“It could be fun,” Theo says.
What is it they say? If you can’t beat them, join them. “Okay, we’ll come.” I say it with an air of indifference, though I can’t deny I’m as excited as Stephanie, who bounces on her toes.
As we leave the arcade, Theo and I share a few fleeting glances, unable to talk much with Paige inserting herself between us.
“I should get home,” I say. “We’ve got a chemistry exam to study for.”
Paige scoffs. “Don’t remind me. This exam has me stressed out, hence the party.”
After she leaves, the four of us walk home together, and I voice my concerns about the party. “You sure this is a good idea? It’s not really our crowd.”
“Ouch,” Theo remarks.
“Obviously, you’re excluded from that comment,” I add, and Theo’s lips stretch into a wide grin.
“That’s why it’s perfect,” Stephanie says. “Come on, Chrissy, when was the last time we tried something new?”
Ian nods. “How often does Paige Buchanan invite us anywhere? It’s like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“I thought you didn’t like her anymore,” Stephanie says.
Ian spreads his arms to the sides, palms facing the sky. “I’m simply not the type who holds grudges.”
“Hopeless as ever,” Stephanie says.
I grimace at the mounting peer pressure. “Fine, but if this goes south, I’m blaming both of you.”
“It’ll be fun,” Stephanie says, linking her arm through mine.
As the week goes by, everyone seems to be buzzing with nervous energy over the upcoming exam on Friday.
When the day comes, I sit at my desk and take a deep breath. I think I’ve studied enough, so it should go well.
Once Mr. Kendrick finishes distributing the exams, the only sound in the classroom is the scribbling of pencils on paper.
Forty minutes later, I exit the classroom confidently, but still uneasy about tonight’s upcoming party.
Chapter 13
It’s five in the afternoon when Stephanie stops by to get ready. She looks amazing in a cute skirt and a chic, off-the-shoulder crop top. I stick to my usual pants and sweater, much to her dismay.
“You’re not seriously wearing that, are you?” she asks.
“Why not? It’s comfortable.”
“I’m not letting you go to our first house party dressed in your pajamas.”
Stephanie rummages through my closet, pulling out hangers with the enthusiasm of a treasure hunter who’s just found a map to El Dorado. She holds up a baggy gray sweater, examines it with narrowed eyes, then tosses it onto the growing pile of rejects on my bed.
“Do you own anything that doesn’t look like you borrowed it from your gramps?”
I sit on the edge of my bed, watching Stephanie tear through the fashion wasteland that is my wardrobe. “I told you; comfort is my style statement.”
“Comfort isn’t a style statement. It’s like you surrendered.” Another hanger rattles as she yanks out a faded blue hoodie. “How many versions of the same sad outfit do you own?”
“They’re not the same. That one has thumb holes.”
“Revolutionary.” Stephanie tosses her hair over her shoulder and kneels to inspect the bottom shelf. “There has to be something in here that doesn’t scream ‘I’ve given up on life.’”
