Throw Five by Samuel Bigio

I always wanted to throw a house party; it looked so glamorous in the media. My parents finally built up the trust to leave me home alone. Boy, were they mistaken! Who should I invite? How should I obtain drinks? These were not questions I thought very hard about. As soon as my bearded friend was free to go into a liquor store that didn’t have any grief about identification, I was ready to invite my closest friends. This led to the problem of prioritizing my friendship, and choosing who I liked better. Needless to say, I decided that not everyone would come so I invited a handful.

Money wasn’t an issue for me, but I was against spending more than two hundred dollars on party favors. Good thing my trusty friends wanted to guarantee the party’s outcome. After two hours of preparation, I was ready to have the night of my life. First my closest guy friends came, and soon after girls started showing up one after another.
“Hi, I’m Michelle, we went to elementary school together.”
“What the fuck just happened?” was my first thought, but luckily I said, “Oh yeah, I remember you! Thanks for coming.”
“No problem, and my brother Ricky is coming. I’m sure you remember him!”
“Of course!” I said in the most false way possible, but she didn’t notice.
That is the exact moment I realized I had made a mistake. When people I hadn’t seen since elementary school were showing up with siblings, it had definately gotten out of hand.

Five to drink, not that hard to understand, but apparently they didn’t have five.
“I brought four beers, though. Is that okay?”
“Can I pay you back at school?”
“Can my friend owe you?”
“Dave’s driving.”
“Can we share a beer?”
And, “Let me just drink this myself, and then drink your money.”
Sure, let me just pay for all the alcohol for people I don’t even know. Sounds awesome! As long as my house doesn’t get fucked up– that was my biggest concern. Everyone wanted to take shots with me. I couldn’t let them down; I had to have the best party ever. Sure I’ll smoke some of your weed. I don’t smoke that much, but what could go wrong? I can’t remember the rest of the night. Stacy got in a car accident and almost died. Someone could have died of alcohol poisoning. My mom’s house was ruined. I fucked up.

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