But let me just say, I was sick of being the designated goody-two-shoes of the 11th grade, the “straight edge,” never-does-anything-wrong Indian girl who gets good grades and tutors middle schoolers on Tuesday afternoons. Enough was enough.

So last weekend I decided to let my hair down. I called up my friends and we decided we’re all down for a crazy night. Life in Flower Mound is so boring, we agreed. There’s only about 10,000 miles of shops, restaurants and parks to entertain ourselves with, and my gosh, that gets so old.

Here was the plan: My friend (no names this time) would provide the crib. Her parents were out till 9:30 p.m. Her fridge was stocked with mountains of caffeinated soda. She had a closet full of board games and an iPod full of Justin Bieber, providing the perfect wild house party atmosphere.

We laughingly said bye to her parents at 5:30, waited five minutes and then started calling people. I said I’d call the UIL math team while she‘d call the Science club. And she hadn’t exaggerated at all. Her fridge was loaded with the goods. I was astounded. There were the beginner’s drinks, the Fanta, the Sprite, the Juicy Juice, and then the harder stuff, Dr. Pepper, Coca Cola and even a six pack of Monsters.

Bieber’s hypnotizing tunes were blasting on her stereo as people started swarming through the front door in massive numbers and one or two sodas later, the kids started getting pretty crazy. I had heard about games of Apples to Apples turning risqué, but this one was getting really chaotic. Me and my friend each had four green cards, and this last round determined who would walk away champion. Some of the more experienced partiers were off to the side playing Scrabble, the new 27th edition Merriam Webster Deluxe dictionary open beside them for reference. The hardcore hoodlums were far off in the corner, concentrated on an intense game of Trivial Pursuit.

I woke up groggily Sunday morning. The pictures from last night were already on Facebook, and all my nocturnal craziness floated back to me. There I was, downing my third can of Dr. Pepper, jumping on the sofa, teaching some UIL Science kids how to Dougie. As I quickly attempted to untag myself from them, I thought “What kinds of colleges will want me now?” The house was a mess, all the soda cans were in the regular trash can, not the recycle bin, and no one had picked up the Scrabble board.

But I felt this strange sense of pride. I had made a name for myself on the Marcus social scene. I had proven I was too cool for The Shops at Highland Village or Friday night dinners at Mooyah. I was no longer a nerdy, overlooked wallflower. When people asked about my weekend, I could now truthfully brag about my wild night. And even though my parents were going to kill me, my GPA was going to drop and my prospects in life were looking pretty dull, it didn’t matter.

Because I had ventured into the land of the cool.