The air had that traditional feel to it for Halloween, and invigorating sense of mystery. There were a few huge, ice blue clouds in the deep sky, making the light from the moon even more silvery. I felt wicked and dizzy, like all of my eight year old witch's hours. Guy had been charitable enough to provide candy, and people got silly and dunked it in drinks, threw it at one another.
Soon it was half past midnight and no longer Halloween. You could almost feel the room deflate; grow self conscious of its respective outfits. Three Playboy bunnies left, their tails and tits bouncing with embarrassed grace. And then Alison was tripping over me on her way to do some more dancing, maybe. As she fell, it seemed she tossed the contents of her drink at my lap, aiming as she toppled. She lay on the floor, giggling as the red punch spread. She made a "come on" gesture, suddenly, and there was a terrible, awful pause. And then, suddenly, I heard a cackle on the stairs above me. Deep and evil. I looked up to see Xerxes poshly pouring his vodka over my head. There was another pause, briefer this time, as everyone else figured out the fun, and then two drinks hit me at the same time. People were laughing drunkly, and Alison was sitting on my feet, trying to keep them from leaving, from kicking in her teeth. Another drink splattered over my hair, my new curls. Someone grabbed Alison and pulled her up to leave. It was Xerxes.
I stood on the lawn to watch them halfway down the street in Alison's car. I cried, intensely, and then stole a pair of Guy's shoes to walk home in. I came in through the window; I cleaned up; I went to bed. I was the Amazing Wind Up Senior Girl, the one who would visit your sideshows and wipe punch off herself with a damp washcloth, too afraid to wake her parents with a shower.