Page 6 of Sinister

“Me?” I blurt out, shaking away the intrusive thoughts. “You almost managed to blame me for you colliding into me.”

Sin grins. “All right, all right, you caught me.” He puts up his hand, feigning surrender. “But you were standing right in my path, so I’d say it’s a fifty-fifty split.”

“Nice try,” I reply, laughing despite myself, “but I was minding my own business. Maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

He chuckles again and grabs some napkins from a nearby table for me.

“Let’s agree on a truce, shall we?” he proposes.

I take the napkins and dab at the wet stain on my shirt.

“Fine, truce. But seriously, you owe me a new shirt. Or even better, when my mom kills me for ruining this one, you could write a eulogy for my tombstone.”

“Eulogy? Emo much?” Sin shoots back playfully. “Fine, I’ll add, ‘write a eulogy for the girl I bumped into at Elias’s party’ to my to-do list.”

This makes me laugh aloud in real time, something that rarely happens. Then, realizing that no matter how hard I try, the blouse is beyond repair, I give up and stand there with a resigned look.

“I’ve got a solution for your shirt. Elias’s mom wouldn’t mind if you borrowed something from her closet. She’s got plenty of clothes, trust me,” Sin adds.

The way he says the last two words, raising his eyebrows and looking around furtively, makes me laugh again.

But then I shake my head and say, “Thanks, but I’m not really in the mood for a wardrobe change. I think I’ll just head home.”

Perhaps that is what I need after all: a restful, if anticlimactic, end to what has been a turbulent birthday.

“You’re leaving already?” Sin asks with a look of mild surprise, which seems somewhat . . . deceptive. “Come on, the night’s still young.”

“Yeah, but I’ve had enough excitement for one night, young man!” I say in my best imitation of a crotchety grandma as Sin lets out an amused snort. “Besides, I don’t exactly fit in. Nobody wants me here, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Wait, so what brought you to this wild party in the first place?”

“Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And it’s my birthday, so I figured, ‘Why not?’” I shrug and avoid his eyes, not knowing what exactly I’m trying to avoid.

Maybe I don’t want to make it seem like my birthday is a big deal? Maybe I’m so used to people undermining my special day that I’m starting to wonder if it’s anything special to begin with?

But Sin’s reaction surprises me. His expression softens as he exclaims, “Your birthday? Happy birthday, Petra! You should have told someone.”

“Just didn’t seem like a big deal,” I respond with a nonchalant expression, even though I feel glad that finally, finally, someone other than Amelia has wished me happy birthday.

In the next instant, that cynical, sour voice in my head mutters, Wow, Petra, two whole people wishing you on your eighteenth birthday! Congratulations, girl!

I’m not sure if Sin can see even the faintest hint of the turmoil raging within me, but his smile turns sympathetic.

“What? It’s a big deal. Eighteen, right? That’s a milestone. You should be fucking celebrating, pardon my French,” he encourages.

“Thanks.” I smile again without meaning to. “It’s nice of you to say that.”

We stand there for a moment, the silence between us charged with all the bleak thoughts I try to dispel from my mind.

His gaze weighs me down in a way. That precise scrutiny of his eyes is a new sensation but . . . not entirely uncomfortable.

Just then, I spot Daphne and her cronies walking, nay, marching, toward us. My stomach contracts, and I instantly know that they aren’t planning to compliment me on the avant-garde design of my half-wet blouse.

I need to get out of here ASAP.

“I should go.” I step back, my eyes never leaving the approaching trio. “I don’t really want to deal with them right now.”

Sin follows my gaze and frowns slightly. “Oh, please, Daphne and her minions? They’re all bark and no bite. Don’t worry about them.”