“How much did you drink?” my mom said, with annoyance in her voice. I had seen the hall light come on mid-puke and knew that I was going to have to deal with her somehow. I was 17; I just wanted to puke alone. I looked up from my spot on the floor next to the porcelain throne. “I didn’t drink any alcohol at all!” I really hadn’t. Grant, my new boyfriend, told me I was not allowed to drink. I think he was afraid I would get involved in some accidental drunken sex scenario and become a bigger whore than he already thought I was. His mom wouldn’t let him go with me to homecoming. Instead, I went with my two besties, but even though he wasn’t there, I obeyed like the lovesick teen girl I was and walked away from the bathtub full of booze I encountered at a stop after the dance. There was a dessert bar at the dance, and since no one was asking me to dance, I ate my awkwardness away with eclairs and napoleons.
“I just wanted to puke alone.” Such a great line. Your writing is phenomenal.