Roy Anderson was, to put it plainly, a jerk. He meant well, but snickering behind a soda can at the new girl his father had hired to answer phones didn't exactly win the soft-spoken girl's good graces. He noticed her sweater ("Who wears those anymore?"), her plaid skirt that fell right above her knees ("Would it kill you to show some skin?"), and her button-up shirts ("Floral prints don't do your rack justice!").

It was a good thing she sat behind a huge desk that was more of a counter. If he had seen her white sneakers, he probably would've trashed them, too.

At lunch, she'd stay behind her desk with her little carton of yogurt. She didn't want to intrude on any of the realtor's conversations in the breakroom, even though most of them were out with clients over lunch.

Her stomach dropped whenever Roy came near. Something about him just struck her completley the wrong way. That Saturday was no different.

"You can drive, right...uh...Oh, Pamela. You drive?" he asked, leaning on the counter and trying to show off his "athletic" body or muscles or whatever else she knew she shouldn't be impressed by.

"Yes." She replied, not looking up from her message tablet. The phone rang.

"Anderson Realty; this is Pamela...Mr. Willis? Yes, sir. Okay. Yes, I'll give him the message."

"Um. Listen, do you want to go to a party tonight? It's gonna get pretty wild and I might...Maybe you could like...Drive me home or something."

She looked at him in disbelief. Had he really just asked her to be his designated driver? Was that his way of asking her out? She felt her skin crawl at the thought.

"Um. I...I can't." She went back to her message tablet.

"Why not?" He asked. "Come on, there'll be a bunch of cool people there."

She knew better than to judge on first impressions, but she also knew better than to let herself be used. She looked at him for a moment. "If that's the case," she looked down. "I don't know why you'd want me there."

"Well...Because it'd be fun. C'mon. Pamela. I want to get to know you...C'mon."

"Pam." She corrected.

"Oh, I just...You answer the phones 'Pamela....'"

"Yeah, well. It sounds more professional. Like I know what I'm doing."

"Okay. Pam, please?"

She looked at him. Something in his eyes lit up, and she thought she maybe saw a glimmer of sincerity. Like, maybe, he was more than just some football player. Maybe he was really nice, and sweet, and maybe he really liked her.

Maybe he was going to get drunk and make an ass of himself. Maybe he and his friends will taunt and tease her so badly she'll want even more to fall off the face of the planet.

"Fine. Whatever. Don't throw up in my car." She didn't really want to go...but her mom was always on her to make new friends, and be a normal teenager ("Break curfew. Have a beer - just one, but it's part of the expierence. Be a teenager, Pam.")

"Really? Awesome. Pick me up at eight?" He smiled.

Her skin crawled.

She still didn't want to go, but it was too late now.

She won't know anybody there, and most of the girls will scoff at her jeans and tank top. The guys will notice her for all the wrong reasons. Roy will kiss her, and her life will never be the same.