He walks over and wraps his arms around my mom, pressing a kiss to her temple, and she giggles again like they’re newlyweds.
I slam my head into an imaginary wall.
They’ve always been like this. Loud and in love and embarrassingly affectionate. I used to roll my eyes at it as a teenager, but now, I understand their brand of happiness is the goal we’re all shooting for one day.
It’s normally romantic, but with the state of my life right now, it makes me seethe with jealousy. I want it for myself, and unfortunately, I want it with the one boy it feels like I can’t have.
God, last night. My memories are foggy, but I do remember Ace picking me up off the floor and distracting me with terrible lies about new couches. He carried me like I weighed nothing and held my hand while they stitched me back together.
And then he was gone. I don’t know when he left, but at some point after the chaos and the laughter and the pain meds, he apparently slipped out of the ER. No goodbye. No message.
I check my phone instinctively.
One unread text.
Drew: How are you feeling this morning, babe? Think you’re going to make it to class?
My heart sinks.
No texts from Ace. No calls. No nothing.
I stare at my phone for a long minute, debating if I should walk across the hall and knock on his door and ask him why he left. But mostly, I want to thank him for being there for me last night.
Ace has always been there for you.
My phone vibrates in my hand as another text comes in.
Scottie: I know you weren’t planning on going tonight, but pleaseeee come. What time should we meet up with you for Double C?
The big, not-confirmed-but-we-all-know-it’s-happening Double C event for Halloween.
No one knows the time or place yet—it’s always kept secret until the last minute—but the Halloween party is going down. People are already buzzing about it. Another event. Another night Ace will be the center of the universe.
Another night you’ll have to force yourself to stay focused on your boyfriend and not mentally keep tabs on Ace.
I stare at Scottie’s text. The other day, I told her I wasn’t planning on going to it, and even though I didn’t want to be honest with myself on why I didn’t want to go, the Instagram picture of Ace with Glitter Girl was front and center in my mind.
I could still say no, but I don’t.
Me: Okay. Yeah. I’ll go. I’m eating breakfast with my parents, but I’ll text you later.
My mind isn’t thinking about Drew or texting Drew when I respond to her.
It’s thinking about Ace.
It’s tempting fate. It’s playing with fire.
But I’m already the walking wounded, right?What’s a little burn?
Ace
If someone had told me at the beginning of the semester that I’d be hosting an underground, costume-mandatory Halloween party in a historic campus theater, I’d have laughed and then immediately started figuring out how to make it happen. Because yeah, that sounds exactly like me.
Still, as I slip past a pair of fire performers doing synchronized tosses in front of the Beckley Theater, even I have to admit,I’ve outdone myself tonight.
Beckley is old and creaky and technically off-limits after ten p.m., but a few greased palms and one carefully worded anonymous email about “emergency art student access” and voilà—Double C’s Halloween bash is live. Music echoes from the theater’s old stage, lights are pulsing, and black-robed bartenders are passing out color-coded drinks from cauldrons. The whole place is a chaotic fever dream of cloaks, corsets, smoke machines, and strobe lights.
And I’m wearing the most ridiculous thing I could find. A velvet pirate coat, boots, a silk shirt unbuttoned far too low, and a fake sword that I’ve already whacked into three people. It’s not subtle, but then again, neither am I.
