I see you. You thought no one would. You see me see you. Now, what? I shake my head and walk over to the table.
I have responsibilities. I am a chaperone.
You hang your head anticipating the worst.
“Don’t do that again,” I say and pick up a plastic cup, filling it from the bowl.
You flash a crooked smile. “Okay.” You say and hurry off.
It’s been a long time since I have had spiked punch.
I am not very good at this adulting thing.