Dear Diary,
I think that I have been fairly successful in my quest for putting myself out there, but I can only do it in one-on-one situations. Inserting myself into groups feels like intruding. Without bringing something to the table, I am simply mooching off of their stories, their laughs, their fun. Yesterday, I happened upon a solution. Alcohol. In class, murmurs of the weekend's best shenanigans always include ample amounts of alcohol.
I contacted the campus ID dealer, Cameron to give him my height, weight, eye color, and upfront payment. Due to Dreamwood's crime crackdown, he insisted on meeting in a discreet location, even though we both live in Dreamwood Terrace. My directions were to come towards the smoke on Robin's Row at 6:15.
The night was eerily dark and quiet, appropriate for illegal activity in the abandoned warehouse district. Cameron's face was shaded by the flames of a bonfire. I reached over the small fire for the card, but he refused to hand it to me until I agreed to his rules. I was not to tell anyone where I got the ID or use it within ten miles of the city.
Finally, I will have something to bring.
Party on?
Lucia Jayne
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