“You’re going to the party tonight, right?” I ask him, remembering that, too. I haven’t been to the Halloween party hosted by the hockey team since before I left Astor, but unless the invitation rules have changed, the entire team will be there.
“Of course. You think I’m missing a party that doesn’t require a suit?”
Grant was just as used to a black tie affair as the rest of us, but he’s the only one who seems bothered by them. The hockey team, a group of literal bruisers, usually hosts their party at one of the player’s frat houses. Those frat houses, all brick and colonial architecture, aren’t any less stuffy than the venues Grant’s shading, but the vibes are. Top shelf liquor is banned and unless the beer is in a can, don’t even bother. It’s always a costume party, but with a twist. One year, I remember, the twist was that your costume could only come from 1980’s pop culture. Another year, the costumes had to be espionage themed. I remember looking forward to it every year, like Grant is, but this year apprehension settles in my chest when I think about it.
“You are, too…?” Grant picks up on my hesitation.
“Yeah, totally, man. I just haven’t come up with a costume yet.” This is true, but definitely not the whole of it.
What I can’t tell him is that I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off Olivia, because keeping things platonic on campus has been hard enough. Every shred of free time I have is hers, like I’m compensating for all the moments I can’t simply rest my hand on the small of her back or whisper how I can’t wait to be alone with her. We decided we would do this, keep our relationship to ourselves, to spare Will but maybe also ourselves. After years of being relentlessly perceived, I’m seriously relishing being with Olivia without the opinion of others. It’s not that I’m worried what people will say; honestly, I couldn't care less. I just know that once anyone knows about us, reality will start to creep in and taint the euphoric cloud we seem to be nestled in. I just want that space to ourselves a little while longer.
“I’m just going in my letterman, saying I’m a jock, and calling it a day. It’s masquerade themed, anyway,” Grant cuts into my thoughts.
“Smart,” is all I reply, already tortured by the thought of Olivia in a less than subtle, probably insanely sexy disguise. Olivia has to be there, per Ian’s orders, but I know she’s just as excited for a non-stuffy party as Grant, especially after the gala. Doesn’t stop me from secretly wishing we could just have the night to ourselves.
After five minutes of deliberation, I copied Grant’s costume idea, throwing on my letterman, feeling the stiffness of the embroidered thirty-two on my back. Andy has, unsurprisingly, four masks to choose from, rambling on about an experimental stage adaptation he did of “The Masque of the Red Death” when I stop by his apartment before we head to the party. He’s still rambling when I check my phone and see that Olivia texted me she’s already there.
“I was just an extra when I was cast, but I really think my commitment to the role is what helped me?—”
“You ready?” I interrupt him, watching his face falter. “I just don’t want to get caught in the rain if we’re walking,” I smoothly lie, omitting that the thought of Olivia at this party, where the news of her newly single status is more than likely circulating, is making me antsy.
The walk to the frat house is a short one, Andy living in the housing just off the residential street that’s become known as fraternity row. As we approach, the yard is already littered with PBRs and it’s only 10:00 pm.Just like I remember, I think to myself. The familiarity of the sight brings me back to the time my mental health started to deteriorate. Andy swings the doors open and music reverberates through the walls, disco balls causing the hallway to glitter. Every inch of the house is lined bycouples and clusters, all masked, clutching red cups and silvery cans in their hands, trying to talk over the music.
I wait for my mind to wander, for my thoughts to spiral and my chest to feel tight, like it did the last time I was at a party like this, and I take a deep, calculated breath, hoping to keep the feelings at bay. I wait another second, sure it’s about to rear its head, ready to use my grounding techniques, but nothing. Instead of feeling overwhelmed, I feel… excited. At this realization, I feel myself smile, making a mental note to bring this up in therapy, because this feels like a win.
Andy insists we find the beer fridge, cracking our cans open and cheering before he spots Sloane and makes off like a lovesick puppy dog. Even over the din of the music, I think I hear her call him a “skirt chaser,” but his grin only widens.
