I don’t know how I pulled it off, but I did. Hell, there were even flickering lanterns on the practice soccer field beside Dickson Stadium and a trail of Hollywood-worthy market stalls made out of plywood.
It was chaotic. It was covert. It was fucking perfect.
I should be celebrating, patting myself on the motherfucking back for pulling off such a stunt. But right now? I’m not feeling it at all.
I’m currently standing in the basement of Pi Gamma’s frat house at theafter-after-party, where it’s nothing but strobe lights, beer, and heat. The music’s so loud it rattles your bones, and everything’s glowing under black light—paint, teeth, shirts, secrets.
And people keep stopping me, clapping me on the back, tossing out fist bumps whenever I get in their vicinity.
“Kelly! That was unreal, man.”
“I still don’t know how you pulled that off.”
“Was that snake even legal?”
All I can do is smile and nod. I try to let the praise soak in, try to savor a night like this, but it all bounces off me like I’m good-time repellent.
Across the room, I spot Blake, Finn, Travis, Jack, and Reece, all leaning against the wall near the pool table. Scottie’s with them, glowing under the lights with a streak of pink paint on her jaw. Blake lifts his bottle of water like a toast, and Finn motions for me to come over while Jack and Trav shove each other playfully. Reece frowns before tripping Jack, and I shrivel at the mere thought of trying to match their energy.
I raise my empty cup in the air instead, letting them know I need a refill before flashing a grin over my shoulder that I don’t feel at all.
I duck out of the room, slipping past a crowd of sweaty juniors dancing to a remix that would make my dad’s favorite movie,Dirty Dancing, look like an Amish after-school special.
Down the back hallway, I walk until I reach the keg room. Technically, it’s a converted laundry space with three tapped barrels, a fridge, and a fluorescent Pi Gamma sign.
I push the door open, and I’m relieved to find that it’s empty.
Thank fuck.
For the first time all night, I exhale.
It’s quiet in here. Just the soft thump of bass through the walls and the buzz of a broken ceiling light. The black-light paint on the walls is splattered like crime scene art—handprints, words, shapes, a glowing dick or two. But no one else is here. No eyes. No pressure. No need for me to pretend I’m happy and shit.
I lean back against the counter and let my head fall against the cabinets. My fingers tap the side of the empty cup.
I should feel good. I should feelelectric.
But instead, all I can think about is Julia.
She was at Double C tonight with her meathead boyfriend. And I did everything in my power to keep my fucking distance. Though, it wasn’t easy because Julia is friends with everyone I’m friends with. The complications our rift has created feel endless.
I don’t know how long I stand in here by myself, but I don’t move from my perch until the door creaks open. I turn my head, expecting someone looking for beer, maybe one of the rugby guys yelling for a funnel, but instead, I’m face-to-face with Julia.
The second I see her, something sharp and breath-stealing catches in my chest.
Fuck, why does she have to be so beautiful?
Her blond hair is bright under the black light, and I know by the soft waves that hang down her shoulders she spent at least fortyminutes curling it. Her blue eyes shimmer like fucking diamonds, and she has green and pink neon paint across her collarbone and down one arm.
She’s dressed in her favorite pair of Converse sneakers and an all-white dress, remnants of her tan from all the days we spent at the pool this summer still visible.
It’s as if the universe has taken up its own personal interest in my misery and is making damn sure Julia looks like a fucking angel.
The door has a mind of its own and slams shut behind her. She jumps a little, and it takes her a good twenty seconds to even realize I’m in the room.
Though, when we make eye contact, she stops.
We stare. Neither of us moves. Neither one of us says anything.
