Arriving at the party

By the time they'd snuck through the neighborhood and climbed into the right backyard, night had fallen. Over the picket fence, the towering metropolis in the distance cut the waning sun in strips, mixing with them its own kaleidoscope of colored lights. Isabelle breathed the vista in with a mouthful of cool, fresh air. Every single speck of distant florescence signaled something unattainable and thrilling. Some flashy product you could buy, a late night club you could dance away in till dawn, or some raunchy, sweaty party hungry for fresh attendees. Places where you could, as she'd heard it said, find a "good time." Lose yourself in. From far out here though, out in the still and silent suburbs with its oppressive curfew on both skin and noise, those tiny lights were just a smattering of anonymous and hypnotic visual noise. They blinked and beckoned. They set in her vision like sun spots.

A chilly breeze blew across her exposed knees. She tucked her arms under her chest and hunched for warmth. She was used to seeing night out a window, not feeling it on her skin.

Sam gave the house's back door another two knocks and waited. All sorts of excitement reverberated dully through the walls. Soundproof lining, probably.

"You sure this is the right place?" Isabelle asked.

"Always the same place and yeah, I'm sure. Just chill."

"That won't be hard."

Her foot tapped impatiently against the stone walkway. Coming to this party had been the light at the end of the tunnel for Isabelle this whole month. In a lot of ways, her whole life. Over the vintage rooftop, the moon rose. This backyard's steel barbecue shone immaculately in its light. Tongs and scrubbers hung off the handle for show.

"Just remember," Sam impressed upon her, knocking again and betraying with a sigh her own impatience. "Act cool, relaxed, and don't give anyone the idea you don't belong. Youth and innocence gives a lot of guys my age some pretty gross ideas."

Isabelle squished her breasts between her arms and frowned. "Maybe I'd like to be the object of some gross ideas," she grumbled.

Sam reached out and pulled up the zipper snugly on Isabelle's sweater. "Be smart," is all she said, and tapped her younger friend's wrist. Beneath the hoodie, a small red bow hid her bracelet. That wretched thing was the last thing she wanted to be thinking about right now.

Finally, the door opened. Music and the dozens of voices fighting over it erupted out of the passage.

"Heyyyyyy," slurred the guy peeking out from behind the door. "You made it! And you brought a friend."

"Yes," Sam started, gesturing to Isabelle. "This is--"

"A smart friend," Isabelle interrupted, unzipping her hoodie in a single stroke. "And a fun one." With a slick shrug and flick the sweater was off and swung neatly over her forearm. Sam was no longer the object of attention in the conversation, and Isabelle the gaze. Giving him just a moment to appreciate her form, the young lady strode confidently in the fold baring cleavage, a tattoo, and swinging an ass she planned to put to good use.