It had been two years since Emily had moved to America. She didn't dislike it, but she had found the bold and brash style of the Americans to be a far cry from the soft and foppish people of the British home counties. Some people, as to be expected, had mocked her accent when she first arrived, but she had found that many more had liked it. For every one person who wrote her off as stuck up and posh for it, there were another 10 who found it interesting, classy, even sexy. It was the "classy" adjective she liked the most; it was her favourite English stereotype by far, and she did her best to live up to it. To that end, she dressed modestly. She did however remain stylish, and the cold climate of her new home in northern Massachusetts gave the perfect excuse to not reveal too much. She was barely caught in anything but her quilted barber jacket, sensible top and black jeans, with her long black hair tied messily up. This, along with her round black glasses, gave her a cute, bookish quality.
She had been very lean and athletic all through childhood, but as schoolwork had become more prevalent in her life exercise fell by the wayside. Through her late teens she had put on a small amount of weight. Not enough that people noticed it in her face, through her clothes, or at all really, but in a subtle way that only she noticed. Her 32D cup breasts swelled slightly and her bras became tight, forcing her to go to 34 D or double D in some shops. Her arse and hips, which had always been muscular, became slightly plumper. The athletic six pack she had once boasted was gone. Her stomach was still lean by almost any standard but her own, but still she missed the days she had looked like a track star.
Things were going well for Emily now though. She was two months away from her 21
st
birthday, and was going to a friend's house for a party. Well, party may have been a grandiose term; the five of them had decided that a big house party would be less fun that an old school throwback sleepover with just a very close group of them. Of course, they would still be drinking. Nicole had turned 21 a few months ago, and they had each chipped in for some spirits and mixer. That was another big piece of culture shock. She had been drinking beer in pubs before coming to America, and having her ability to drink taken away for another two and a half years seemed cruel. Oh well, it would all be over soon.
Dressed in her usual clothes, that her friends had taken to calling her "uniform", she rounded the gate into Jessica's house. She was the one turning 21. It had been a 20-minute walk from the bus, following an even longer bus ride, but this night was all going to be worth it. Just the girls. After a knock on the door she was invited enthusiastically in by Jessica, who Emily suspected strongly had already started drinking. It was already 7, Emily supposed.
She dropped her overnight bag in the hallway and followed Jessica up to her room, where she saw that the other three had already arrived. Nicole, Anna, and Katie were already sprawled across airbeds on the floor of Jessica's room, drinks in hand. They had a romcom playing from a laptop, but nobody was really watching as they chattered and drank. This was what she needed.
They all knew deep down that they were too old for a sleepover like this, but is was fun, and they reasoned that vodka made things more mature. They drank and talked for hours until, at around 11:30, they decided to get changed for bed. This of course didn't mean that they were sleeping, but as most of them planned on flopping drunkenly into bed it would be easier to get this done now. Emily, who was decidedly less drunk than the rest of the girls, didn't want to change in front of them, so when she dismissed herself to go get her bag from the hall, she didn't go straight back to Jessica's room, but instead took a detour into their upstairs bathroom.
The bathroom was old fashioned, with an ugly mauve wallpaper and a cream bathtub, which doubled as a shower and had a matching shower curtain. She could hear the girls now playing loud music and singing along through the walls. Once in the bathroom, she had gotten changed from her stylish yet conservative street clothes into her equally conservative and somewhat juvenile pyjamas. Modesty aside, she really did get cold, and what she was wearing when she went back to the girls were a long pair of pyjama bottoms and old long-sleeved shirt her older brother had long since grown out of.
She had no idea what had just happened to her.
*
"Bastard!" Noah cursed as he scrubbed. The bath hadn't been used in months, and the spots of black mould had not been as easy to shift as he had hoped. At 18 years old, this is not the way he wanted to be spending his Saturday night. He was being punished for when his parents had discovered that he and his friends had been out drinking. He thought this was ridiculous, he was old enough to drink in most countries, like France of England. Despite his making this argument, his parents could not be shifted. They demanded he clean both of the houses bathrooms before they returned on Saturday morning. Young and cocky as he was, he assumed it would take one hour out of his evening. It had long since grown dark, and he had been at it for almost three hours.
