Part 3: As The Jungle Creeps In... And like fruit from the tree, so fell the drinks. Before my arrival there was already plenty of lewd and amazing content, and afterward there was tenfold. But not to get ahead of myself, I’ll start where the party is formed. Weeks beforehand, Scott's parents had decided to take a trip to California, just the two of them, as an anniversary of sorts. And from the most classic of wombs was the idea of a blow-out-party born. Word began to spread as the idea of a guest list was thrown out of the window. One list was created though and that was the drink list. This is where requests were made and orders filled out and money allotted. This list began to be the running advertisement for the party, changing hands dozens of times and taking on many additions until the text on the top stating where and when it be returned to Scott was noticed and adhered to. If any readers are wondering where the alcohol was obtained, I say this: never underestimate the power of a 21-year-old sister with a rebel streak running down her back. The guest list, had it ever existed, would have been a who's who of our school. The girl who got way too drunk, who today has become a smart and reserved girl. The guy that did drugs that, today, still does drugs. Ok so it wasn’t a glamorous crowd but like a prize among cracker jacks, Ashley was there. And on her hand was a bracelet, a bottle of Dos Equis, and a boy. I couldn’t tell you his name, and I’m sure that when Lucifer was already taken he just wasn’t given one. This boy, not man, was now and forever my nemesis. The classic boy from Vermont if there ever was one, he had his polo and his khaki shorts and even the leather sandals. In fact, he was so deliciously prep that he was almost before his time. He could have single handedly sparked the Abercrombie migration we saw so apparent on the west coast in '03. In between the drinks and the shots and the nonsensical chants and roars we heard rock this tiny hamlet in Scottsdale, I’d sneak glances at her. I know it wasn’t necessary; I could have just as easily gone and talked to her with little sacrifice. I often think she would have been happy to see me, to talk once more to the boy she once shared so freely and honestly with. But then he'd slip his snake-like arm around her hip, his form like a python squeezing the life out of my fantasy. The end result of my night was frustration and drunkenness, and to this day I’m not sure which of those two would inspire my next actions. As the starts ferverently fought for their dominion against the impending morning sun, I turned the corner of the house to find her there: very much alone. Now was my chance. Snake free and in a haze, I stumbled my steps and then my words to re-initiate the long lost love. And she smiled, wiped away a tear, and said hello back. I'd ran over so many times in my head what I was going to say to her when I had the chance. I'd tell her I missed her, I missed talking to her and I missed walking with her every day. I'd tell her how over the summer I'd done other things, met new people and all the while the dull buzzing in the back of my head was saying her name, wondering who she was meeting. And how I’d found out exactly who she met on that first week of school, through the grapevine that became my noose. But in the moment all I could concern myself with was why she was crying. What in the world kind of devotee would I be if I’d asked anything else? How could I allow something to cause her pain? Turns out, I’d called it way in advance: it was Lucifer. His name was David and back in Vermont he was a senior who had wooed her in a very unoriginal way (bias is allowed, deal with it). He'd kissed another girl, she said. They'd fought for hours outside in the cold, she said. He'd decided to walk back to his friend’s house where he'd arranged to stay while he visited her. They were over for good, and she was a fool for liking him she said. And while I wish I was genuinely concerned for her, at that moment I had to subdue my joy at hearing her say what I’d wanted to scream for months. And that's when the stupor hit the peak. Be it the booze, the frustration or the completely inconceivable way she was looking back at me, my comforting hug was shifted and we were then face to face. And though I’d seen her take many shots, I hoped sadness and uproaring had sobered us both up enough to kiss...