Chapter Eight
I finish up my mascara,cap the wand, and set it aside. Done. “Come on in!”
The door on Harper’s side of the bathroom swings open and she waltzes to my side, flaunting yet another change of clothes. This time, she’s put on a sage-green silk tube dress that almost perfectly matches her eyes. From the way she holds herself, I can tell she’s finally happy with it—even more so when she takes a look in the mirror.
“Oh, yeah.” She cocks her hip and grins. “This is definitely it.”
“You sure this time?”
“Positive. Oh my God, Lia—” Her eyes find mine in our reflection. “You look totally amazing.”
“You really mean that?”
“Of course! You’re a stunner, girl.”
“Do you think I should put my hair up?” I gather it into a ponytail and lift it, considering, before letting it drop. “If there’s a lot of dancing, to keep it out of my face…”
“It won’t be, like, athletic dancing,” Harper assures me. She opens the cabinet, selects one of her many eyeshadow palettes, and considers the colorful squares with the look of a serious critic. “I say keep it down. It’s so pretty, it’ll totally get guys’ attention.”
“I don’t know if I want guys’ attention.”
“Of course you do! That’s half the point of the whole thing. Do you think I should go with green shadow too or is that overkill?”
“Maybe something softer.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Ooh, this sparkly gold, maybe? I know that’s not soft, but…”
“No—I like it, though.” What I like even more is this easy back-and-forth. It feels amazing to converse about such inconsequential things. It doesn’t actually matter what we wear to some frat party. Nobody will get hurt if we make the wrong choice. Strangely enough, that makes me feel more powerful than the alternative.
“Yeah, this is definitely it,” Harper declares, brushing a sheen of gold below her brow bone. “It keeps, like, hitting me. First college party, eek—this is so exciting! Do you think there’ll be drugs and stuff?”
I guess I haven’t considered that. Thanks to Papa’s overprotective streak, I know a little too much about drugs, especially for someone who’s never touched them. “If there are, I’m keeping my distance. You should, too.”
“I mean, I’m not gonna go straight to heroin or anything, but I’m not gonna turn down a little pot if someone offers it, y’know?”
“It’s easy to lace that stuff. Haven’t you heard of fentanyl?”
“Jesus, Lia.” She pauses halfway through applying her blush. “That’s dark.”
“I’m just saying?—”
“It’s just a college party. You don’t actually believe the stuff Sage was saying, do you? She was just trying to freak us out.”
“Well, I don’t know. If secret societies can exist…”
“If that whole thing is true, it’s probably just a bunch of people dressing up and meeting in the woods to feel cool and shit. Which is cool, don’t get me wrong, but it’s just people having fun. Nothing to be afraid of.”
“Right,” I say. “Of course.”
Nothing to be afraid of.
“Okay!” She caps her lip gloss decisively. “You ready to go? Things should be lively by now.”
Trepidation ripples through my stomach. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something essential. My mind goes to my duffel bag crammed under my bed—but I don’t let myself hesitate. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
Sage and Aimee have already left—for the party, I’m sure, despite their so-called words of warning. They haven’t bothered to wash this morning’s coffee mugs, which still sit beside the espresso machine. Harper and I give each other a look.
“Who knows. Maybe they’ll be better at cleaning up after themselves once the semester starts up?” she suggests.
“Maybe.” But we both know that’s optimistic at best.
When we leave this time, I make sure to lock the door behind me. Not going to take any risks.
We aren’t the only ones on our way out. I instantly recognize the girls waiting in front of the elevator—they’re the two from the middle room on our floor, with all the pictures plastered on top of their door. The taller of the two is brunette and curvy, with full lips and glimmering gold hoop earrings. The other, dressed in a scarlet tube top and the shortest shorts I’ve ever seen, looks like a miniature version of the blonde girl at the bookstore—so much that I have to do a double take.
She looks up as we approach. Even her stare is the same, radiating cool disdain.
“Hi,” Harper says, chipper as ever. “You two going to the GODs party?”
The blonde rolls her eyes and turns her focus back towards her phone, scrolling idly. Her friend at least has enough sense to look embarrassed.
“Yeah, we are. Sorry about Angie; she’s been pregaming a bit.”
“Pregaming?” Harper perks up. “You guys have booze?”
“Who cares if we do?” the other girl, Angie, snaps. “Not like we’re gonna share. Let me guess, you’re scholarships? Nobody else would have the nerve to beg a fucking stranger. God.”
Harper and I share an alarmed glance.
“Anyway…” The brunette clears her throat. “I’m Shivani. Welcome to Crimson Elite?”
Her tone feels far from sincere.
“I’m Harper. This is Lia.”
“Cool,” Shivani murmurs as the doors ding open beside her. “Cute outfit, by the way.”
