All aboard the Graduation Train

Noah's Crosstrek bounced and then crunched into gravel as they pulled off the two-lane highway into the woods. The trees felt denser out here, the kind of rural blackness that chewed up headlights and spat out anxiety. But with Jillian sitting shotgun, her boots on the dash, singing the wrong words to a Charli XCX song between sips from her hydroflask, it made the whole thing feel less like driving into some kind of horror movie, and more like it was his last night of sleep-away camp.

The cabin rose from dusky woods like a lighthouse in a sea of gray. It was a rich brown, with warm windows, and flickers of bodies moving in the distance like candle lights. As they got closer, he could see there was a sagging banner that read "CONGRATS FUCKWITS" sewn across the porch.

“Damn,” Jillian said, peering out the window as they passed a lineup of SUVs and polished sports cars. “How many people did Jacob invite to this thing?”

“Too many,” Noah answered, “And Jacob probably doesn’t know half of them...”

She giggled and reached over to ruffle his hair. He liked that about her. She touched him like they’d been dating for years.

Once they parked, she slid out with a kind of lazy bounce that made it impossible not to stare. The faded plaid skirt she was wearing barely counted as a skirt. It sat just above her hips, and the hemline barely stretched to the crease under each cheek. Her legs were impossibly thick and carved like she spent half her days doing squats. The upper half of her was comically out of proportion, like some poorly-rendered game character. Delicate, lithe, with a hardly any chest to speak of, which somehow made her ass seem even louder.

Jillian caught him staring. She smirked like she’d caught him stealing, and turned around to grab her bag from the backseat—doing that thing where she accidentally stuck her hips out a little more than necessary. Peachy mounds peeked out from the edge of her skirt; she was probably flashing the guys standing on the porch, but she did seem to care. Jillian liked to show off, Noah knew that about her from day one, and he had to admit he found it kind of hot.

“You good?” she asked, swinging the car door shut.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Just realized we came empty-handed.”

“We didn’t,” she said, already halfway up the pathway to the porch. “But I brought some tequila, which is way better than whatever you were gonna panic-buy on the way up here.”

“Always looking out for me,” Noah smiled.

He followed her in, watching the way her mesh top clung to her back. She was hot in that problem-girlfriend kind of way. Like she was bound to get him in trouble with some aggressive douche-bag eventually, but so far she did a good job brushing off any unwanted attention.

The cabin was bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside. It was humid with bodies and vape haze, and smelled like weed and cocoa butter and beer foam soaked into the wood. A Bluetooth speaker coughed up some bass-heavy music that he didn’t recognize. It was just past 7:00 pm, and people were already drunk. Already yelling, laughing, throwing up their hands in that exaggerated way you do when you haven’t seen each other in a while.

Jacob popped into view. Shirtless. Sweaty. Probably two drinks deep, and maybe a little high.

“NOAHHH!” he yelled, “and HOLY SHIIIT this your girl?”

Jillian gave a little wave. “No, just one of the voices in his head,” she joked, without the slightest hint of sarcasm.

Jacob snorted a laugh, “I like her.”

Noah just smiled, slipping a hand to the small of her back. He liked the way she leaned into his touch. The way she nuzzled against him anytime he stepped in close. They had only been properly dating for a couple of months, but everything about her felt right.

“Congrats, by the way,” Jillian said as she passed Jacob the bottle of tequila.

Jacob gave the bottle a cursory inspection before smiling, “Tequila. Sweet. Thank you!”