Unbeknownst to me, our whole floor erupted in a party that Friday. I came home right after my 2 pm class let out, changed into my pajamas, and made a plan to stream Netflix like a zombie until they asked me if I was still there or not. But by seven that night, my plan has been all shot to hell. The music and the voices get so loud outside my door that I have no other choice but to venture out.

Reluctantly, I take off my comfy flannel pajamas and stuff myself back into my skinny jeans, regretting drinking all that soda during my impromptu vegging out session.

“The rule is don’t start vegging out until you know for sure that you can spend the whole night doing this,” I say under my breath. “Otherwise, you fall in danger of having to reapply makeup and put on uncomfortable clothes and act like a human being again without proper preparation.”

Agh, the stupid jeans are tighter than ever! I grab onto the belt loops and pull them over my butt. For Christ’s sake, they fit this morning!

Suddenly, the door bursts open and Juliet and a strange girl I’ve never seen tumble in, catching me mid-jump. I turn away from them. Juliet laughs hysterically.

“Peyton, this is my roommate, Alice,” she introduces me when she catches her breath.

I smooth out my shirt and shake Peyton’s hand.

“Nice to meet you.” Peyton nods. Peyton’s got large brown eyes that make her look a little bit like a doe. She has thick long chestnut hair and full red lips. She looks like one of those girls who’s gorgeous, but for some reason doesn’t seem to really know it. Looking at her, I get this strange feeling like I’ve known her my whole life.

Juliet freshens up her makeup. I sit down on my bed to put on a pair of boots. But Peyton continues to stand in the doorway.

“Here, sit down. Sorry the room’s such a mess,” I say.

“Yeah, I’d apologize too, but it’s pretty much always like this,” Juliet says. I’ve always thought that I was a slob, and in comparison to my older sisters and my mom, I am. But Juliet takes being a slob to whole other level. The other night, she climbed into bed and slept under a huge pile of clothes instead of moving them to the chair or, God forbid, the closet.

“So you’re Dylan’s girlfriend, huh?” I ask.

“Yep.” She nods shyly.

“Peyton from Yale,” Juliet chimes in. It’s some sort of inside joke that I haven’t been a part of.

Peyton smiles uncomfortably. Clearly, she did not have as much to drink as Juliet.

“I heard that you started some sort of foundation. That’s what Dylan said,” I say.

Her eyes light up.

“Oh, he told you about that? Yes, my mom was diagnosed with M.S. when I was in ninth grade and I didn’t really know how to help her or what to do with my feelings over the whole thing. So she suggested that I start this foundation. Raise money for M.S. research.”

“Wow, that’s impressive.”

“Last year, I hosted my very first gala and we were lucky to raise $100,000.”

One hundred grand. That is impressive. I look at Peyton as she continues to talk about the importance of research as well as awareness for multiple sclerosis. But only a part of me is listening. Another part is wondering how the hell we’re the same age. This girl started a foundation and ran events for a good cause. And not just an event, a fucking gala! I wouldn’t even know how to go about doing that. I’ve never even hosted a party. Of course, I’ve been to plenty of parties in the past. But hosting one? What did that entail really? Food. Drinks. Atmosphere. The right theme. The right party favors, decorations.

“So what’s it like?” I ask. “To host something like that. Intimidating, right?”

“Naturally. But honestly, can I tell you something? My mom was always big into philanthropy and giving back. She used to host these lunches for her girlfriends every month. Growing up, I always thought they were really lame. Like she wasn’t really living a real life because she was busy hosting parties and going to events. She didn’t really have a career. But doing that gala, that was the first time I realized how much work event planning really is. And how wonderful it is when it all goes well.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” I nod even though, frankly, I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“You see, what I found out was that an event is a living, breathing organism. And it needs just the right combination of factors to be successful. The right theme, the right atmosphere, the right mood. All of these things have to be established before anyone really shows up. The guests are important, but they’re mainly props in the overall flow of things.”

I smile. “So are you planning on hosting any other galas in the near future?”

“Not if I can help it,” Peyton says, bursting out laughing.

* * *

Eventually, the three of us go out and join the roaring party outside. This one is very different from Peyton’s elegant, swanky gala. Dance music is blasting from someone’s room, but the hallway is so loud that I can’t even make out where it’s coming from. The hallway is filled with people. Some standing, some sitting on the ground, some dancing, three kissing. Peyton and I giggle, stepping over the kissers. After making a quick round, getting some drinks at the punch bowl, we make our way back to our suite. Here, the party is raging. Through the sea of people, I spot Tristan and Dylan in the kitchen pouring drinks and handing out beers.

“Wow, Grey Goose? How did you get Grey Goose?” I ask Dylan. The kitchen island is full of expensive bottles of alcohol.

“Dylan’s got mad connections,” Tristan says. By the way he’s swaying his hips, I can tell that he has been drinking. A lot.

“Oh babe, do you want me to make you a martini on the rocks?” Tristan asks. That’s my favorite drink. I take a sip of the punch that I got in the hallway and spit it out. It tastes like sugar water and some sort of alcohol someone makes in their bathtub. A martini with Grey Goose sounds good.

“Babe? Did you hear me?” Tristan asks.

I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him right the first time. But now, I realize that I did. He actually called me babe. WTF?

“Yeah, sure,” I say. I really need a drink now. I look at Juliet and Dylan, but both are too buzzed to notice.

“Are you okay?” Peyton leans to me. Thank you! At least, someone sees what’s going on.

“Um, yes, I guess. I don’t know,” I mumble. Tristan hands me my drink.

“Do you want anything?” I ask Peyton. “Tristan makes great cocktails.”

“Cosmopolitan?” she asks shyly.

“One cosmo coming up!” he says enthusiastically.