"Have another drink get lost in us, this is how we get notorious."

LORDE | PERFECT PLACES

• • •

On Wednesdays, they smoked weed.

Jesse Raelynn's house was always available on Wednesdays because his parents worked a handful of hours overtime. For the delinquents of Acacia Bay, there was nothing sweeter than a jackpot of illegal substances.

The event was equivalent to a weekly after-school program if you could call it that.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ. How deep is your damn purse?" Sage Asher scolded, as she watched her best friend, Eden Ivy, carelessly search the pockets and secret compartments of her dark leather brown messenger bag. "We've been standing out here for like ten minutes already, and you know lots of shit happens in ten minutes of a party."

"Actually, we've only been out here for two minutes; you're just super impatient. Oh, and this is a satchel," Eden said matter-of-factly. Sage shrugged her off and resumed tapping her foot melodramatically.

"I remember putting it in here," Eden muttered to herself, ignoring the short redhead's apparent attempts to rush her. Sage was blessed with the intuition of knowing when Eden lost something. It only came with the perks of having a best friend attached to your hip.

Jesse Raelynn's best friend, Braeden, created some kind of secret passcode for guests who chose to join in on their getaway. Braeden simply found amusement in coding random passwords, even though this method was beyond childish. It's not like Braeden didn't know Eden well, they practically grew up together walking their dogs, but he refused to let anyone in without a code—no exceptions.

"Check your pockets. It's probably in there knowing your forgetful ass." Sage gestured at Eden's tattered light-blue jeans, which were ripped at the knees and probably on their last thread.

Eden handed her satchel over and checked her back pockets, shaking the dark brown wisps of long hair from away from her eyes. Her fingers dipped into the right pocket, and she grinned at the feel of wrinkled paper between her fingertips.

Sage's eyes have always been a pretty color. They were swirls of soft grass and mint leaves, but if they could kill, she'd be digging up Eden's grave right now. With a short, derisive laugh at how stupid Eden felt while looking for the damn sheet of paper, finally, after standing in front of Jesse Raelynn's threshold for what seemed to be a century, the two girls sashayed up to the paved doorsteps, and Sage knocked on the cherry-wood door eagerly.

A familiar voice answered from the other side. "Who is it?" Braeden's baritone but the somewhat chirpy voice was one of his most distinctive traits. Emphasis on one. Braeden's eccentric personality and being ever so strangely sarcastic was one of the many reasons he was an easy invite to any event and a communal friend.

"It's Sage and Eden," Sage called, with her hand on her hip.

"Password!" he sang. Eden shook her head with a lopsided grin etched on her nude pink lips. She and Sage looked at each other, reading one another's minds and rolling their eyes. Eden glanced at the crumpled paper in her hands, her hazelnut eyes acknowledged the black ink.

Eden anticipated something wholly inappropriate and immoral—Braeden's passcodes always were. But, as she unscrambled the sheet and read the handwriting, which resembles that of a kindergartener, the answer seemed to be the complete opposite.

"ME! by Taylor Swift?" she read aloud, her tone rising a few octaves in question. Sage burst into laughter before, suddenly, the door swung open and Braeden snatched the sheet away from me.

"Okay, first of all, I gave you the wrong code!" he said, embarrassment dusted his speckled cheeks an autumn red. "And, that's some good shit right there, but anyway, get in here."

Jesse's "stoner" playlist played as a facade to mask the delinquency running through his estate. The smoggy air and the rancid smell of weed and alcohol immediately clung to Eden's cashmere sweater, which she was going to have to wash as soon as she got home. The air was thick, humid, and uncomfortable. Aside from the music, the crackle of joints being lit reverberated through the fiery spark-littered air.

In one dimly lit corner, the hard-core druggies were getting their fair share of what's 'owed' to them. Eden knew a few people who belonged to that group and weren't all that rebellious, but different in their own way. In another dainty corner, Erin Beck was pushed up against Jared Hotchner. His hand was up to her shirt, and he was doing something that oddly resembled a farmer milking a cow–what? Eden quickly darted in another direction, her face morphed in horror.

At the epicenter of everything was Jesse himself, lighting up a blunt with a crooked grin. His rugged look attracted girls like a moth to a flame, or maybe the opportunity to get high for free did. Hanging around the table was a group of both males and females smoking their pot near Jesse. They were all trapped in their frenzied minds–obviously— that's what the party was for. Not even an hour into it, and they were already high off their minds. They lolled their heads backward with glazed over eyes and laughed amusedly for no reason at all.

