Preps Know How To Party

        Slone Harlow looked around the seemingly expensive parlor in disgust. The Takewells really did try too hard. The room had obviously been renovated to look like a New York penthouse. It had burgundy walls lined with bookshelves and artwork, untouched beige carpet, and tons of shiny mahogany furniture from Tad Kitwell’s new line. But, Slone really didn’t give a shit how much the room cost or what it looked like. There was alcohol in the next room. And that’s where she wanted to be.
        “Why the hell are we still in here?” She hissed, nudging Callen Frehley in the process. Callen looked slightly uncomfortable in all the fabric she was wearing. It was uncommon to see her so covered. She usually wore anything (or next to nothing) to flaunt her perfectly toned body and impressive double-D chest, a birthday present from the year before.
        “We’re waiting for Autum,” she said in a clipped whisper, never taking her sulky blue eyes off of her mother and ‘Stepdaddy #3’. This one was supposedly, remarkably, her mother’s own age and was such a new arrival that Callen wasn’t 100% sure if his name was John or James.
        Autum herself was leaning against the doorway with her eyes glued on her own parents. Her mother, ever the…social one, was busy flirting with one of the Takewells’ gorgeous Italian waiters. All the while, Mr. Archer stood beside her, watching expressionlessly as she practically came on to another (much younger) man. In all actuality, it was a common occurrence.
        Autum glanced over at Callen and Slone, raised her eyebrows and widened her pretty blue eyes. The look could only be translated as, “Do you see my slut of a mother?! Let’s get the fuck out of here before I freakin’ hurl!” The three girls met at the door and stepped out of the room undetected.
        The rest of the house was in an uproar. It was obvious why all the adults had holed up together. In the galla, loud, obnoxious rap music blared, completely drowning out the rendition of Beethoven’s 4th that had been playing in the parlor. Tons of high school kids were dancing and screaming as far as the eye could see, gyrating against one another and drinking out of plastic cups filled with God knows what.
        Melanie and Marissa Takewell, the belles of the ball, were at the top of the stairs. Melanie was on some guy’s shoulders, wearing nothing but leather shorts shorts and a bra, holding a bottle of Absolut vodka. Marissa, also holding a bottle of vodka, was standing to the side in her prep school uniform from seventh grade.
        “Disgusting,” Slone said, looking around at her sex-crazed, drunken classmates with a look that was one part pity and two parts repulse.
Now that they were out in the brightly lit galla, the girls could see each other more clearly. Callen was wearing a very tight black satin dress that all but failed its covering job and dangerously high red heels. Autum looked as much like a sexy beauty pagent contestant as she always did, in a silver sequin dress that barely covered her ass and matching kitten heels, with her red ringlets a very purposeful mess.
          Slone looked pretty much like she always did. She had on blue jeans, a tight rock tee, stiletto boots, little jewelry, and a bunch of makeup. But don’t be fooled. She may look like a prude, but just give her time….and alcohol.