Page 104 of Mad Girl

Not thinking, I leaned over and pecked you on the cheek. Then I snuggled close, resting my head on your shoulder. “I didn’t mean it. I promise.”

After a minute, you said, a little gravelly, “Well. I guess I’ll forgive you for saying it, then.”

That’s the last warm moment I can recall us having right before everything went to shit just two days later on Halloween.

By some stroke of luck (or maybe the better term here is misfortune), my dad spent Halloween night in New York, so Tinsley and I cornered you at the dining table while you worked on a paper for school. Tinsley informed you there was a Halloween party at Willoughby’s and suggested that I go with her.

“Out of the question,” you said, looking very studious in your cardigan and black glasses, a freshly sharpened pencil tucked behind your ear.

“Come on, Casey,” whined Tinsley. “Everyone else at our school will be there.”

“Yes—and other people besides,” you said sternly. “Take it from me: nothing good ever happens at these things. It’s just loads of drinking, people being groped all over the place, and nothing but regret come morning⁠—”

“Oh, blah, blah, blah,” I said. “I’m not asking for your permission, by the way. I’m telling you I’m going.”

“Oh, really?” you said, leaning back in the chair with narrowed eyes.

“Really. You can’t stop me.”

You crossed your arms. “I absolutely can.”

“How? By chaining me to the newel post in there?”

You quirked an eyebrow. “That’s one option.”

Tinsley leaned forward. “What’re the other options?” She nudged me in the arm. “Because honestly, Elliot, this has the potential to be way more interesting—and possibly hotter—than the party.”

I rolled my eyes, nudging her back.

“This is different than you hanging out at Tinsley’s or going for a coffee,” you said. “If something bad happens, I’d have to answer to your dad. He’d kill me for even considering letting you go to this party.”

“Wait,” Tinsley said. “Does that mean you are considering it?”

“Listen,” I rushed to say. “What if I come home at a reasonable time? And I promise not to drink?”

“And while she’s away,” Tinsley added, “you’ll also have a chance to do something fun tonight—like going to a Halloween party on campus.” She shot you a wicked grin. “Imagine the possibilities, Casey. You could hook up with some girl in a slutty cop costume—or a smokin’ hot guy dressed as a firefighter.” You narrowed your gaze at her, then she added, “I mean—just—whatever you’re into.”

I kicked Tinsley underneath the table, and she winced.

“Where’s Bree tonight?” you asked. “Is she going?”

I chuckled at that. “Bree’s too good to party. Or drink. Or talk to boys. Or have fun, even.”

You shot me a look that said, Watch it. More than likely, you hoped Bree would be at the party because she was ultra responsible and, therefore, could be trusted to look after me.

“Okay,” you said, pulling the pencil from your ear to chew on the end of it a second. “But you’re to be home by midnight—and absolutely no drinking.” You pointed the eraser end of the pencil at me. “I mean it, Elliot. No drugs, either. And text me Willoughby’s address.”

“On it,” Tinsley said, already hammering out his address. She hit send.

Now, I know you remember that Halloween costume I wore, Casey. It was too good. It was perfect. You didn’t think it quite as perfect as I did. But still.

As I walked downstairs in those black, patent leather, platform Mary Jane pumps with the white thigh-high tights, you gaped at me from the bottom.

“No,” you said, shifting uneasily in the entry hall. “Absolutely not. No. That will not do. There is no way.”

“Casey,” I said. “Come on.”

“I’m reconsidering this,” you said, head nodding rapidly. “I think—you know what?—it’s probably best if you stay home.”