbors want to actually leave their driveways any time tonight, they’re kind of screwed.

Especially the pregnant woman at number five, who’s due to deliver pretty soon.

She’s going to have to keep her legs crossed until the entire junior class of North Shore finally finish puking up in the early hours of the morning and head home.

After watching what feels like the hundredth group of people enter Connor’s place, I let the gap in the blind close, slumping back against the wall as a feeling of defeat washes over me. “Our plan has backfired, hasn’t it?” I say glumly.

“Well…” Ava mimics my actions, sighing as she crosses her arms. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“You know, I think we might’ve actually made Connor more popular than he was before. Seems like the whole school is packed into his house.”

“Where’s his mom, anyway?” she asks, frowning.

She has a point there, actually. Julie’s a pretty relaxed mother, but I don’t think even she’d stretch as far as letting her house be used as a headquarters for underage drinking and sex. Unless she views spending her Sunday dousing the house in air freshener to try to rid the house of the odor of sweat, alcohol and puke enjoyable. Which I highly doubt.

The only explanation is that she’s away and blissfully unaware of the disaster unfolding at her home.

“Out, I presume. Since we can’t hear the screams of Connor being murdered.”

The two of us lapse into silence as our conversation fizzles out. The only sound that can be heard is the ever-thumping bass coming from the house to the right, its crap songs just merging into one long deafening din.

“You know,” I start, as the thought pops into my head, “I think we’ve just shot ourselves in the foot. Like, majorly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Connor’s now having a party. Which, by the looks of things, is pretty popular. And now we’re probably the only ones in our grade sat at home doing nothing. Our genius revenge plan has made an A-list member even more popular, and us just more uncool.”

“Oh…” Ava’s expression falls as she realizes this is probably true. “We suck at revenge.”

“Sadly.”

Our plan, which had first seemed like a genius idea, is now kind of a wreck, whether we like it or not. So much for getting Connor in major trouble with his mom, as well as angering all our classmates. No, things can’t go that well for us. Instead, we’ve created the perfect opportunity to have the biggest alcohol-fest of the year so far, which, with our luck, will probably grant our target eternal popularity.

Not really the type of payback we had in mind.

“Wait,” I say, my previously sullen expression slowly uplifting into a smile, “why are we sitting around here doing nothing?”

“Because of our totally suck-ish plan?” Ava offers unhelpfully.

“No,” I say, “well… maybe. But whatever. There’s a massive party going on just meters away from us. Who says we can’t go?”

“Uh… Connor? And the rest of the popular crowd?”

Her comment does nothing to make my smile falter. It’d be incredibly difficult to deflate my improving mood right now. This idea is probably the best one I’ve had in a while. And I honestly mean it this time.

“Ava, this is probably the only chance we’re going to get. It’ll be so easy to sneak in. They’re not exactly being picky about who they’re letting through the door.”

She frowns. “Wait… you’re serious about this?”

“Yeah!” I nod enthusiastically, grinning as I rise from the bed. “Come on. We’ve got to at least try. So our plan failed… but we could at least take advantage of how it turned out, right? It’s better than sitting around here looking bored. So, are you up for it?”

The final traces of my best friend’s skeptical expression slowly disappear, being replaced by a small smile. “Okay, fine. I suppose you’re right.”

I grin back, grabbing her hand and using all my strength to heave her into a standing position. “Let’s go sneak into a party.”

***

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

I send a flat look in my best friend’s direction. As we stand on the porch outside Connor’s house, it seems that she’s been struck by a case of pre-sneaking-in jitters. I, on the other hand, am the epitome of confidence and classiness.

Or so I keep telling myself.

“It’ll be fine,” I assure her. “It’s not like we’re going to get kicked out. It’s a house party, for crying out loud. It’s practically a free-for-all.”

It’s been about an hour since the whole “backfiring plan” revelation, and after the initial “what the hell are we going to wear?” panic, we managed to transform ourselves in about forty-five minutes. After rifling through my wardrobe, we managed to find a couple of not-too-shabby dresses that we could wear, gave up on the hope of heels in favor of more comfortable flats, and placed our hair under the wrath of straighteners and curling tongs.

I swear, we should qualify for some sort of world record.

“Just act like we’re meant to be here,” is my last-minute advice before I press firmly on the doorbell. Its ringing is completely inaudible under the thumping of the music, and for I second I wonder if we’re going to have to climb over the back fence if no one answers.

Thankfully, for the sake of my decency (especially in this dress), after a couple of seconds the door is pulled open by a tipsy-looking girl who grins at the both of us.

“Come in!” she gushes.

Apparently she doesn’t care about the fact that she knows neither of us, or that the house she’s letting us into is not hers.

We push our way in, making our way through the crowded entrance hall. A wave of recognition washes over me as I glance at the décor of the room – its deep burgundy walls (one of Julie’s “brilliant” design ideas) haven’t faded at all in eight years. However, there’s no time for nostalgia, as within seconds I feel Ava pushing me forward, indicating that we should probably try to get out of this suffocating small room.

In the living room, things don’t improve much. The couch and armchairs have been pushed back against the wall, creating more space for the “dance floor” in the middle of the room. Every available surface is covered in remnants of alcoholic drinks – either cans or telltale plastic cups. And, to top off the room’s atmosphere, the centerpiece seems to be the few couples grinding against each other in a completely inelegant manner.

As we stand there, one thought crosses my mind.

