#i need queue'

                Very rarely did a night with Wendy go bad, as she was now a self-proclaimed pro at cooing those at a bar to buy her a free drink. However, planning to go to a new bar across town turned sour, as a few other girls with the same agenda didn’t exactly like another gold-digger in their territory. They dragged her by the hair, not shy to leave a few cuts and bruises on her pretty face. Wendy did her best to put up a good fight, but a three to one ratio had never been a favourite for anyone--- at least, in this reality. With no money on her, Wendy was forced to make it back home on foot, cold and hungry. Embarrassed, she did her best to not look at anyone in the eye in fear of getting caught, especially by her own brother who wouldn’t hesitate to make fun. She took her time going home, walking down a few residential streets and alleyways in a mere miniskirt and tube top, ending up a few miles from her neighbourhood on a quaint-ish street. She blinks in an effort to moisten her contacts, falling when her heel breaks, the concrete beneath her grazing her knees. “Fuck---” she curses, rolling over on her bottom picking out the contacts from her eyes in frustration. “Can this night get any worse...”

                  Despite masticating the delicious mixture of mac and cheese with steak ---her favourite--- there was no way in hell that even her favourite dinner could pull her out of this funk. She couldn’t stop herself from going over the days she had missed, calculating just how long it had been since her last period. 12 --no, 14? wait, 10 days? Three weeks? Had it been a month already? Sitting across from River, with her mother situated at the end of their table, she was dead quiet. Mallory was not good at hiding her emotions. In fact, she was absolutely terrible. With her, what you see is what you get. So, she knew if she kept thinking about the possibility of being pregnant, her mom would know... and worst, River. “Mal?” her mother calls out, four pairs of eyes watching the blonde evidently tuning out of the conversation topic. “Huh?” “How’s the food?” she smiles with worried brows, almost giving into her chuckle. Mallory nods, clearing her throat she continues to chew. “It’s good-- Sorry, I wasn’t listening. Were you, uh... what were you saying?” She looks up, blue hues jumping from her mother to River. 

                 Cindy had spent weeks thinking about Blake. Sure, swearing off the male species due to her trust issues was definitely a plan still intact, but… she couldn’t help it. Oftentimes, when she was at work, sweeping after her coworkers, his face would just pop up. That smile, his eyes… his hair… his body… Everything. She’d shiver at the thought, questioning her intentions, her motives— wondering if their plan to have lunch– or was it dinner… held more than just her wanting a stranger to get a little taste of her culture. After all, he was a stranger… and she wanted him to get a taste of her cultu— Shaking her head, Cindy exhaled sharply, running her hand through her long black locks out of frustration. You’re thinking about this too much, stop. Looking up, the brunette checks her wristwatch, nodding as it was about time for him to show up. Cindy had chosen a restaurant that wasn’t too authentic, but modern enough for a person’s first time. She knew going to Korea town might’ve been too much of a culture shock— especially with all the yelling due to a soccer game going on right now. She ties her hair into a messy bun, paying mind to remain as normal as possible. After all, it was ‘just’ dinner. 

                  "Did you fucking see what Zac posted last night? Does he not know that the entire student body follows him? Moron.”

         Same bar, same drink, different mood. While Whit appreciated a good drink every now and again with her girls, she couldn’t bare walking into her favorite bar with them by her side tonight. Chase --like the asshole everyone made him up to be-- cheated on her like everyone said he would, and Whitney was determined to drink until the very memory of him disappeared. Laying out a twenty, she gestures for the bartender to slip her another shot of vodka, not bothering to look his way. “I’m on a mission here, Jim,” she says, already too drunk to ask for his actual name. “Don’t you dare hold out on me.”