zombie kids love to hear that easy going shit/grab a guitar and just moaning shit

— "Way It Goes," Hippo Campus

---

Beeves' friends are looking at me like I'm crazy. It's as if they've never seen a drunk person before.

Because, yes, I am slightly drunk. Some random guy showed up with a bag full of Buzzballz and was creepy enough to say "ladies first," but I was happy to take a green one. The trick with Buzzballz is that they need to be chugged all at once, or the aftertaste will make you wanna vomit before you've gotten anywhere.

I had been squatting down to tie my shoe and chugged it right there, on my knees, in front of everyone. Not soon after that, everything becomes a bit of a fuzzy, whooshy blur. I think if I thought about everything that had happened tonight, I could recount the most major things and some random details to you in chronological order. But it would take some effort—effort that I just don't want to put in.

People were very excited about the Random Girl Who Chugs Things. After not making a face over the Buzzball, the crowd of kids decided that there had to be something that would make me make a face. Someone brought out vodka, tequila, the works—nothing, not till a shot of straight gin, followed by a shot of straight up tonic water. Funny how the non-alcoholic drink broke me.

I'm I-don't-know-how-many drinks in and completely out of it. My legs feel warm and not there. I'm heavy. So heavy. I just want to lay down and laugh and laugh and laugh. Everyone keeps laughing with me, and it's a contagious, continuous cycle.

Beeves had asked me repeatedly if I wanted a ride home. But I saw her talking to Athens, and then she left. So I guess I'm walking back? We'll see later. I can't make myself think about it right now.

I'm laying next to one of Athens' friends, Ana or Anya or Ananya or something. I'd feel bad asking again. We're on our backs in the grass, and we're talking about how hopefully there are no pandemic resurgences during our freshman year. She's headed off to Vanderbilt, she says. I tell her I'm bound for UMN Twin Cities.

I can't get comfortable with my head on the ground, no matter how I place my arms. I take my oversized Hawaiian T-shirt off and try to use it as a pillow, but it leaves me in a tight T-shirt, and that's just too cold, so I have to put it back on.

"How much has she had?" comes a warm, velvety voice. I'm on my side; I turn my head to see her—Athens, looking flushed as she lets out a puff of silver-white smoke from a yellow vape pen.

"No clue," says Ana/Anya/Ananya. "People kept giving her stuff. She kept taking it."

Athens crouches down. Her quads in those spandex shorts are intense. Blurry-ish, but intense. Good intense. I like intense. "Hiiii," I tell her. My voice seems floaty. If a voice can feel floaty. Are voices floaty? Is that a thing? Mine is floaty. Like a pixie. A drunk pixie.

"Hi, Hadley," she says. "You're drunk. You seem like you could hold your liquor."

"I can," I promise in a whisper. "I had a lot. I don't like mixing but I mixed and now I kinda want to take a nap but I also want milk."

"You want milk?"

I nod.

"Jesus. C'mon." Her hands wrap around my arms and she hauls me to my feet. My legs are shaky beneath me, which makes me laugh. It turns to a nervous laugh when one of her arms wraps around my waist to keep me somewhat upright.

"Where are we going?" I ask her.

"Well a lot of people are heading out," she says. "So the rest of us are going to go jam out in my garage. But first, we're getting you some milk."

I sigh and lean my head over. I'm just too tall to set mine atop hers, so it kind of lolls there. Still, I give a contented sigh.

"I like milk."

"I'm happy for you."

The first thing I notice about Athens' house is that it's completely dark. She turns on the lights, and I spot the grey concrete countertops and dark blue cabinets. "Nice kitchen," I tell her. "There's no fridge though."

She leads me to a stool on the peninsula counter and makes sure I'm sitting down before she looks at me, right in the eye, so that I can notice the sharp flecks of gold in her amber eyes. Actual gold. Her eyes aren't just amber; they're like melted bronze, still in the forge.

"Just hold tight," she says, then turns to a pair of large cabinet doors. She presses on them and they pop open, revealing stainless steel fridge doors.

