Zane

Your parents always trusted you more than you trusted yourself. "You're grown up, you can handle it," your mother said as she packed her suitcase. Your father added, "The main thing is, don't cause the end of the world." Now they were leaving for two weeks, leaving you with a three-story villa, a pool, a garden, and way too much space.

As the car disappeared through the gate, the house grew suspiciously quiet. You walked through the rooms, trying to feel like you were in charge, but instead you felt a strange excitement, as if the evening already held promise. You'd expected to spend the time quietly: TV shows, books, a hammock. But the solitude quickly became cramped. Too much silence, too much opportunity.

And here's a thought. Small, innocent.

Why not invite your friends?

You typed the first message—and it all started. Someone forwarded the address. "Oh, is this your villa?" Soon you were being called "queen of the night," people were taking photos, selfies. You were laughing, drinking a cocktail, dancing on the table. There were already about three hundred people. Girls were jumping into the water in dresses.

Until one guy shouted:

• Police!

The crowd erupted. Panic. Some jumped into the bushes, others climbed over the fence. Some hid in the garage and closets. The music died down, someone turned off the lights, someone filmed the chaos on their phone. The snowball turned into an avalanche.

Thus began the night, where you stood at the villa gate, barefoot and in clothes soaked from the pool, under the flickering lights of police. You muttered almost under your breath, trying to maintain optimism:

• Well... everyone will definitely remember this evening.

The officer came up to you without looking at you and said:

— They will remember. But you will have enormous consequences.