CAY
Funny.
YERSIE
I just want everyone to know that the costume rule was not set by me and I don’t actually give a fuck if you wear one or not.
BRADY
Dude. Hammie made it sound like it was life or death.
SIMS BUT NOT THE GAME
I’m not even going.
BRADY
WHAT
SIMS BUT NOT THE GAME
I have homework.
CAPTAIN CLARKE
Yeah, I’m supposed to be going to a fundraiser at the GG in the morning. So… we’ll see how that goes.
Z
Lena, let’s not pretend you didn’t already have all that pink cheetah print in your closet.
BRADY
It’s the principle.
HAMMIE
I thought we could all use a little Halloween spirit. Besides, it will be fun seeing everyone dressed up.
CAPTAIN CLARKE
Who’s “everyone?”
I don’t know exactly how this happened, but I’m pretty sure our apartment is violating multiple fire codes. We’re lucky this is a student complex, because if our neighbors weren’t already here, they’d probably be calling the cops. This was supposed to be a small thing, just a little Halloween-themed get-together for Harlowe’s birthday, but that’s what I get for leaving Bailey in charge of the invitations.
I weave through the sea of bodies, my Sprite sloshing precariously over the edge of my plastic cup as I spin, duck, and contort my body in ways I didn’t even know were possible. The living room is a pressure cooker, jammed to capacity with people from every imaginable corner of the university.
Bodies spill out onto the overloaded balcony, art students leaning over the railing, their voices cutting through the bass-heavy music as they hurl drunken banter down to someone in the parking lot. I pass a group from my econ class taking shots, before squeezing past some guys from the men’s hockey team. They all clap me on the back, knuckles rapping against my cardboard turtle shell, whooping and hollering.
“Sick party, Leonardo,” one of them says, tipping his cup against mine. I’m pretty sure some of his beer spills into my drink, but I just grin back at him.
“Thanks, Kai.”
I scan the crowd, intent on locating my posse. Lena and Z are playing DJ, letting the vodka dictate the playlist. By the television, Caydence is clutching a cup of something that could violate all ten commandments, staring at Will Carter. I spot Bailey—masquerading as Michelangelo—standing on our coffee table, shaking her ass to“The Monster Mash”.Her orange mask slips as her head tips back, a loud, drunken laugh spilling out as she yanks Rowan, one of the baristas at the Grizzly Grind, up from the crowd. That table is one misstep from total collapse, but she looks so happy, I don’t want to ruin her fun.
Her round brown eyes lock onto mine, hands waving frantically like two people on a rickety table isn’t already a recipe for disaster. I shake my head, shouting over the music: “You break it, you buy it!”
She shrugs and salutes me. I chuckle, roll my eyes, and spin toward the kitchen—or whatusedto be my kitchen. I don’t know where the big plastic foldable table came from, but it’s eaten up the entire space while Harlowe dominates a 1v3 beer pong match against a group of football players. She looks like she wants to murder them, but judging by the sailor hat she’s traded for her red Raphael mask, she’s actually flirting.
