Like most others my age, I was always told never to fall into peer pressure. These talks became more frequent as I approached college. Stories I heard constantly from my parents and older friends were about the girls who grew up pretty well behaved from a humble background, moved into college, and went wild. With those adjectives describing me, these stories stuck; each ended with the subject being raped, left stranded, pregnant, or in a hospital. The only girls who ended up in those movie situations were the ones who weren’t used to it and didn’t know their limits right?

I was not going to let that be the result of me. Thus, I took matters into my own hands.

Beginning the summer before college started, I made it my business to attend every party I could find. A girl used to partying would not end up like the girls in the stories. Just attending the party was not enough though. I let the peer pressure take its course with me. I was the first to hit the kegs and grab the red plastic cups. I went past my limit every time, as if I even knew what my limit was to begin with. When I thought myself to be a professional drinker, I went one step farther. After all, drinking was only the surface of what shenanigans I could get into in college right? It was not long before you could find me lighting up in a bathroom with strangers.

Before long, move in day came. I knew what I could handle. I was ready.

And just like my parents and older friends told me, I met the girls from the stories. The ones much like me before my own experiments that summer. One in particular, whom I’d met on Twitter a few months before getting to school, I became friends with in matters of days. Her name was Olivia. She had her 18th birthday days after move in and was ready to have fun and celebrate, so I made it my business to make sure she I showed her how to party “the right way.”

I took Olivia to her first party the weekend after her birthday. She was nervous and I could tell. She stood in a corner and turned down every college boy and cup that came her way. But what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make sure she didnt have a good time? In no time I was the one doing the pressuring. It was simply really. I knew her. She just wanted to fit in. All it took was a quick “BIRTHDAY GIRL!” scream and the crowd of the party went crazy. I grabbed her a full mixed cup with way more liquor than she was probably equipped to handle and a tall bottle of vodka and the already drunken boys followed my lead to her. Her nervous eyes quickly turned to a “smize” of gratitude when I got the entire room to sing the birthday song. Before long everyone was chanting “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” and she hade her head tilted back with burning drinks streaming down her throat. My new friend was the object of attention and she was enjoying every moment. Before long she was beating me in the number of cups she downed.

When the party began to die down, I was just short of wasted myself. My former doppleganger was beyond gone. I called a trustworthy friend of mine to get us back to our respective dorms safely. Olivia however got sick and I stood holding her hair as she hung over the community hall toilet for 45 minutes.

I felt terrible. This was all my fault.

When she was well enough to get in the bed, my friend drove me back to my dorm. On the car ride back he said something to me that stuck. “That girl was the talk of the party! She’s never going to forget this night.”

The following weekend I got a call from Olivia. “Where are we partying tonight girl?!” I laughed in surprise and unexpected excitement. “Give me 30 minutes to find out what’s going on and I’ll call you back!” I made the calls, found the parties, and spent another night partying with the girl who I’d turned into a new individual. Her parents would probably hate me. I was the one they told her to stay away from.