This is not what I call a \'little thing.\'

It\'s a big thing.

A ginormous thing.

And it\'s being held at the Clark\'s mansion. I expected teenagers, booze and dancing, I just didn\'t expect an overflow of teenagers. When Ryan said little, I thought he meant five or six people not the whole fucking school!

Paris was all too eager to attend this party once I told her that Ryan wanted her to be my plus one. The night before, Ryan sent the location to his house along with the time and here we are: 11 Groovsdale Estate, 5pm. I thought Paris\' house was huge, but Ryan\'s takes the cake.

The property sprawls on an expanse of land, artificial grass surrounding the area. It looks like a medieval mansion, something carved straight out of the 1920s. Brick walls, shale roofing and an impressive layout. The exterior is really impressive and the size of the property is quite intimidating.

I guess his parents are into the whole Lord of the Manor thing.

The first thing I notice is the glistening pool which is already occupied by teenagers playing some sort of game with a water gun and booze.

\'\'This house is amazing,\'\' Paris exclaims with wonder in her eyes. She opted for jeans shorts and a red peplum top with Yeezy sneakers. She even went as far as cutting her auburn hair into a slick bob. A dramatic change for a party, I know. Usually, girls go through that sort of dramatic change when they just broke up with someone, but she swore on her life she wanted to look \'different\' but I could tell who she did it for and his name starts with R. I on the other hand opted for a cute floral ruffle dress with a modest V neckline. The length is a little shorter than what I\'m used to but hey, it\'s a party and it shows my mocha legs off very well.

I opted for putting my natural hair into a tight bun since I haven\'t had my hair weaved in a while. My roots need a break from all the tucking and plucking. My feet are clad in baby pink ballet shoes I\'ve had since I was fifteen (surprised they still fit) and it really puts my whole look together. The goal was cute, sexy but not trashy and I think I pulled it off.

\'\'I agree.\'\' Hand in hand, Paris and I pad the cobblestone floors and into the entrance of the mansion. Loud music playing a new song by Dababy blasts through the speakers; red cups filled with alcohol seems to be a prominent feature in the hands of almost all attendees as some dance or sway to the music, while others talk to their friends in circles.

I see a familiar face in a floral T shirt and baggy shorts from the corner of my eye talking to Bea and I nudge Paris slightly. She raises a brow and I point towards his direction. She turns to me, eyes filled with panic. I almost laugh because this is the first time I\'m seeing Paris nervous to talk to or approach guy. Usually, she prides herself as the kind that can get any guy she wants, and she can: she\'s literally the petite version of Nicole Kidman and she carries herself well so guys like her.

\'\'Oh my God, Mel. What do I do.\'\' She dramatically brushes her hands over her new haircut. \'\'Do you think he\'ll like my new hair? I-\'\'

\'\'I knew the dramatic chop was for Ryan.\'\'

\'\'Besides the point, Mel. I don\'t know how to approach him. What do I say?\'\'

I rest my hand on her shoulder. \'\'You\'re Paris Jackson. You\'ll know what to say, trust me.\'\'

\'\'Ryan!\'\' I yell over the loud music while waving my hands. He sees us and smiles. Excusing himself, he makes his way over and Paris gives me a look as if to say: \'Are you fucking nuts?\'

Am I nuts? Definitely, but this time I mean well. Since Paris is afraid to approach him, and she really likes him, then why not wave him over here? Saves her the trouble of going to him and saves her the awkwardness of talking to him while Bea is present. Besides, I made a promise and I intend to keep it. If this is my best friend\'s shot at getting a boyfriend (there were others before that, but who cares?) then you best believe I would not mess it up her.

I\'m a genius.

\'\'Hey ladies, glad you could make it,\'\' the man of the hour greets. I beam at him and he hands us two cups from the nearby countertop table. \'\'Compliments from the host.\'\'

We both say thank you and I excuse myself to give them a little privacy. This is met with a little squeeze of my arm from Paris but I reassure her that it\'ll be okay. Like I said, I\'m a pretty good judge of character, so I know good people when I see one. Ryan\'s nice even though his best friend is a dick. I trust him enough to do right by Paris and not screw the perfectly good opportunity I gave them seeing as I know he likes her too.

