Martha felt a draft of cool air in the hallway of her parent's large Victorian home. D*mnit, the door is open again. Responsibility seriously hampered her buzz. She stomped into the dining room where the table had been cleared to one side, past the shoes of the partygoers taken off so as not to track in the snow and slush into the rest of the house, and slammed the door closed against the bitter wind. Again. At least it wasn't the front door she thought, the heat would escape even faster. 

"Come on, Martha," her friends said pulling her by the arms, "shots in the kitchen!" It was a fabulous house party. Better than her older sister's had been. The music blared, all the cool kids came, and there was plenty of booze from Newark where nobody carded high school kids. Her parents wouldn't be home for a day and a half, plenty of time to clean up. Martha relaxed. 

An hour or two later she stumbled through the front hall holding onto the walls for better support. Partygoers littered the stairs and family room. Some lay on the floor. She stood enchanted by the beauty of the glass chandelier when she felt a chill and goosebumps on her arms. 

She peered around the corner into the dining room where the door stood wide open. Snow blew in and brown slush had been tramped into the house where it lay melting on the finished hardwood floors. F*ckinghell. She ran to close the door and slipped landing hard, her cheek in the slush. Only the slush wasn't cold like it should be, it was warm, and it wasn't dirt mixed with snow. 

Martha saw red.

She stood shaking with rage, covered in vomit. "PARTY'S OVER," she screamed. Martha tramped through the house, riping drinks out of people's hands, turning off the music, breaking apart couples making out. "LEAVE!" Her temper scared even the largest of football players. She glowered at a group of cheerleaders, "NOW!"

The guests hustled best they could manage in drunken stupors. Nobody knew what happened or if the police had come, but they obeyed orders flooding the dining room looking for their shoes. Unfortunately, the sick partygoer didn't miss a single pair. People pulled on their puke-covered shoes in haste before Martha shoved them out into the night, slammed the door for the final time and locked it. She looked around at the house in dismay. She didn't have it in her to clean up tonight. After dragging herself up the stairs, she got into a hot shower. At two am she got into bed and called her sister at college to tell her of her plight. 

Her sister laughed.

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A/N: I do not condone underage drinking. I only admit I did many stupid things as a teen and will never trust my child or his friends when they are teens.