Sage, wanting in on everything, worked up her famous dazzling grin and sashayed over to the group. She dragged a finger along Jesse's neck before sliding onto his lap. Suddenly, Eden's hidden personality reared its teeth. She was an observer that much preferred selecting her friends from afar, unlike Sage.

"Want a drink?" An abrupt voice made her squeal in surprise, clutching her chest as if she had just had a heart attack.

"Braeden, I think you need a bell appearing out of nowhere like that," Eden said, and he snorted in reply. "Are there any drinks, like Peach Schnapps or something?"

Braeden looked at her with those incredulous and playful honey eyes. "C' mon, Edes, you can't get drunk on Peach Schnapps. Just go for the strong stuff? I'm sorry, but I can only give you vodka."

Cue eye roll. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I'm serious! Look, you either take it or leave it, and I know you're not going to join that crowd over there, so you only got me, kiddo," he continued, gesturing between him and Jesse's group. He shrugged, and Eden stood with her mouth ajar at his bluntness. But, that's why everybody loved Braeden: you don't need to do much thinking to understand him.

Eden huffed in surrender. "Fine, whatever."

A goofy smile curved the corners of his lips, and she rolled her eyes once more. I'm actually surprised I haven't rolled them into another universe yet.

Braeden stalked off into the kitchen, fixing her a drink from a liquor cabinet that was supposed to be off-limits until tonight. Meanwhile, Eden averted her eyes amongst the crowd, judging the harsh faces and crude conversations. Sage looked happy enough as she was now with Luke Meyer whispering sweet nothings — or more like delusional nothings.

"Here, ya go!"

She jumped again, the pounding of her heart echoed in her ears, and the familiar jolt of shock resurfaced. Eden shot Braeden a pointed stare.

"I'm sorry," he laughed, "but you're way too distracted...like always. Anyway, here."

He managed to find a round tray where six vodka shots sat patiently, waiting for the first person who was dumb enough to down them all in one go. Vodka was a master of deception, pinning for something harmless and easily mistaken for water, but it wasn't pure or refreshing, it was destruction in a diminutive glass. Eden knew its effects all too well.

"Hey, can I see that bottle?" Eden asked, walking past him and grabbing the bottle he emptied for the shots. It was tall, clear, and white with red and gold patterns strewn around the body. It looked somewhat safe–oh, except for the fact that it wasn't in English.

"Braeden, this isn't in English," she said.

"Yeah, so?" he shrugged, and Eden blinked, hard.

"I refuse to take six damn shots in less than three minutes, Braeden, especially if it's a brand that's probably not even legal in the United States," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"It's not all for you, obviously. Three for you, Three for me," he explained, gesturing to the sections of the shots in a 'duh' attitude. "Besides, everyone drank some tonight, so if anything goes wrong, we can sue the brand together—the American way."

"Good luck winning considering we're all underage," Eden eyed him, a smirk tugging at the curve of her lip. "Fine, it's on. Six or not, I'm still pretty sure I hold the title for being the fastest."

His whiskey-colored eyes glinted with mischief. "You're on."

Braeden set the tray down on the kitchen counter, and together, they counted down from five before Eden absentmindedly sent four shots down her throat. Each one made the internal walls of her body burn hotter than the one before. The sting lasted seconds before another shot of the burning liquid spiraled down her throat.

They slammed the last shot glass onto the tray, staring at each other with annoyed expressions on their faces.

"Damn it! Well, I guess it's a tie," Braeden announced, taking in a breath of air while tugging at his disheveled cropped brown hair. "It wasn't that bad. You feel anything?"

She felt buzzed that's what. The alcohol ran through her veins sharply, fueling her adrenaline, and Eden smacked her lips together. The sloppy sound was considered utterly unattractive to most, but this was Braeden. He never cared about such things, thank God. Eden's eyes scanned the room as the smoke slowly cleared. She was already mostly familiar with everyone at Jesse's until a new figure caught her vigilante eye— well— two.

"Who's that?" Eden asked, her speech slurred. She could feel her tongue growing lethargic and lazy with vowels.

"Who? That guy?" Braeden shoved his thumb in the direction of the stranger talking to Caleb and Caleb's girlfriend. Braeden wasn't exactly a hundred percent sober either, which is why his thumb ended up in the direction of the floor.

"Yeah, who's that?"