"Stop. What?" I can't compute this. "Are you Batman?"

Athens laugh is raspy and warm and smooth, everything at once. My head feels light and fuzzy. I can't compute how much I love this laugh. "You're silly," she says.

I laugh back at her. "You're silly."

She pulls out a gallon jug of milk and screws off the blue cap, before standing on tiptoe to reach up to a high cupboard. With the tips of her fingers, she grabs one glass, then a second.

"You want milk too?" I ask her.

"Duh. You passed your craving on to me."

She fills one glass about three-fourth of the way and gently slides it across the counter to me. Our gazes lock for just a moment, before she looks away with a small smile and fills her own glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers," I say, then take a long sip.

The funny thing is, I hate milk. That's how I know I'm very, very drunk—I have a deep desire, an undeniable hankering, for some cow juice.

Athens chugs her milk and sighs. She has a milk mustache, and I find myself giggling again. She smiles, scooching her now-empty glass away from her. "What?" she asks, her dark brow twisting in confusion. "What's so funny?"

I point at my own upper lip and, between gasping laughs, say, "Got milk?"

She's laughing when she wipes it away with the back of her wrist. "Fuck."

"You're good now," I tell her. "Milkless. Sans-milk."

"Damn girl," she mutters, "you're something."

She puts the milk back in the fridge, and I take her in, all of her. Somewhere tonight, she lost the sweatshirt she was wearing, leaving her in just her striped tank top and spandex bike shorts. The tank top exposes a fair amount of midriff and toned back muscles. Seriously, her back muscles could put me in a chokehold and I would thank them. I don't think that makes sense. I can't make that make sense, it's just true. Just like it's true that she has Olympic hammer-throwing shoulders, but even better. Her shoulders would pin you down, spank you, and then make you pancakes. Yeah.

When Athens turns around and catches me staring, I don't look away.

"What?" she asks. "Do I still 'got milk?'"

"No. You're just really pretty."

If she's surprised, she doesn't show it, instead staring at me with the same look I'm sure I'm giving her. "You're not too bad yourself."

She waits patiently for me to finish my milk, and I feel a little more awake when I step off the stool and straighten my jeans. I glance down at my knees and notice the dirty and grass stains marring my reddish skin.

"How did this happen?" I ask her.

"Girl, you were wilding. I have no idea."

I turn to see Athens pulling her wavy black hair into a ponytail. Her biceps are fully flexed and she's staring up at me with those eyes, those flaming eyes, and holy shit, this girl is hot. Hot. Hot. Hot.

"What?" she asks, smiling. Her lip gloss from earlier has worn off, but the peachy pigment remains. "C'mon, you dipshit."

She leads me through her house, completely silent. I vaguely remember the "DO NOT WAKE SLEEPING GRANDMA" poster from the front. It's strange to me to think that her parties are seen as so wild and vagabond-esque when we can't even make any noise.

Athens stops in front of a door that has a few muffled sounds coming from the other side. "Right," she says, "you're about to step into what you can think of as a bit of an afterparty of sorts. Just be chill. And don't be a little bitch ass try-hard. We have enough of those in there."

I place my right hand over my chest and raise the other. "I solemnly swear to not be a little bitch ass try-hard."

"Good enough." She opens the door and immediately ushers me inside, not even giving me a chance to walk through on my own.

Athens' garage is full of LED lights, a multicolored space that is giving somewhere between "intimate sex club" and "Will Byers' living room." The walls are all obviously sound-proofed with the same kind of material I remember seeing on a British crime show with my dad one time. There aren't nearly as many people in here as there were outside, but they're all crowded around in a few different circles. I spot multiple acoustic guitars.

"Over here," Athens says with a nod. I spot Ana/Anya/Ananya on the arm of an armchair, mindlessly strumming an oversized guitar herself. She moves off with a smile when she sees Athens and me walking towards her, and hands her the guitar.

She flashes me a smile before walking away, her thick, dark hair swinging behind her.

"Here, you can have the arm of the chair if you want," Athens offers. "Or the chair itself."

