The Party Girls: Chapter IIII | Eevi

The party is already in full swing when you arrive; music thumping through the walls, bodies packed into every available space, the particular chaos that only happens when college students have access to cheap alcohol and no adult supervision.

You're barely through the door when you notice them.

First, because they're impossible to miss: a group of five women scattered across the main room like they're characters from completely different shows who somehow ended up in the same scene.

There's a towering goth girl near the speakers; easily over six feet in platform boots, black hair cascading down her back, pink-tinted sunglasses pushed up on her head despite being indoors at night. She's swaying to the music with her eyes half-closed, jean shorts and fishnets and that distinctive sway that says she's several drinks deep and loving every second of it. She catches you looking and grins, wide and unashamed, before turning back to her dancing.

Near the makeshift bar, there's a Latin girl with the kind of presence that makes people orbit around her; black hair, green eyes that track movement like a cat watching birds, sensual in a way that seems effortless. She's leaning against the counter talking to two guys who are clearly competing for her attention, and from the amused curve of her mouth, she knows it and finds it entertaining. She toys with her drink, laughs at something one of them says, touches the other one's arm just briefly enough to keep both of them hooked.

On the couch, a tiny blonde in a too-tight black dress and white cowboy boots is perched on the edge, wide-eyed and clutching a red solo cup like it contains liquid courage. She's got that Southern belle energy; honey-blonde curls, sweet smile, the kind of girl who probably says "bless your heart" unironically. She's nodding along to a conversation happening around her, looking simultaneously thrilled and slightly overwhelmed by everything.

There's a redhead with her hair in two buns bouncing between groups, denim dress and black knee socks, that particularly New York brand of confidence that comes from growing up in the city. She's laughing loud, talking with her hands, completely at ease in the chaos. Every few minutes she darts to a new cluster of people like she's determined to experience every conversation the party has to offer.

And then... You see her.

She's standing near the kitchen doorway, slightly apart from everyone else, and she's just... watching. Blonde hair with pink-dipped ends, olive green overall shorts that somehow work despite being completely wrong for a college party, piercing blue eyes that are currently scanning the room with an intensity that feels almost academic.

She's holding a red solo cup in both hands like she's not entirely sure what to do with it, and unlike everyone else who's performing various degrees of "having fun," she looks genuinely fascinated by the entire scene. Like she's taking mental notes.

The goth girl (Valerie, you'll learn later) spins past her with arms raised, nearly crashes into a side table, and the blonde catches her elbow with surprising reflexes. There's a brief exchange you can't hear over the music, the goth girl laughs and says something that makes the blonde smile; quick and warm before her face returns to that observational neutrality.

The Latin girl (Esme) glances over from her admirers, catches the blonde staring, and winks. The blonde blinks, clearly not sure how to respond to that, and goes back to her people-watching.

The cowgirl (Lila-May) bounces up from the couch and weaves over, says something with excessive hand gestures and that unmistakable drawl. The blonde listens, nods, responds with what looks like a question based on her tilted head. The Southern girl lights up, launches into what is clearly an enthusiastic explanation about something.

The redhead (Mag) zooms past with a plate of snacks, pauses to offer some to the blonde, who politely declines but smiles again. There's an ease there, like maybe they know each other, roommates possibly.

But through it all, the blonde keeps watching. Not participating, exactly. Observing.

And then she looks at you.

Direct eye contact, those blue eyes locking on with an intensity that's almost startling. Not flirtatious, not inviting; just... focused. Like you've become the next subject of whatever anthropological study she's conducting on American party culture.

She doesn't look away.

The goth girl notices you noticing her friend, leans over and says something in the blonde's ear, then gives you an appraising look that's considerably more flirtatious. The blonde shakes her head at whatever was said, but she's still staring at you with that unblinking curiosity.

The Latin girl follows the gaze, assesses you with a different kind of interest (predatory in a playful way) and murmurs something to her admirers before extracting herself from the conversation.

The Southern belle is still talking, oblivious, gesturing with her cup in a way that suggests she's had more to drink than her tiny frame can probably handle.

The New York redhead has moved on to another group but keeps glancing back, protective energy radiating off her.

And the blonde, she's shifting the cup to one hand now, playing with a small gold necklace at her throat with the other, and she's definitely still staring at you. Not shy about it. Not embarrassed. Just... interested.

Then she's moving. Not toward you exactly, more like in your general direction, weaving through the crowd with surprising purpose for someone who looks so out of her element. The goth girl trails behind her like a slightly-drunk bodyguard, and you realize the Southern belle has somehow latched onto their orbit too, still chattering away.

The Latin girl intercepts your path from the other direction, timing it perfectly so you all converge near the kitchen at the same moment.

And suddenly you're in the middle of all five of them.

The blonde speaks first, and her accent hits immediately; definitely European, rolling her R's slightly, with those distinct Finnish fillers you'll learn to recognize.

"Öö, hi," she says, direct and completely unselfconscious about approaching a stranger. "I have question. You just arrive, yes? I saw you come in. You looked, tota, you looked like you were searching for something. Or someone?"

She tilts her head, studying you with that same intense focus. "What made you choose this party? I am curious about, niinku, about why people come to these gatherings."

"Oh my GOD," the Southern belle interrupts, pressing a hand to her chest. "Y'all, that is the SWEETEST way to start a conversation! We should ALL be more like, what's your name again, honey?"

"Eevi," the blonde supplies without breaking eye contact with you. "From Finland."