As he wiped at a particularly stubborn patch of mould, he heard the door open. He froze. He wasn't quite sure why, but he felt embarrassed to be 18, home on Saturday night, cleaning the bath tub. His sister was having her party tonight, and It might be one her hot friends, he reasoned, and he didn't want them to think him uncool. He stayed very still as he heard someone walk into the outdated bathroom and bolt the door behind them. Fortunately, he had drawn the curtain of the shower to stop the glare of the lights off the basin of the tub.
Noah had planned to wait patiently for the person to use the toilet and leave, but he didn't hear the clatter of the toilet seat. Instead, he heard the dropping of a bag and then the rustle of clothing. With excitement, Noah realised that one of his sisters' friends must be getting changed in here! he reasoned it couldn't be Jessica, because why would she change in the bathroom of her own home? No, it had to be one of the friends.
Noah could hear the loud voices and thumping base of music coming from Jessica's room. He assumed this was why he hadn't been caught already. As silently as he could, he crawled towards the end of the bath.
Damn it, he thought.
The shower curtain was pulled right the way to the wall. There was no way he could see through the gap, and he couldn't pull the curtain back without being noticed. He was about to resign himself to simply listening, when he remembered the phone in his back pocket. Silently, he pulled it out and opened up snapchat. His heart was racing and he was struggling to control his breathing. With the front camera on, he slowly moved his phone to where the curtain met the wall. Using his phone like a periscope, he snuck the top of the phone just passed the shower curtain. Fortunately, the layout of the bathroom allowed him to have the phone at such an angle that he could see the screen at the same time as pointing the camera.
And he saw.
*
When Emily arrived back in Jessica's room, it was more of the adult sleepover vibe. The "adult" part was never what films said. Here, it was just a lot of drinking. There was singing, dancing, and of course the obligatory "boy talk". Emily preferred beer to spirits, but none the less was starting to be more drunk than her mother would approve of. She was singing and dancing with the rest of them, but the one area she fell down had been boy talk.
Emily wasn't a virgin (despite the rumours spurned boys had spread about her), in fact she had slept with three boys, a not too small total for a girl her age she thought. She wasn't one to sleep around though; her proud notions of British class had seen to that this side of the Atlantic. Back home had been much of the same. She lost her virginity to a long-term boyfriend. He had been her first everything, and they were together for three years. He broke up with her, blaming a myriad of non-specific factors and general "lack of chemistry". Her second boyfriend had only lasted five months, the first four of which she had insisted were sexless. The move to America had been the end of him. And then there was Parker.
Its not that there weren't fuckboys in England, of course there were. But the Americans? Different breed. Parker had taught her that the hard way. He was cute, and after months of professing his love, she finally decided to let him take her on a date. He was civil, courteous, polite; everything Emily wanted him to be. she held him off for sex for two months. Then, when finally she succumbed, he left. Didn't even stay the night. He stopped texting her completely. It seemed he had gotten what he wanted. Emily had learned a harsh lesson. This was almost a year ago, and she hadn't given any boy the time of day since.
These answers were met with boos from the other girls, who knew this already, but felt the need to comment every time it came up. None of them were really sluts, but they had all had at least one one-night-stand. Even Katie, who was usually almost as prim and proper as Emily had had one, just after breaking up with a boyfriend.
The rest of the night went just as Emily had hoped it would, and it was almost four in the morning by the time they had all gone to bed, half asleep and half passed out.
*
Emily awoke on an air bed in her pyjamas. Sunlight was catching dust through gaps in the shutters, and as she looked around, she discovered that she was the only on in the room. She got up, and headed to the kitchen. As she assumed, they were all already sat there. Despite Emily being the last up, she seemed the least hungover. All she has was dry mouth and a mild stomach ache. She thought that made her lucky as she looked at the four girls before her, three of whom were holding buckets, two of which had been used.
"Morning" Emily said brightly. This was met with irritated groans. She chuckled and sat down next to them. Those of them that could had breakfast, and they all rehydrated. After two hours, it was one o'clock. They had moved over to the living room, where they sat chatting happily. Jessica's brother Noah sat in there watching the tv, but we didn't mind. This conversation wasn't exactly sensitive. Emily learned that Jessica's parents had been home already, gotten angry at him all over again, and left.
