Her lips were always a lovely shade of reddish-pink, like every time you see her she had just finished a cherry popsicle. She was the type to switch out her earrings every day, to make sure she talked to her plants (it helps them grow, she thinks), to know every personal detail of her hairdresser’s life since she frequents her so often. She was a high achiever, majoring in pre-med, and had her eye on the prize, which was a spot in the honors program at one of the top medical schools in her state. She dabbled in being a social butterfly, and while she was certainly great at making friends and acquaintances, she lacked the will to say “no” to events she was too exhausted to attend. Thus, she was known around campus as Bee, a name chosen for her excellence in being busy, busy, busy.

She thought she was more like a shark, where if they don’t keep moving forward, then they die. But honestly, would “Hey, Shark!” ever catch on?

She was in an acapella group, went to trivia nights, acted in the fall and spring musicals every year at the town’s community theater, and generally kept up with each and every hobby until it was fully cultivated. It was a true pain in the ass, but she had a large, wonderful case of FOMO (fear of missing out) that would never leave her alone. Everything must be tried once, and of course, Bee falls in love with habits too easily. She even makes a habit of feeding the squirrels peanuts every morning before class because it makes her happy. Yet at the same time, all of these “happy things” are another pin in the tiny, Bee-shaped voodoo doll that some New Orleans witch probably has.

“Bee, hey!” Wyatt caught up with her in the courtyard, “I was wondering if you wanted to come to our party tonight, all the Chi Psi guys are going to be there!”

Crap, Bee thought, I really need to just… chill out for one night at home…

“Yeah! Sounds good, I’ll bring Natalie,” Bee replied, with a smile, of course.

As Bee walked away toward her next class, she wondered why she couldn’t ever reject an invitation to a party. Her roommate Natalie was normal, she goes to all the football games and some frat parties, but still makes time for herself and her studies. Bee decided to shrug it off, as she does with most problems that arise, and simply plan on going to the party.

Five hours later, Wyatt heard the doorbell ring on the guys’ spectacular brick house. Bee and Natalie greeted him with a smile and a fifth of Raspberry New Amsterdam. The foyer smelled like booze and poor decisions.

Three hours later, Wyatt walked in on a tremendously intoxicated Bee, hair pulled back by Natalie and stomach contents spilling into the shiny, porcelain toilet. Every time she picked her head up, the bowl reached out and drew it back in. Bleh.

One hour later, Wyatt was in the living room and heard a girl in the kitchen scream the words to “Shots,” followed by a loud thud. And then, deafening silence.

“What the hell?!” A guy shouts.

“Woah, what’s happening?” another asks.

“Isabella! Are you kidding me?” Natalie’s voice is shrill and full of anger.

Whenever Bee’s real name was used, that’s how everyone knew the matter was serious.

Wyatt investigated and found Bee in distress, standing over a girl who was sobbing uncontrollably.

“Someone call 911!” He yelled. This girl was obviously hurt and needed help.

Another hour later, and Wyatt, sitting next to the girl who is in a hospital bed, hears the story of what happened. And realizes why he will never be friends with Bee ever again.

The girl explained, “So, we were dancing and shouting and singing. I was standing on the island in the kitchen, I was having a good time dancing and stuff, until Bee gets up there with me. At first we were just chilling, you know, being two drunk girls at a party, but before I knew it, she started laughing maniacally. It was like something snapped. She turned to me, called me a bitch, and pushed me off of the island. I don’t know what happened next or if maybe I hit my head on something… but I blacked out for a second. When I woke up, I couldn’t feel the left side of my body.”

Wyatt was angry. He thought Bee was smarter than to just push someone off of the island into a mass of people, when there’s furniture, bottles, cans, shot glasses, whatever, riddling the ground. She could’ve gotten seriously injured! And she did.

At least Bee was somewhat content, even if she just partially paralyzed someone. At least her biggest rival is out of the picture, and now she can land that spot in the honors program at the graduate college.  At least no one wanted to talk to her, knowing what she did. At least she had alone time and not many social obligations. At least it was only partial, she concluded. At least there’s a bit of New Amsterdam left in that bottle.