Daisy sips from a red Solo, now filled with punch, and chats with a tall Italian model, his chocolate hair thick and his smile insanely bright. As I approach, she says a quick goodbye and hesitantly flips her phone over in her palm.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Something weird just happened. I don’t know…” She takes another swig of punch and licks her lips. “Ryke texted me.”
Oh shit.
“I mean, I didn’t even think he noticed me.”
As far as I remember, Ryke has met Daisy once at my family house in Villanova, a ritzy suburb outside of Philly, and it was more of a wave from afar than a true greeting. “What’d he want?”
“To know what party I was at. I gave him the address.” She shrugs. “You think he likes me or something?”
“…I don’t know, Dais. He’s twenty-two, and he’s not the kind of guy that would hit on a fifteen-year-old.” Because those guys are perverts.
Her lips downturn into a deep frown. “Yeah, I guess. But why would he ask me where I was? I mean, I do look older, Lily. And I make my own money…”
“You’re still fifteen,” I tell her. “He’s still twenty-two.” This needs to be squashed right now before he gets here. I cannot have her thinking she has a chance with him. No, no, no. I itch my neck. Maybe I am getting chicken pox.
She groans. “It’s so fucking frustrating. I feel older than I am half the time. Some people treat me like I’m in my twenties, and then I go back to school, and I’m babied again. I’m given respect, and then it’s taken away from me. Over and over and over.” She downs the rest of her drink.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing what else to tell her to make her feel any better. “You’re close to being sixteen, andthen you’ll only have two more years.” I lamely shake my hands like faux pompoms.
She lets out a weak laugh. “You’re so corny.”
I shrug. “It made you laugh.”
“It did,” she nods.
“How did Ryke get your number anyway?”
“I didn’t give it to him. Maybe he called Rose and asked her for it.” She pauses. “So…why do you think he’s coming over?”
I inhale a strained breath, my muscles tightening. “I’m not sure,” I lie.
“I guess we’ll see.” She stares at her empty cup. “I’m going to get a refill. How about you go hang out with Bret?” She tilts her head to the scarily pretty blond guy that I dodged.
“Getting rid of me?” I joke. “Am I not that fun?”
She smiles. “I just don’t want to leave you here alone. I’m the one who asked you to come, after all. And it may take me awhile to escape the punch bowl.” She nods to the big tub full of red liquid and sliced pineapples. “See Jack over there.” I spot the black-haired, European guy that I noticed before.
“Yeah?”
“He’s a talker. I can’t ever get away from him, and I feel guilty when I try. It’ll take me probably ten minutes.”
“I can come save you,” I suggest.
She shakes her head and tucks her hair behind her ear. “No, no. I have it handled. Have fun.Mingle,” she tells me again. As if mingling is the solution. It is not.
My palms sweat and my nerves jostle as she disappears. I really want to go follow her, but she basically saiddo not follow me, Lily.Didn’t she? I swallow down my anxiety and accidentally lock eyes with a dark-skinned model, his biceps bulging as he sets two palms on the alcohol table.
I bite my fingernails, losing control. Maybe I should try to calm myself. Go off and do my own thing. Find someone… Bret…
No.
My body thrums with the usual cravings that I’ve denied myself for seven whole days. The only thing that will satiate the nerves, the fear, and everything that balloons my dizzy head is sex.
Sex is the solution.
