How am I supposed to not take that personally?
Itispersonal.
Does Hayes really think he can just cut me out without any explanation, like I never mattered? Like all our years of friendship don’t earn me even a goodbye?
No.
He doesn’t get to do that.
He doesn’t get to treat me like one of his random hookups and just toss me aside. If nothing else, I deserve to know why he’s doing this. After everything we’ve been through, the very least he owes me is the truth.
And I’m going to get it.
Thirty minutes later, I swing open the front door of the Alpha Delta frat house, ready to crash the Heaven & Hell party and finally corner Hayes to get some answers.
I’m wearing the only red thing I own in my wardrobe of black—an old dress I haven’t touched since I was eleven. It was part of a Little Red Riding Hood costume I wore trick-or-treating with Hayes in junior high. I was Red. He was the Big Bad Wolf. The cape and wicker basket are long gone, but somehow the dress survived, stuffed in the back of my closet like a relic from another life.
My costume didnotlook like this back then.
What used to hit my knees now barely skims the tops of my thighs. The once-loose cotton bodice clings tightly to me, framing more cleavage than I usually show and hugging every inch like it knows exactly what it’s doing. I wasn’t trying to be sexy. It just turned out that way.
I didn’t have a backup, so it was either show up in a slightly scandalous costume or don’t wear one at all, and for a college frat party, that felt like the worse choice. I already stood out enough without making it look like I didn’t get the memo.
Feeling self-conscious, I threw on my black vegan leather jacket and knee-high lace-up boots to toughen it up. I left my choker on, the familiar band steadyand grounding like armor. A swipe of my mom’s red lipstick finishes the look. If Amber’s playing the angel in her head-to-toe white ensemble, then I guess that makes me the devil.
The smell of beer, weed, and too-strong body spray hits me like a wall the second I step into the common room where the party is in full swing. The DJ blasts AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell,” bass thumping so hard I feel it in my ribs.
The Alpha Delt’s house has been completely transformed for the Heaven & Hell theme. All around me, red string lights coil over the furniture like glowing vines, casting everything in a low, infernal glow. Smoke machines puff steady, hazy clouds from the corners, curling around my boots as I walk past. Half the ceiling is rigged with fake icicle chandeliers, while flickering red bulbs cover the rest. Heaven on one side, Hell on the other, apparently.
I scan the crowd for Hayes, weaving through all the bodies pressed and dancing together like one giant, writhing organism under pulsing strobe lights. Half-naked angels float past me in white lace and rhinestone halos, sipping neon jungle juice from plastic cups. The devils are even bolder in their tight red vinyl, glitter fishnets, and sky-high scarlet stilettos. I duck around a half-angel, half-devil couple making out under an archway of red and white balloons, then cut toward the back of the room.
No sign of Hayes anywhere.
Either he hasn’t arrived yet—or worse, he’s already upstairs in one of the bedrooms with somerandom girl. Or possibly my sister, who’s also mysteriously missing.
The thought makes my stomach twist, but I force myself to stay optimistic. Maybe he’s just out back, flirting with one of the barely-dressed sorority girls I saw heading that way. Not ideal, but still better than the alternative—him off somewhere, tangled up with Amber.
I step through the sliding glass doors onto the back patio, the thud of bass muffled as it closes behind me. The air is sharp with the bite of early October. A cluster of guys lounge in teak chairs near the deck, doing shots, the white linen cushions stained with spilled drinks. On the grass, a giant inflatable pool sloshes beneath a tangle of drunk freshmen I vaguely recognize from class, stripped down to their bras and angel-themed underwear, wings abandoned in the dirt. They shriek and splash around like overexcited hyenas.
A flicker of warmth blooms in my chest as I spot Argy curled up beside one of the fire pits. At this point, the dog has basically become the frat’s unofficial mascot. Someone apparently felt inspired and tried to dress him up. A pair of red devil horns lies abandoned beside him, and he rests his head on his paws, yawning like he’s deeply unimpressed with everyone’s life choices.
“Argy!” I drop to my knees and clap my hands. “Come here, baby!”
His ears perk up, and he’s on his feet and in my arms before I can brace for it, tail whipping back andforth like he’s been waiting all night for me to arrive. He covers my face in wet, enthusiastic kisses, whining softly. I laugh, holding him close and pressing my face into his fur. It’s nice to know at least he still wants me around.
“Aw, don’t you two make an adorable couple?”
I look up to find Amber standing there, flanked by Tiffany and Brooke, who giggle at her stupid joke. Rebecca lingers off to the side, arms crossed, offering me an awkward little wave. They’re all wearing slightly different versions of the same angel costume Amber has on—tight white dresses, glittery halo headbands, and feathered wings.
“Hilarious, Ambs,” I mutter, biting my tongue. I’m not here for drama. “Have you seen Hayes? I can’t find him.”
Amber tilts her head, all wide eyes and mock surprise. “Thought you weren’t coming tonight.”
“Changed my mind.” I shrug, scratching behind Argy’s ears. “Have you seen him or not?”
I rise to my feet, brushing grass from the hem of my dress, and something in Amber’s face changes. Her eyes sweep over my outfit—the red dress, the boots, the lipstick—and her mouth tightens, caught between jealousy and judgment. A few guys nearby are staring openly now. Appreciatively.
Not at her. At me.
