Catalyst (probably not going to update anymore, don't watch the show anymore)

I sat in my unusually spacious apartment talking on the phone with one of my best friends Liz, and she was trying so hard to make me go to a stupid party with her. "Come on, Finn," Liz coaxed, "Don't you want to see all of the hot guys?"

"I am perfectly content with sitting at home and starring at far more attractive guys on my computer," I replied as an excuse, because I am not one for crowds or humans.

"We don't even have to stay until midnight!" Liz begged, "We can leave whenever you want, go home, and order drunk pizza."

There was absolutely no getting through to this girl, but I was curious as to why she wanted me to go. "Why do you want me to go? I'm the death of the party," I complained.

Liz was quiet for a few seconds as she tried to come up with some obscure answer to tray and sway me to go with her to some tool's New Year's Eve party, so that we can get wasted and then try and fail at trying to get one night stands—fun, right?

"You should go so we can make sure no sleaze-balls slip something into our drinks," Liz confidently stated, and I have to say that was a valid answer.

I sighed, "Fine, pick me up at nine."

Finn Carter you moron; you moron who majored in chemistry and physics.

I stood out my apartment building in the freezing cold waiting for Liz to pick me up, but as usual she was late. All throughout school, Liz had a reputation for being late for her classes, and I guess that carried over into adulthood. It was five minutes of me standing outside in the cold when she said that she was almost to my building before I nearly went back inside, but then Liz's silver Range Rover pulled up in front of me.

She rolled down the nearly pitch black window and said in a bad impression of a man's voice, "Hey sexy mama, get it." I couldn't help myself but to laugh, so once I was finished laughing my butt off I went to the passenger's side of the car and hoped in.

Liz's car was extremely warm, nearly to the point of being uncomfortable, and she was blaring the radio as usual. I buckled my seat belt, and then I surveyed her outfit for the night: a gold sequin half-sleeve dress, sheer tights, and black stiletto heels. "You're sure all glammed up," I said sarcastically, "I didn't know we were going to our junior year homecoming."

She glanced over at my outfit (a white and red Aztec print hoodie, black jeans, and black Chuck Taylor's), and said almost as sarcastically as me, "Somebody didn't take very much thought at the fact at least twenty hot guys would be there."

I sighed as I glanced out the window, "I don't really want to meet some 'hot' frat boys; they're not my type."

Liz laughed, and asked seriously, "How are they not your type? Who doesn't like a muscular, tan, charismatic, fun guy who wants to screw you constantly?"

"Me," I said monotonously, and I went into a loving gaze as I described my dream guy, "I like guys who are tall, lean with a bit of muscle, pale, smart, funny, and dorky."

Liz parked her car on the street in front of the huge house, "Ok Nicholas Sparks, calm down," she laughed. She reached for her black clutch, pulled down the mirror, and started to adjust her light brown curled locks, and Liz explained, "You, Finn, are actually going to have fun tonight—no matter how many shots of tequila it takes."

I awkwardly stood in the corner of the densely packed living room holding Liz's cup of whiskey as she danced her ass off, and I was not having fun. Not only am I not a people person, I'm not a huge drinker at parties, because at parties they almost never serve wine and that's what I like most. Already, Liz forced me to down a shot of tequila, but it wasn't making me any less introverted.