I first started drinking when I was a junior in high school. My first drink was a bottle of Red Hook beer, which as I recall left me giddy and euphoric as a drunk junior in high school. I hugged the boy I had a crush on, and I decided that drinking before you turned 21 was okay.

The second or third party I went to was at a popular girl’s house. All of the cool people were there, but I didn’t know very many of them. There was a boy there who worked at a grocery store with my friend. I was tipsy and he started to talk to me with a coy grin on his face. He looked like a teenage boy band version of Eddie Munster, and I couldn’t understand why he was talking to me. He knew I was friends with his coworker, so he decided to push things to the next level:

BOY: “Well hey, we should hang out or something. What’s your number?”

ME: “Ohhh… uh… my number? Hah, ummm. I forgot it.”

BOY: “You… forgot your number?”

ME: “Yeah, I forgot it. Sorry!”

Then I ran away.