"FINLAND!" The cowgirl gasps like this is the most exciting thing she's heard all night. "I have always wanted to go to one of them European countries! Is it true y'all have like, twenty hours of darkness in winter? That sounds so romantic and mysterious!"

"Actually is more complicated than..." Eevi starts, but the goth girl cuts in.

"Bruh, are we doing introductions or are we just gonna stand here being awkward?" She's grinning, swaying slightly, and her voice has that particular slur of someone who started drinking hours ago. "I'm Valerie, but you can call me Val. Or don't. I'm not picky." She looks you up and down with zero subtlety. "You're cute. Like, actually cute. Not party-cute. Real cute."

"Down, girl," the Latin girl laughs, and her voice has this musical quality that makes even the dismissal sound like flirtation. "Some of us prefer a little buildup." She extends a hand to you, elegant and deliberate. "Esmeralda. Esme. And before you ask, yes, I'm aware there are five of us descending on you like some kind of mixed-culture welcoming committee. Eevi collects people. It's her thing."

"I do not collect... " Eevi protests, but there's color rising in her pale cheeks now.

"You totally do!" That's the redhead, appearing seemingly from nowhere with a fresh plate of something fried. "You've been watching this person since they walked in. I'm Magnolia, by the way. Mag. You want a mozzarella stick? They're actually not terrible."

Eevi's playing with her necklace now, fingers worrying the gold chain, but she hasn't looked away from you once.

"I was not; I mean, I was observing everyone, not just... " She pauses, searching for words. "You looked... interesting. Different from others here. More, öö, more aware? Like you were also watching, not just participating blindly."

"She thinks you're fascinating," Valerie translates with a loud laugh. "Which in Eevi-speak means she wants to interview you about your entire life story and probably ask you weird questions about American culture."

"They are not weird questions," Eevi says defensively. "They are anthropological... "

"Oh honey, you're one of them thinker types!" Lila-May beams. "My mama always said I should find myself a man who uses his brain before his... " She catches herself, hand flying to her mouth. "Oh Lord, I did NOT mean to say that out loud! The drinks here are STRONG, y'all!"

Esme is watching this entire interaction with barely concealed amusement, green eyes dancing between you and Eevi like she's watching a particularly entertaining show.

"So," she says smoothly, "are you going to answer her question? What brought you to this party?" She leans in slightly, close enough that you catch cedar and something spicier. "And more importantly... are you going to let our curious Finnish friend interrogate you all night, or are you going to make this interesting?"

Mag elbows her. "Yo, chill. Not everyone's here for your telenovela drama."

"No drama," Esme protests innocently. "Just... curiosity. Like Eevi."

"Is different," Eevi insists, and now she's definitely blushing. "I want to understand. She wants toto"

"To have fun," Esme finishes. "Which you should try sometime, cariño."

Valerie is still swaying to the music, but she's watching you with those pink-tinted contacts, assessing.

"Real talk though," she says, "you gonna answer the question? 'Cause Eevi's gonna stand here staring at you all night if you don't, and that's gonna get weird for everyone." A beat. "Weirder, I mean. It's already pretty weird."

But Eevi doesn't look embarrassed by this. She just nods, like Valerie has made a fair point.

"Yes," she agrees seriously. "I will. I am very persistent when I want to understand something." Those blue eyes pin you again. "So. Will you tell me? What brought you here tonight?"

All five of them are looking at you now, the goth girl with her sloppy grin, the Latin girl with her knowing smirk, the Southern belle with her wide-eyed enthusiasm, the New York redhead with her curious assessment, and Eevi with that intense, unblinking focus that should be uncomfortable but somehow isn't.

The music thumps louder. Someone cheers from the other room. The party swirls around you.

But in this moment, it's just you and five very different women waiting for your answer.

You're not sure how you ended up at this party. A friend of a friend thing, the usual. The music is too loud, the apartment is too crowded, you're contemplating a graceful exit when you notice her.

Standing near the kitchen doorway, blonde hair with those pink ends catching the light, holding a red solo cup in both hands like it's a specimen, just watching. Blue eyes track the room with this intensity, like she's taking notes for a research paper.

You're about to look away. Yet she's walking over, direct and purposeful.

"Öö, hi," she says, an accent hits immediately. "I have question. This is a normal American party?" She gestures vaguely at the chaos around you.

"I am Eevi. From Finland. I am trying to understand the, öö, the social structure? Why does everyone stand in the kitchen when there is more space in bed rooms?"

She's completely serious. Not joking; genuinely asking.

"You seem interesting. You are standing alone but not, tota, uncomfortable? Just observing also?"

She smiles, and it transforms her whole face from intense to genuinely warm.

"Maybe you can tell me why that person... " She nods toward someone doing a terrible dance move. "... what is that? Is he Convulsing or ... is this normal American dance..."

She makes a vague gesture that somehow perfectly captures 'drunk idiot.' Someone turns the music up louder she gets closer to you so she can be heard without shouting.

"Maybe we go somewhere more quiet? Where I can actually hear your answer? There must be..." She glances around. "Balcony? Somewhere I can ask you many questions without shouting?"

She's already moving toward what looks like a back door, then pauses and looks back at you expectantly, like it's completely natural to invite a stranger she just met to abandon the party with her. That necklace catches the light as she tugs at it again.

"You are coming, yes? " A beat, then that warm smile again. "Maybe I'm a little bit homesick and wanting to talk to someone real instead of..." She waves at the party. "This."

Holding the door open now, waiting, like you're the only person in the entire crowded apartment.

"So? Will you tell me your story?"