Or your lap, I want to say, but definitely won't.

"Thanks," I say instead. I can already feel myself beginning to sober up. Thank you, the miracle that is milk.

"What kind of music do you listen to?" Athens asks, beginning to strum something that feels a little familiar but I couldn't place for the life of me. It's slow and has lilting, wandering vibe to it, and I know I'll feel stupid if I have to ask what it is.

"A little bit of everything," I tell her.

"Everyone says that," she says, looking across the garage at something, then peeking back down at her fingers as she strums and plucks her way through that stupidly familiar verse. "What do you really listen to?"

"Um, a lot of Americana, I guess. Indie folk. Alt rock. And sparing amounts of country."

"New country or old country?"

"Old country. Loretta Lynn. Glen Campbell."

She smiles. Even this girl's side profile is a work of art. Her pitch black hair reflects the blue and purple lights above her, and the red glinting off the opposite wall shines on the tip of her nose. A few strands of hair drift away from the rest of her ponytail, tracing the curve of her high cheekbones before coming completely loose.

"I'm a big Glen Campbell girl," she says. "Nice to hear someone else listens."

"What do you listen to?" I ask her.

Athens looks over at me to smirk, her fingers still gently strumming away. "A little bit of everything."

"Bastard."

"Well," she says, "this is Phoebe Bridgers. Savior Complex. So maybe that gives you a bit of an idea."

Fuck, it totally is. I'm an idiot.

"Hmm, makes sense. But that's not everything."

"You're right. I only listen to Phoebe. That's it. Just her. Nothing else."

"Knew it. Poser."

She laughs. I want to do dirty, filthy things to that laugh. Holy shit. It's like if those sultry perfume commercials were actually sultry.

"Hey, is that Savior Complex?" a tall girl asks. She's wearing a Belle and Sebastian shirt, which is just maybe a little pretentious; it slides off one shoulder, showcasing a bony collarbone and bright red bralette. Her gaze has some kind of challenge in it, although it's not directed to me, but instead to Athens.

"Yeah," Athens says, and starts humming, completely ignoring the girl.

"It sounds good," says the new girl. "Much better than your last Phoebe attempt did."

"Thanks, that's really constructive, Winter."

"I try."

I'm sorry, this girl's name is Winter? Sounds about right. Then again, I can't say much, considering I'm here with a girl named Athens Blackmore. Maybe not here with with, but—

"Aren't you going to ask to be introduced to my special new friend here?" Athens asks. "I know you're curious."

Winter doesn't even glance at me. Her long white blonde hair (which certainly fits her vibe) is down to her waist, and somehow her greasy, dark roots suit her whole look. "Actually, I'm not really interested, but sure, why not."

Athens sniffs. "Well I'm not going to share her with you if you're rude, Winter. Jesus. Go adjust your tampon or something."

"Thanks, that's really constructive, Athens," Winter says, her eyes narrowing. Her overlined lips turn into a frown.

Again, Athens doesn't look up, just shrugs. "If you need a breather, I'm sure you can go lock yourself in the bathroom and practice your Morissey impression or something."

"You're so funny," Winter says, and walks away.

"Oh no," Athens mutters. "I didn't get to tell her my other '2000s pretentious music worshiper' self care tips."

"Is she always such a bitch?"

"Yes. She's nice when we fuck but not so much outside of that."

I feel my eyes widen, but Athens isn't looking at me, so it doesn't matter much. "Damn. I hate it when that happens."

She finally looks over at me, her fingers still deftly maneuvering about her strings, as if this is the most natural thing in the world to her. "I bet you do," she says, smiling.

The things I want to do to this girl. The things this girl could do to me. It's almost worrisome.

A/N: y'all how am I publishing so much??? Whaaack.

Wish my luck, for I have a much not looked forwarded to exam tomorrow. I'm one of the earliest oral evaluations for my Spanish class, and I'm so worried lol. If I pass it I think I'm considered an advanced Spanish speaker tho????? So that's cool. It's going to either go really well or reaaaally not.

How are you guys feeling about this story thus far?????? Let me know!