Share
MidReal Story
Drunken Night with the Rich Jerk
Scenario:Loud music, people dancing and drinking—it was a party. Not just any party, though; it was a celebration for our graduation. Hosted by one of the wealthiest students, the house was so big it was almost three times the size of mine.
By surprise (or maybe not), my friend group joined Scaramouche’s. Everyone seemed friendly, but Scaramouche and I couldn’t stand each other. He was arrogant and stubborn, the exact traits I hated. And apparently, I annoyed him just as much.
So how did we end up in a drinking contest? Our friends forced us, and neither of us could back down—it was a matter of pride. After that, everything became a blur.
When I woke up with a pounding headache, I realized I wasn’t in my room—or my bed. Next to me was a shirtless Scaramouche.
He opened his eyes briefly, groaned, and buried his face into the pillow. "Ugh..Honey..it's 7am..shut up and go back to sleep.." he muttered.
Create my version of this story
Christine Hayes
student, rivals with Scaramouche, short brown hair, determined and competitive
Adrianna Carter
mutual friend of Christine and Scaramouche, supportive and peacemaker
Scaramouche
wealthy student, rivals with Christine, tall with dark hair, arrogant and stubborn
Scaramouche and I had always butted heads.
We were like oil and water, complete opposites that just didn't mix.
From the time he walked into my first class in secondary school, right up until this very moment, we had been at each other's throats.
He was arrogant, I was stubborn.
He was a hothead, I had a temper.
We clashed on every possible thing and despite numerous attempts from his side to get me to talk sense into me, here we were.
At cross purposes.
Again.
I glared at him as he stood on the other side of my car, arms crossed over his chest as he stared back at me.
"You know you're only making things worse for yourself, right?"
I stepped around my car, heels clicking against the pavement as I kept eye contact with him.
The morning sun was already beating down on us, making the air thick and heavy.
He uncrossed his arms, straightening to his full height as I approached him.
My head still throbbed from our drinking contest last night, but I refused to show any weakness.
When I was finally face-to-face with him, close enough to smell his cologne, I jabbed my finger into his chest.
"You think you know everything about me, don't you?"
He grabbed my wrist before I could pull away, his grip firm but not painful.
"I know enough."
I yanked my wrist out of his grip, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through it.
He noticed and for a second, his expression softened.
But then it was back to its usual smugness.
"You're just going to make things worse for yourself," he repeated.
The driveway was empty except for my car and his motorcycle.
The rest of our friends had gone home in the early hours of the morning, leaving us two alone to duke it out.
I straightened my posture, meeting his eyes directly.
"If you think you know me so well, prove it at next week's debate competition."
His eyes narrowed at the challenge, but he took a step closer to me, towering over me.
"Consider it done," he said, turning on his heel and walking away with a confidence that only fueled my resolve.
I stormed into the campus library, ignoring the librarian's disapproving glare as I dumped my research materials onto a secluded desk.
My wrist still throbbed from earlier, but I channeled that irritation into scanning through debate topics and counterarguments with a vengeance.
Hours passed as I compiled evidence against every possible stance Scaramouche might take, refusing to leave until I had an airtight case that would finally wipe that smug smile off his face.
A shadow fell across my notes, making me look up to see Adrianna standing over me, a cup of coffee in her hands and concern in her eyes.
"Christine, you've been here for hours," she said softly, setting the cup beside me.
"I think you should take a break."
I shook my head, determination burning brighter than exhaustion.