The first person she recognized was Caleb Sommers, the nineteen-year-old senior who only appeared at school when he felt like it, but when he did, he made his presence known. Caleb stood on the fairy-light strung wooden patio, running a hand through his raven black hair as he spoke to an unfamiliar light-brown-headed guy who had a level of quiet confidence that no one else could imitate.

"Oh, that guy? That's Smith, I think he moved here from Hawaii," Braeden said, his words rushing together in hysteria. "I mean, he's cool, but, uh...a bit weird if you ask me."

"Everyone is weird to you Braeden," Eden suddenly laughed after she dragged his name out with a strange accent. Her head spun, and as she attempted to concentrate on his words, she found herself slipping into a different tipsy persona.

The room whirled around in a flash of faded lights and thick air. Eden quickly realized that there was no way she could sober up on time to drive home. Every cup of water she tried to drink ended up sloshing around and spilling on the floor, but after a multitude of tries and eventually the help of a random girl she thought she knew from her calculus class, the haze ever so slowly wore off. Not entirely, but almost enough to walk in a straight line.

By the end of the night, Braeden was nowhere to be seen, and Eden was slumped into a chair, her stomach growling.

"Sage! Let's go, my mom is going to kill me!" she yelled after bidding meaningless goodbyes, no-one would remember it anyway. Eden stumbled out of the house and swayed onto the green lawn that desperately needed mowing, giggles escaped her mouth as swiftly as air. The streetlights were on, and the medium range-sized homes were lit from inside. At these hours, there wasn't another soul wandering on the tarmac aside from the drunken sirens of underage people.

"Jesus. I'm coming," Sage bellowed from inside. Eden tripped across the lawn and stopped at a silver car.

"By the way, you're driving!" Eden said over her shoulder before swinging the door of the backseat open and crawling inside. Once she shut the door, her head rolled against the window and sighed heavily. The alcohol on her breath was pungent, but something else smelled peculiar, too. The car didn't smell like her mother's natural Delilah scented air fresheners that her mom created herself; instead, it was more of fake citrus and mint, which was awfully unusual for a woman who believed that artificial air fresheners caused cancer.

"Uhm—Eden? What are you doing here?" A familiar voice startled her out of her sleepy trance, and her eyes flew open. She gasped. In the driver's seat sat Caleb Sommers and the guy she saw earlier, Smith, in the passenger seat shooting bewildered and questionable looks at her.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry. I thought this was my car," Eden let out a weak nervous chuckle, which sounded feeble in comparison to Caleb's booming laughter. "In my defense, I didn't know what I was doing, and it might possibly be the fault of drinks that clearly aren't legal in the United States."

Caleb snickered and drew his dark monolid eyes over her figure. "Stay safe, Eden.

In nanoseconds, Eden opened the door and leaped out, running away sheepishly. When she found her actual car parked on the other side of the road, she was met with Sage's impatient glare.

"What was that?" she asked, looking over Eden's shoulder. "And who is that?"

"Caleb and some guy named Smith, I think he's new," Eden said and jumped into the passenger seat to rest her head against the window.

Sage idled on the lawn for a while, attempting to catch a good glimpse of the new kid. She rubbed her red-glazed eyes. "Holy shit," she mutters. "I still have to write that goddamn essay."

Eden shook her head weakly, as her eyelids shut. "I told you to write it before we came here."

"I know, I know," Her best friend whined, before revving up the engine. "I'll just do it when I get home."

Many minutes later, when they churned to a stop in front of Sage's three-story home, Eden's nap sobered up every last drop of alcohol left in her bloodstream before she had to drive herself home.

The streets were lonely. Going on for what seemed to be miles and miles of tarmac, Eden pulled into the driveway of her home. While her house was nowhere near the size of Sage's, Eden's mother put her botanist skills to practice on their front porch. Lush gardens, vibrant scented flowers, Buddhist ornaments, and the white picket fence gave the impression that the inside would be that of a mansion's.

A rustle caught Eden's immediate attention, and she whipped her head around to search for the source. Her eye caught a dark figure clad in unrecognizable attire, landing with skilled feet from the neighbor's fence and onto her driveway. She was paralyzed with shock, unable to move, react, or think clearly. The figure wore a dark red hoodie, and when he tilted his head towards her finally, his eyes acknowledged her presence before they widened and he ran off.

It had to be a hallucination from Braeden's drink, but she recognized that face.

Smith.