I tell myself I must have been doomed to a life of social maturity and morals, cursed by a comfortable and healthy upbringing. The concert ends and we cling to one another in order to make it back to the cars together. Upon arrival, the mass of immobile, tightly packed cars alerts us that we will not be going anywhere for quite some time. The driver makes it clear that he wants to spend some quality time with his girlfriend, so my platonic back-seat companion and I head toward the other car. Its inhabitants are chatting with a truck of boys from downstate, who alternate sipping from bottles of vodka.
Music blares from nearly every car and some of the drunks dance in the parking lot or on their cars.
Everything inside me longs to be like them, to dance to the rhythm in my head, to just be. But I remember my reputation. I am far too secure in my role as the good, studious girl to throw it away after seventeen years. I tell myself I am doing this for the sake of my future. After all, I do manage to have fun with my life and it s not as though I have not participated in some of the indiscretions so common to people my age.