3, 16, 25
The three girls—Alex, Sasha, and Grace—were buzzing with anticipation as they gathered in Alex’s apartment, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds. Tonight was the biggest party of the summer, a chaotic mash-up celebrating the third anniversary of the Stumbling Fillies, the sixteenth of Stanmaps, and the twenty-fifth of Dunsel. The air smelled of fresh laundry and Alex’s vanilla candle, a calm before the storm. “Okay, let’s keep it chill while we get ready,” Grace said, adjusting her glasses as she perched on the edge of the bed, her voice steady. “No disasters before we even leave.” The vibe shifted when Alex spotted a bottle of red wine on the counter. “Oh, come on, we need a toast,” she said, pouring it into mismatched glasses. “To epic nights!” Sasha clinked her dlasses against Alex’s. “To epic fights,” she added with a smirk. Grace joined in, cautious but game. “To surviving,” she said softly. One toast became two, then three, the bong gurgling and the pipe glowi...
