The Afterparty

Blake parked his car on a street in Ridgewood Heights. He exited the car feeling like an outsider, even though his family used to come here constantly when they still had wealth.

He then turned to the reason he was here. A giant house that was a part of the Ashbourne’s family properties. He was still trying to understand how he ended up here.

Earlier that evening, the final buzzer had blared, echoing through the gym as the basketball team claimed victory. The crowd erupted in cheers, a pattern of pride and excitement that vibrated through the very air. As the team huddled together, sweaty and exultant, Coach Erwin’s eyes found him, offering a rare nod of approval. The locker room was a cacophony of jovial shouts and slaps on the back as the boys of the Resin Grove Ravens basketball team reveled in their victory. The scent of victory — a mix of sweat, leather, and antiperspirant — hung thick in the air.

Blake’s phone buzzed in his pocket, a stark contrast to the organic sounds of the locker room. He pulled it out to find a text from Vivi, her name lighting up the screen like a flicker of mischief. His stomach tightened at the sight of her message: an invitation to an afterparty celebrating not just the basketball win, but the football team’s victory the night before. Although he had a feeling that was just an excuse from Vivi so she can organize a party. His thumb hovered over the screen, contemplating his reply. Accepting meant crossing into enemy territory, into a world of glitz and glamour that was as much a part of him as the dusty floors of Hartley Hall.

He typed back, “Where and when?”, and her response came swiftly. The address was a place in Ridgewood Heights, one of those sprawling mansions that looked like it had more bathrooms than the school had classrooms. He knew the type—his ancestors had built many of them before his family’s fortune had dwindled. The party was set for 10 PM and half their class will be there. With a sigh that could have ruffled the pages of a book, Blake slipped the phone back into his pocket.

The drive home to the Old Quarter was a journey back in time. The cobblestone streets grew quieter as he moved away from the school, the modern world shrinking until it was just Blake, the hum of his car, and the whispers of history echoing through the narrow lanes. The Hartley house, once a jewel in the crown of Resin Grove’s aristocracy, now stood with peeling paint and a porch that sagged with the weight of unfulfilled promises. Yet, there was a certain dignity to its decay that made it seem like it was just biding its time, waiting for someone to believe in it again.

As he pushed open the front door, the scent of roasting chicken wafted through the hallways, a comforting reminder of his mother’s love. The interior was dimly lit, the chandeliers casting shadows that danced along the dust-covered furniture. His parents, Elise and Thomas, sat at the dinner table, the flicker of the candles playing across their faces. They looked up as he entered, their expressions a mix of pride and relief. His mother set down her wine glass, her eyes lighting up as she said, “Blake, we heard about the game. You really turned it around in the second half!”

Thomas, his father, nodded solemnly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he offered a smile. “They had you on the ropes, but you didn’t give up. That’s Hartley spirit right there,” he said, his voice gruff but filled with warmth. The three of them took their places around the table, the heavy oak groaning under the weight of both the meal and their conversation.

Elise served the food, her hands deft as she avoided the chips in the plates and the tarnished silverware. The chicken was perfect — crispy on the outside, tender and moist within, surrounded by a sea of steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes. The smell filled the room, a comforting scent that seemed to whisper of better days.

They ate in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the clinking of forks and the occasional crackle of the fireplace. The flames danced in the grate, casting flickering shadows across the walls adorned with peeling wallpaper. Blake couldn’t help but feel a pang of embarrassment at the state of their once-grand home. It was a stark contrast to the gleaming, modern houses in Ridgewood Heights, where Vivi, Max and other classmates lived.

Still, even though the current Hartley house doesn't compare to other big families houses, it still in good condition.

Blake swallowed a mouthful of potato, feeling the tension build in his throat. "So, uh, there's a party tonight," he said, keeping his voice casual. "Kin of a bit one. For the teams' victories. Both basketball and football. Would be a bad look if the basketball team's captain doesn't show up".

His parents exchanged a glance and then looked at him expectantly, their expressions curious.

"The whole basketball team will be there, Ethan and Nick too." he started, his voice picking up speed as he painted a picture of the party without revealing the inviter. "It's at one of—"

"You can go." Thomas said

“That 's it?” Blake asked bewildered, “I don’t need to convince you?”

“It seems like an important party, go and have fun, come back before we wake up and keep in mind you have to wake up before noon, so don’t come back too late”

“Oh my god, thanks dad.” Blake exclaimed.

He dashed up the stairs two at a time to his room, which was surprisingly clean for a teenage boy. His bed was made, the floor was clear of any stray laundry, and his dresser drawers were neatly organized. The walls were a soft blue-gray. The scent of his cologne filled the air from an open bottle on his nightstand. He pulled out his phone again, checking the time. He had a couple of hours to get ready.

Blake chose an outfit that mirrored the town's old-money elegance—a blue long-sleeve polo shirt. He paired it with a pair of white chinos that had seen a few summers but remained crisp. His sneakers were pristine, the kind that looked like they belonged on a yacht. He checked himself in the mirror, tucking a loose strand of blond hair behind his ear. He looked like he belonged in Ridgewood Heights, even if he didn't feel it.

The drive to Ridgewood Heights was a silent journey through the dark streets of Resin Grove. His car's headlights painted the road ahead with a comforting yellow glow, cutting through the fog that had rolled in from the lake. Blake turned onto Amber Street, the grand mansions standing tall and proud, their windows gleaming like the eyes of watchful giants. The Ashbournes' estate was the crown jewel, a sprawling monstrosity that seemed to breathe in the night air. His heart quickened as he passed each house, feeling the weight of their silent judgment.The old bridge loomed in the distance, a silent sentinel connecting the town's stark past to its glittering present.

As he reached the end of the street, he took a sharp turn and drove a few blocks, his tires humming against the asphalt. The houses grew smaller, closer together, whispering secrets of a time when his family's name still meant something. He parked his car in the shadows of a leafy oak, its branches stretching out like welcoming arms.

And that’s how he ended up in front of an Ashbourne house feeling like an outsider. He could see through the windows that the party was starting.

He took a deep breath and started walking in the house's direction.