Is this it?

Surely this can’t be the type of parties everyone talks about for weeks after the event. The ones that have such a build-up you’d think it was a post-Oscar celebration with an exclusive guest list. The ones that fill up people’s Facebook albums and earn the captions “best night of my life!”. The ones that can make or break a person’s reputation.

Standing here right now, it just looks like an unofficial competition of who can down the most drinks without killing themselves.

As well as second prize for contracting the most STDs.

“Georgie!”

My head snaps to the direction of the voice, which can be heard even above the deafening track booming out of the stereo system. Immediately, I recognize its owner as Jade.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” she says, beaming at Ava and I as she takes another gulp of her drink.

“Yeah, well…” I scratch the back of my head sheepishly. “It wasn’t exactly planned.”

“Couldn’t keep away from Connor, huh?” she comments playfully, nudging me in the arm. I’m about to launch into a full scale denial but am cut off by her speaking again. “Anyway, I got you two some drinks.”

Before I can protest, a cup has been thrust into my hand with unneeded force. The color of the liquid doesn’t look too appealing, but I force myself to bring it to my lips when an expectant expression crosses Jade’s features. As soon as it enters my mouth, the bitter taste burns and I have to concentrate immensely on forcing it down my throat. How do people do this? I can barely manage one sip, let alone cup after cup.

“You know, if you’re after Connor, I’d keep it quiet,” she warns in a low tone. “Charlotte’s pretty possessive over him. That girl’s got eyes like a hawk.”

“I’m not after Connor!” I squeak.

“Good one,” Jade says, winking at me. “You know, you’re pretty good at it already.”

“No, seriously… I don’t like Connor!”

“Whatever you say…” she trails off, something behind me catching her eye. “Well, I’ll see you later, okay? Don’t worry about it. Have some more drinks, yeah? They’ll help you loosen up.”

She bids me a giggly goodbye, downing the last of her drink before heading off in the opposite direction. In all honesty, I don’ t know whether to be offended or not at her statement. Turning round to consult Ava, I’m in for a surprise when I realize the space beside me is mysteriously lacking my best friend.

Well, she headed off quick.

Searching the nearby area, I still don’t have any luck. There’s no sign of her; all I can see is a mass of bodies all pressed into one crowd. If I let my eyes linger on someone for long enough, I can usually recognize them, but my classmates act a lot different with God knows how much alcohol pumping through their bodies.

Trying to keep my cool, I take another sip of my drink. This time the taste doesn’t catch me so off guard, and I’m able to swallow it without too much difficulty. Maybe Jade’s right. I’m at a party – this isn’t the place to be stressing about every tiny thing that might happen.

I gulp the rest down before I have the chance to give it a second thought.

Even the small amount seems to have an effect on me. Maybe it’s in my head, but I swear I’m starting to feel just a tiny bit more relaxed. So what if I’ve temporarily lost Ava? I’ll find her again sooner or later. There’s no point waiting around stressing about it whilst I could be having fun.

I elbow my way through the crowd in the direction of the kitchen with the intention of picking up another drink. The room’s marginally quieter, separated from the music by a wall which softens the bass. As I grab a random bottle from the counter, another wave of memories come rushes back to me. All of a sudden, recollections of spending time in this room as a child become vivid in my mind. Countless were the number of times Connor and I had sat at the table, drawing, painting or doing whatever arty thing Julie had prepared for us that day.

I shake the thoughts from my head, deeming them unimportant at this moment in time.

The liquid tastes only marginally better than what Jade had given me. However, I’m definitely getting better at containing my disgust, and in a matter of seconds, I manage to down over half the bottle. With it in my system, the party seems suddenly a little less crappy than it had when we first walked in the door.

I suppose it won’t be so bad. All I have to do is find Ava, and we’ll have a good night.

Smiling inwardly, I take another sip.

***

“Hey.”

A foreign pair of hands meet my waist as I dance in amongst the tightly packed group of people. Jumping slightly at the contact, I spin around to be greeted by the sight of one of the football team smirking down at me. My brain’s a little fuzzy, but after a couple of seconds, I recognize him as Josh, a guy who’s never even said a word to me before.

Maybe my drunken self has some appeal.

In any other situation, I would’ve put as much distance between us as we could, but the alcohol running through my system seems to be increasing my confidence. Instead of responding, I smile back at him, continuing to jump along to the beat of the music.

“I didn’t have you down as a party girl,” he drawls, his slurred words an obvious indication that he’s just as drunk as me.

“Hmm… maybe you had me all wrong,” I say, unable to stop myself from giggling.

“Looks like it.”

I turn around again, enjoying the feel of his hands on my waist a little more than I probably should. The pounding beat of the song picks up and I match its rhythm, the weight of the crowd making it seem like the floor of Connor’s house is literally shaking.

Speaking of the host himself, I haven’t seen him once this evening. A couple of times I’d spotted Charlotte in the midst of the crowd or grabbing another round of drinks from the kitchen, but the jerk himself is still mysteriously absent.

As is Ava.

It doesn’t matter too much, though; I’m actually enjoying myself. Even though I’ve lost count of how many drinks I’ve consumed, the alcohol seems to be fueling my party mood. All I want to do is dance along with everyone else, despite barely being able to keep my balance.

Suddenly, Josh’s hands slide lower.

“Hey!” I turn around, ready to shoot him a disapproving look, but for some reason all I manage to do is burst into a fit of giggles.