With Arden in the lead, we wedged and twisted ourselves along the front hall. The crush of bodies was borderline claustrophobic, and I felt at least one other person’s sweat slick the bare skin of my arm. At the same time, part of me thrilled at the unaccustomed sensation of being in the thick of things, especially when no one looked askance at me or demanded to know what I was doing there. Even Terry slipped past without undue notice, likely because she was looking at the floor, and all anyone could see was the part in her hair.
The hallway opened onto a living room. There was enough space now that I could lower my arms. Arden made a beeline for a girl with a nose ring and lavender highlights. The two of them embraced, Arden holding on to the girl’s shoulders as they took turns speaking into each other’s ears.
“That’s Kaitlynn,” Lydia explained. “She and Arden were in some kind of club together. Or maybe it was a camp. The possibilities are endless.” The three of us had settled into a pocket of empty space beside a leather love seat. A few feet away, Arden squeezed the other girl’s arm before working her way back to us.
“Okay,” she said, swirling a finger in the air. “Let’s circulate.”
I was afraid she meant separately, but when no one else peeled off, I followed them up a step into a formal dining room, where the only refreshments appeared to be a forlorn plate of celery sticks. From there we passed through the kitchen, a smaller room with a large-screen TV where we were nearly deafened by video game explosions, and into another hallway. Arden paused beside a half-open door. The music pulsed from the other side like a living organism.
Terry shook her head. “No basements.”
Arden blinked. “Oh. Well, that’s where the dancing is, if you want to check it out later.”
As we started moving again, Terry edged closer to me. “Horror Movie 101,” she whispered.
More shoving and squeezing brought us back to the living room. This time Arden led the way to a secluded spot against the wall, between a floor lamp and a potted palm.
“At a party like this, it’s good to do a lap first,” she explained. “See who’s here. And whoisn’t.”
I got the feeling this was supposed to be adun dun duuunmoment, but the implication was lost on me.
Lydia shrugged. “You knew Miles wasn’t coming. He never does.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Lyds. That’s very helpful.”
“Who’s Miles?” Terry’s question relieved me of the worry that I was the only one who didn’t know.
“My bae.”
“Your what?” I asked.
“Bae,” Arden repeated. “My man. Significant other. Honey bear. All that.”
“You mean yourbeau?”
“It’s pronounced boo, actually,” Lydia corrected.
Was this another of those words I’d only ever read on the page, leading me to invent my own pronunciation? I made a mental note to check later; for now, the more important revelation was that Arden had a boyfriend. I was immediately curious, both about the courtship experience in general and the specific identity of her paramour. “Is he a sophomore too?”
“Miles goes to Memorial, in Waterford. He’s pretty much the star of their debate team.” Arden tossed her hair in a way that said she was trying not to brag but couldn’t help herself. “But if we could focus for a second on someone who isnotbae material, I was trying to tell you thatAlex Ritter”—her voice lowered to a whisper—“isn’t here. Kaitlynn said he showed up about an hour ago with Megan G., but then she saw him head out the door with Eva Moskowitz.”
I wondered if either was the girl who’d been hand-feeding him at lunch the other day, or if these were new conquests.
“Wow.” Lydia’s tone was grudgingly impressed. “You weren’t kidding, Mary. Dude gets around.”
“I told you.” Arden patted my arm. “Mary is very wise. She’s looking out for us. Did my own brother tell me any of this important information? No, he did not. But like I said, we don’t have to worry about you-know-who bothering us tonight. We can people watch in peace.” With a sigh of contentment, she settled her shoulder blades more comfortably against the wall. Terry moved sideways to make room, tucking herself partway behind the plant.
“What do you think so far?” Arden gestured at the loose groupings that filled the room. One knot had formed around a game board, but most were engaged in conversation, a dozen different stories unfolding at once.
Lydia leaned across Arden. “She means have you spotted any creepers yet.” Her brow creased. “Is it just me, or does it feel like we should have night vision goggles and then Mary does the voice-over like, ‘Here come the cheetahs, gathering at the watering hole’?”
The last part was delivered in the gravelly British accent common to nature documentaries. Unfortunately, I hadn’t spent years observing the nocturnal habits of teenage wildlife. My face must have betrayed my qualms, because Arden gave my forearm a reassuring squeeze.
“No pressure. We’re just soaking up the atmosphere.”
“And the reek of body spray,” Lydia said, not quite under her breath. She glared at the guy walking past us in a cloud of cologne. His long shorts and bleached bangs seemed designed to give off an improbable surfer vibe, considering our landlocked location.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Lydia’s gaze was still fixed on the pseudo beach bum. As we watched, he approached a girl with a deep tan and lip gloss so shimmery it looked like crushed pearls. She fluttered her lashes; he leaned close enough that his hip bumped hers.
