“Well, this is the only time noise is allowed in the library,” the male announcer continued. “But please remember no alcohol. Let’s get this party started.”
Tara rolled her eyes at me and pulled out a mini flask. “How old is the guy?” She toasted the ceiling. “Doesn’t he know alcohol is what gets most studentsthroughcollege?”
“Hey, put that away or you’re going to get us in trouble.”
“Oh, Phoebe.” She laughed, took a swig, then stuffed it into her purse. “Stop being such a prude. I’m not getting drunk, just taking off the edge.”
Knowing it was pointless to argue with my stubborn friend, I slid toward the staircase. “Let’s go find the food so you’re not drinking on an empty stomach.”
I passed other students sporting wings, horns, claws, crooked halos, and skimpy devil outfits. The bright colors of the costumes popped, and the material shone with sequins, glitter, and foil. Between the elaborate getups and hidden faces, a festive, mysterious spirit filled the air.
Behind those masks could be anyone.A prickle of uneasiness scampered up my spine, the sharp little claws skittering across the skin.Stop being paranoid. They’re students here to have a good time. Like me.
Forcefully pushing the unnerving feeling away, I marched upward, determined to ignore the little voice of caution.
On the second floor, long tables had been shoved against the covered bookshelves, and an array of finger foods, desserts, and punch bowls offered a plethora of choices.
Grabbing two paper cups, I ladled reddish-orange punch into each then handed one to Tara, which she took.
“This smells suspiciously virgin.” She wrinkled her nose, and I laughed.
“I have no doubt you’ll christen it with your flask.”
She and I moved to the metal railing near the staircase, getting a perfect view of the dance floor and twisting bodies.
“Hey.” Tara nudged me with an elbow. “There’s Kira Cole. Bet her parents paid a shitload of money for her dress. It’s freaking gorgeous. And look at those shoes—I’d give my right arm for a pair.” She let out a long sigh then unscrewed her flask.
I shook my head.
Kira, one of BU’s prominent sorority sisters and cheerleaders, flaunted a flowing, silver dress with a short train, a sparkly silver mask, and long, blonde curls cascading down her back.
She looks more angelic than me.I gave my secondhand dress a critical glance, knowing if she and I were put side-by-side, I’d be a beggar standing next to a fairytale princess.
Tara kept pouring the contraband into the cup.
“Good God. Be careful with that stuff.” I snatched a plate off the table from behind me, threw some fruit on it, then thrust it toward her. “At least eat something before you drink whatever poison’s in there.”
She arched an eyebrow and gave a mischievous, dimpled grin. “It’s Russian vodka. I lifted it from mom’s stash she keeps hidden away for special occasions.” Tucking the flask into her purse, she took the plate and nibbled on a chocolate-covered strawberry.
“You’re hopeless.” I turned to the railing and propped my elbows on its cold surface. A pang of loneliness overcame me watching the couples dancing below.
It would’ve been nice to have a real date. Not Brian, though. Never him.
Kira laughed and placed a hand on someone’s arm. “Her parents probablydidbuy everything.” I pointed in Kira’s direction.
Tara chewed, eyeing the girl. “Must be why she’s such a stuck-up bitch.”
“I’ve never really interacted with her, so I can’t judge.” I shrugged. “Isn’t her dad a big real estate guy? Must be wonderful not having to worry about student loans.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t it be hella nice to have everything taken care of? If I had that kind of money, I sure wouldn’t be living in the middle of a freaking farm.”
I snickered and took another sip. The punch tasted primarily of oranges and mangoes...and something else. Spiced rum, maybe?
Guess it wouldn’t be a college party without alcohol in every punch bowl.Tara wasn’t wrong. I’d always been the cautious friend who didn’t want to get in trouble, the first person to say amen in church. It wasn’t because my parents had been super strict, but their looks of disappointment when I messed up were worse than any kind of corporal punishment they could’ve laid on me.
“O-M-G,” Tara whispered, craning her neck downward and bobbing her head. “Don’t look now, but I think Brian’s her date.”
At the mention of his name, my stomach flipped, and I reached back and set the half-empty cup on the table, not even bothering to see where it landed. Anger and disgust roiled through my veins.
