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Suri Nightingale A party. I’m going to a party. A real one where teenagers who are more or less the same age as me drink, play some stupid games, drink some more, probably take some illegal substances, find an empty room–or just the corner is probably fine–to make out and more, and then wake up and regret it all in the morning. Well, that sounded more exciting in my head about five minutes ago when I agreed to this whole thing, but now that I’m staring at my closet, once again intimidated, I have no idea why I actually said yes to Keith after ignoring Atlas’ death glares on me. Oh my god. Is it too late to take back my answer and just stay in and binge watch some shows? Can I just pretend I still have more schoolwork to do even though I already finished it earlier? Crap! I did not pro