I glance around the party, the bar by the kitchen a sort of central vantage point from which to see everything happening. Well, everything downstairs, anyway. I spot Will reclined in the corner of a plush sectional, a blonde angel perched on his lap. He kicks his head back, a booze filled laugh escaping him, and when his head levels his eyes lock with mine. I give him an acknowledging nod, noticing the devil horns he’s matched with his cherry red mask, and decide that tonight is not the night to talk to him, especially considering we’ve only exchanged the bare minimum during practices and games.
Taking one last look and not finding her, I casually make my way to the back deck hoping to see Olivia. I know I can’t be with her the way I want to be tonight, but I can look. We can talk.Maybewe can touch. I walk through the double doors and spot her hair cascading over her shoulder immediately. She sits on the circular, built-in bench that surrounds the fire blazing at the center, a vaguely familiar girl to her right and one of the hockey guys. His slightly shaggy hair falls across his mask as he turns his head to talk to Olivia, his body language giving away every singleone of his intentions. I feel my jaw clench, possession flooding me. The smile she gives him tells me she’s uninterested, and the way he scoots closer tells me he’s either an idiot or an asshole and doesn’t care.
My feet move before my brain has time to catch up, and by the time it has I’ve rationalized that being seentalkingto Olivia can’t be any worse than being seen together the night of the gala. I arrive behind them, clearing my throat before interrupting whatever inane thing this guy is telling her.
“Mind if I sit here?” I feign politeness in my voice, but I know my expression leaves little room for interpretation. He looks pissed, his eyes squinting behind his mask at me as if to say ‘what the hell,’ but he renews the distance between him and Olivia anyway.
“I was wondering when you’d finally come over here,” she says, not looking at me and totally unsurprised. She’s smirking into the fire, a can in her hand. “I knew you couldn’t keep away,” she whispers.
I laugh, but I mimic her nonchalance and gaze into the fire when I hear my name in a voice dramatically different from Olivia’s.
“Oh my god, I was hoping I’d see you here!” the redhead next to Olivia squeaks, leaning across her and lightly smacking my arm.
“Were you?” I hear Olivia mutter under her breath, clearing her throat.
I realize the girl is from our literature seminar, and politely smile at her, giving her a brief wave. I expect to see her expression fall, but instead she just turns inward, creating the impression that the three of us are in conversation which, I guess, we now are.
“I was just telling Olivia how much Iloathethese parties. It’s like everyone is just coupled up and in their own worlds, orthey’re trying to couple up,” she crones. “Which one are you?” she asks flirtatiously, fluttering her lashes.
“There’s not a third option?” Olivia interjects, her tone mocking, but it goes over the girl’s head. She grins and I stifle a laugh.
“I’m coupled up, actually.” Now her face falters, her expression confused as she readjusts her green velvet mask. It would seem she’s Fiona fromShrek. Interesting.
“Are you?” Olivia’s gaze snaps to mine, finally giving me a clear view of her. Her eyes spark with warmth, the fire reflecting in them, amber hues twining with shades of brown that accentuate the way her hair gleams chocolatey brown in the moonlight. A mask of black, intricate lace leaves half her face hidden, drawing attention to the suppleness of her lips, painted red for the occasion. I catch her lips quirk in a seductive smile, acknowledging the attention I’m paying them. My eyes scan down further, finding her shoulders bare but her arms covered in see-through black fabric, and my mind begs me to find a way to peel it off her. My eyes make their way back to hers and I try to cool my eager grin. I roll my lips together, aware this other girl is waiting for an answer, too.
I look at her, trying to appear apologetic. “I am. Actually, I’m supposed to meet them upstairs, so if you’ll excuse me.” I feel more than see Olivia’s eyes widen and now it’s her turn to suppress her grin as I stand up and begin making my way back toward the house, hoping she’ll follow my cue.
“Upstairs?” The girl all but whines, a listless sigh escaping her. “Have fun with your rendezvous,” she calls after me, her buzz now apparent in her over exaggerated gestures as I glance back to see if Olivia’s following me. “One day our princes will come, Olivia. Don’t worry,” she says, patting Olivia’s back before getting entranced in the fire.
By the time I get to the staircase, I see Olivia attempting to dodge conversation with a member of the baseball team, her eyes locking with mine as she nods in agreement to whatever he said before walking toward me. I glance around, making sure no one’s paying attention to us, and find that everyone is blissfully in their own worlds.
