#palms:start

[coriknox]

cori was having a great time, surprisingly, well for her at least. she’d spent majority of the evening getting drunk and dancing with strangers. maybe it was the whole la feeling of the place, prompting her to let more loose than she might’ve otherwise, feeling like, hey nobody knows me here, except a lot of people did, but that had faded far back in her mind. — maybe also the fact that she wasn’t wearing a chainmail of a dress anymore. as she was dancing away from the makeshift dancefloor, she collided with someone else, managing to spill the remainder of her drink over herself. “ aw man.. ” she whined looking down at herself as her hands ran over the fabric of her dress, “ it’s my favorite. ” she sighed before looking up to put a face on the wall she’d collided with, a smile spreading on her lips at the sight of the familiar face, “ i should probably attempt to get it off. wanna help or just keep me company ? ” she wondered, even if it was old she’d rather not see it ruined.

[trevhanson-blog1]

His instagram live had managed to hit 700 viewers in the three minutes it took to navigate the roads that made up Hidden Palms. Finding the Halliday’s boat was easy-- drive until you hit water, look for the big ass yacht sticking out of the marina. The parking lot was already filling up, the event had promised to be big, and Trev showily parked the Merc along the dock. The sun glinted off the bright green, one of the deckhands looked over and scowled. (Had he of been paying attention, he’d of heard the word asshole whispered from a family sitting out in their more modestly sized boat.)

It was the first proper party he’d attended since arriving in the Hamptons, and he aimed to make an impact, slipping dark sunglasses onto his nose and locking his car door with a press of the key and a loud beep. Fashionably late had been his aim, but as he walked towards the ramp that lead up onto the boat, the promised jet-ski caught his eye. Not a chance, Trev thought, smoothing down the front of his shirt and walking aboard, this is Prada. He was tall, enough so to peer over the crowd and try to seek out familiar faces, but as he turned, his elbow caught against someone else’s side. “Whoops,” he said sheepishly, offering a wry smile instead of an apology. “My bad.”

[griffinvelazco]

Summer was coming to a close; as the days grew shorter and the nights lost more and more of their warmth-- the feeling of loss seemed to cling to Griffin’s shoulders and he clutched his denim jacket closer to them. It always felt as though as soon as he had shed enough of his skin to be comfortable in a season, it decided to slip through his fingers. A cigarette dwindled wedged in his hand, forgotten while he walked on the beach. His shoes bumped against his side as he walked, tucked away in the canvas tote bag that was slung onto his shoulder. He enjoyed the quiet, but not enough so that the sound of steps coming down the dune towards the beach didn’t make him lift his head, offering a smile. “I think it’s a full moon,” Griff said, taking a lazy tug from the cigarette. “Are you superstitious?” 

[bvbyvalmxnt]

            there’s a magnetic aura that slips down the girl’s shoulder like honey, nearly anyone coming within speaking distance of her falling captive of her charm. the infectious smile she wears putting helen of troy to shame, sparking a war and worthy of launching a thousand and one ships in her honor. a platter balances in the palm of her hand as she weaves herself around the party as if she’s the host - when she’s anything but. she’d been looking for some chase and instead found a tray of brightly colored fun that’s tucked into plastic shot glasses and feels the need to share it. “h'ordeuvres?” she chimes in a dramatic british accent, holding out the plate, each plastic glass holding at least six mini gummy bears - infused with vodka. her hand waves it slightly in front of them before pulling her hand back slightly, lips coiling into a smirk “-before you take one or before you politely decline, riddle me this - do men who don’t go down on women deserve to have rights? i’m leaning towards no, but i can’t show up to class in september with only one opinion.”

[kelseymartin]

Showing up without a date had earned her a stern look from the infamously stuck up Mrs. Doherty, but it had suited Kelsey well enough as she walked through the event. Already, she’d secured a drink and at least three compliments on her bold choice of attire— a particularly geriatric looking old man had even called used the word striking, and was now seeking out company. It was still early in the night and most people worth talking to were still nestled in their couples, an irritating fact but she did her rounds, wiggling her fingers at faces she recognized and whispering about those she did not. It wasn’t until she’d gotten her third glass of champagne that she found someone alone, peering into the fountain that lay in the middle of the garden. Nude pumps clicked along the patio stones until she found her way by their side, glancing down into the water and the fish that darted within it. She grinned, peeking beside her. “I’ve got a penny, if you want to make a wish.”

[nadiateymouri]

Nadia had changed into a little shift dress, it was the colour of a blue jewel and embroidered with constellations. It wasn’t particularly her style, but Lee had insisted that the long stretch of her bare legs was worth it. She tottered in with heels that were dangerously too tall, clutching a tiny bag that held only her phone, cigarettes and lipstick. This was the event that was supposed to be easier than the first; but still she trembled with anxiety— there was an intimacy to large parties, Gatsby had been right, even though her entrance had been one where she felt nearly invisible, Nadia knew that once eyes met her she’d be cornered.  Still, she felt the press to be social and moved towards a face that she recognized from the Palms. “Hi,” she managed, “Do you know where the bar is?”

[rcwanfitz]

        she’d spent the majority of her day out in the greenhouse of the floral shop, rearranging the flowers and cleaning up the aisles. it was a sticky day in august that called for an iced cold lemonade after her shift. there’s a small daisy that sits behind her ear, one that she’d forgotten she’d place there, her eyes glued on the menu above the baristas as she waits next in line for her turn. a grande blueberry black tea lemonade she finds herself repeating over and over in her head until a voice prompts her out of her thoughts and her feet are taking her to the till. she says the order, an uh still tucked between her words, despite the practice and one gets tossed in before she gives her name - as if she’s unsure her name even is rowan - or as her parent’s have named her um-rowan. the thoughts are quickly shaken aside as a grin overtakes her features as the barista tells her the person in front of her has already paid for her order. pay it forward - she loved the idea of it, as she chances a look behind her to make sure someone’s in line waiting, she pulls out a twenty dollar bill from her pocket, handing it to the barista, “can i um, pay for the person behind me? and however many that pays for as well?” she steps aside, waiting for her drink wishing the person who had paid for her drink was still there so she could thank them. instead, she fiddles with the wrapper of the straw as she waits for her lemonade. 

[jacferris-blog]

The market closest to her boss’ eight bedroom colonial monstrosity was a small, family run affair. Jac always liked coming to this particular one, with it’s cramped aisles and limited selection, it reminded her of how things were back home— smaller, but personal. The bell that chimed at the push of the front door would cause the father who ran the cash register to look up, smile at her like they were old friends, and greet her by her name. The kids who stocked the shelves would sneak glances at her shyly. The lighting overhead was fluorescent, and flickered every few minutes. The business relied on the summer birds, and she knew they only tried so hard because in a few short weeks the streets would empty out and the houses that faced the ocean would become quiet once more. The locals would drive out to the bigger box stores in search of better bargains and this place would close up again and wait for summer to come.

Waving goodbye to the owner, she left with a plastic bag in hand, containing all the fixings to make a mean mojito. She’d bought a bottle of rum earlier and had a half cracked idea of making her own cocktails, a venture she’d likely give up on if her first try came out terrible. As Jac fumbled with the keys to the company car she was being lent for the summer, she shoved a stubborn lock of dark hair that had fallen forward back behind her ear, losing grip of the bag. The half dozen limes she’d bought (overkill probably, but one can never be too careful) rolled across the lot, a few stopping right before another car just shifting into park. As the owner stepped out, Jac motioned at the ground as she stooped to toss her belongings back into the bag. “You gotta watch your step, some idiot made a giant mess.”