I might as well open a matchmaker\'s service because that\'s how confident I am in my abilities.

I take a little sip of the content in my red cup and almost gag. Whatever this shit is, it tastes disgusting. How do teenagers douse this stuff comfortably? I\'m not a drinker, and I\'ve stated my position in very clear terms. I would not be among the teenagers who are likely to die from alcohol poisoning. Also, I think I\'m a lightweight, as ironic as that may seem considering I\'ve never gotten drunk before nor tasted more than a sip of alcohol.

Better to be safe than sorry.

I pour my drink in a nearby plant and explore the house, looking for a semi quiet place to chill and observe my surroundings. My only motivation for attending tonight was to see Paris and Ryan get together and my mission has been accomplished. I don\'t dance, I don\'t drink, I don\'t swim and I sure as hell don\'t have a lot of friends so I\'m a little out of my element here.

My eyes land on the spiralling staircase and I make my way towards it hoping there\'d be like a bar, or a bed, or at least a stool that is not already full of drunk teenagers. I\'ve been here for approximately twenty minutes and I\'m already over it.

As I approach the last step, I realize that I\'ve made a huge mistake.

A big one.

My footsteps seem to have been loud because everyone around the kitchen counter stops what they are doing and whip their heads towards me.

Cue awkward silence and staring at each other like they do in the movies.

\'\'What are you doing here? I thought this was a no-losers party.\'\' Mariah fires in her nasal-pitchy voice. You know, after our talk at the field trip, I thought we had come to an implied compromise that we would not hurl insults at each other. So far, we\'ve managed to avoid confrontation but she just loves to stir the pot.

Luckily for her, I\'m bored as hell and in a strange mood today.

\'\'I was invited, Mariah. I\'m sure you won\'t know what that means and I don\'t blame you.\'\'

\'\'I get invited to all the cool parties, scholarship girl.\'\' Is that meant to be a dig at my confidence? Mariah first called me scholarship girl in 10th grade. I wasn\'t always as feisty as I am now, but when Mariah filled tampons in my locker and humiliated me in front of everyone by claiming they were mine, she called me \'scholarship girl.\' In fact, these were her exact words: \'\'Oops, the scholarship girl had a freak accident.\'\' Everyone at the scene laughed that day as I cleared the unused tampons (Thank God) from my locker and put them in the trashcan.

All she got was a reprimand from Principal Grande once the incident was reported by one of the teachers.

I almost broke down in tears that day because I was absolutely humiliated. But I realized that if I did, it\'ll give Mariah more ammunition and another chance to humiliate me even further, so I vowed that I\'ll give her a taste of her own medicine. For every jab she throws, I\'m going to fire back twice as hard. No one is ever going to put me down, not as long as I have a say about it.

I snort in an unladylike manner and shift my weight from one leg to the other. \'\'Yea, you get invited as Jason\'s carryon bag. Nothing special in that.\'\' A few giggles escape from the mouths of the people sitting on the stools.

Melody-1

Mariah-0

A set of eyes stare at me with such intensity that it\'s almost nerve wrecking, but I don\'t pay it any mind. I know who it is, and it sure as hell isn\'t Mariah. She rises up from her chair, ready to hurl a mediocre, low-grade insult my way but a hand stops her. She sits her ass back down and glares at him but he has his eyes on me. At that moment, it seems like we are the only ones in the room and no one understands the language we are speaking through our eyes. He looks pissed, which makes absolutely no sense to me. The only person who has a right to be pissed is me because I was insulted first.

Then I delivered the final blow, but that\'s besides the point.

Not taking his eyes away from me, Jason\'s lips curve into a smirk and he opens his mouth. \'\'Why don\'t you join us, Princess? It\'ll be fun.\'\'