I glance down at myself. After going through so many options, I almost forgot what I settled on: a brown halter top and cream pleated skirt. I don’t know if it’s the kind of thing Rashel meant by ‘more me,’ but I think it has a good vibe—classy, but relaxed.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
Shivani smiles, but Angie just rolls her eyes.
The silent elevator ride that follows may be the most awkward experience of my life.
I’m hurrying towards the door the second that we arrive at the main floor, and Harper has to half-jog to meet me at the end of the hallway.
“Jeez, girl, hold your horses!”
“I’m eager to get there, that’s all.”
“Pretty sure the frat house isn’t going anywhere.” She mimes wiping sweat from her forehead as we step outside. “You’re speedy as hell, you know.”
The sun has begun to set to the west of campus, painting the grass and stone in varied shades of amber. We may as well be walking through a sepia photograph as we make our way past the school, across a wide field, and towards a line of elaborate houses—mansions, really—that Harper identifies as Greek row.
“Most of them were built after this place was converted to a school,” she explains. “But the GOD one used to be a carriage house. See how different it looks?”
A carriage house? The building in question, right at the center of the ring of Greek houses, looks big enough to house about fourteen carriages, and the horses to pull them, as well. It looms over its companions, old and proud… and dark, somehow. Not just because of its mahogany brickwork. I can’t shake the creeping sensation that something unspeakable has happened behind its massive doors.
A shiver runs through me.
“You good?” Harper checks.
“Yeah, just… let’s hurry up. It’s chilly out here.”
The low, steady pulse of pop music builds as we approach the old carriage house. In the fading light, I can now make out the three huge bronze symbols affixed above the entrance: ??????.
Harper clasps my hand. “Here goes nothing, right?”
“Right.” I draw in a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
Each of us grab one handle, pull, and step together into the raging hot world of the GODs.
The overhead lights are shut off in the main hallway, but it’s easy enough to see thanks to the hundreds of deep red string lamps hanging from the walls. Ahead of us, past a few students chatting and drinking, is a wide, gleaming staircase of dark wood. A chain stretches between the banisters, with a handwritten sign affixed to its center: KEEP OUT, paintedin bold scarlet letters over heavy black paper. Probably just a reminder posted to make sure strangers don’t go wandering into the frat brothers’ private rooms. An overly dramatic one, at that. Right?
Harper shoulders me. “Earth to Lia?”
“Sorry—” The music drowns my voice. I try again, half-shouting. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I said—” She points towards the staircase. “I guess that’s not where the party’s at!”
“Oh—yeah?—”
“So come on!”
She tugs me to the side. Through another set of double doors, the hall opens up into a much wider room, probably three or four times bigger than the lounge back at our dorm, and furnished far more formally. Two massive chandeliers, half-dimmed, cast a soft glow over the sea of people drinking, laughing, and dancing beneath them. I can see a pool table, a fireplace, a grandfather clock… even a proper built-in bar at the back, where students of all ages are helping themselves to an array of expensive-looking bottles. Even the rich paneling of the walls emanates an aura of wealth. This place is more like a museum than a party venue—that is, aside from the hundred or so college students filling it from end to end.
Harper seems to know where she’s going, so I let her lead me to the back of the room, weaving my way as delicately as I can through the mulling crowd. The mass of people at registration was one thing, but this… heat, the smell of sweat and perfume, the sensation of my eardrums trembling beneath the booming speakers—I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry, dance or hide. I can’t tell if I like it—but it excites me, without a doubt. More than I possibly could have anticipated.
Harper lifts a hand, signaling me to stay put, and wedges her way to the front of the bar. I don’t know how she does it, but a handful of seconds later she’s back at my side, passing me a stainless steel shot glass embossed with a human skull.
“Caribbean rum!” she singsongs. “To the best year ever—cheers, Lia!”
“Cheers,” I agree, grinning—she taps the rim of her drink against mine, throws her head back, and swallows it in one big gulp.
I take a quick breath, close my eyes, and do the same.
Oh my God. Wow. I’ve had alcohol before, but only in small, neat sips, the way Papa always nursed a tumbler of whiskey at suppertime. This stuff hits my throat like a punch, burns its way down, and leaves me reeling. My stomach bucks with surprise—please, please don’t let it come back up—then settles, leaving me with a powerful, lingering heat through my whole body.
“You okay?” Harper says, laughing. “Never done shots before?”
“Never,” I confirm.
“They’re only the best thing ever! You should wait a bit, but I’m grabbing another—and then let’s fucking dance!”
I know it doesn’t work like this, but I swear I can already feel the alcohol dampening my nerves, easing the panicked sprint of my heart. If I focus, I can make out individual conversations within the hurricane of sound—people talking about classes, crushes, summer vacations. Their lives. Their beautiful, perfect, normal lives.
“Okay!” Harper is back and buzzing. “Let’s do this!”
We wind our way back to the front of the room, where armchairs and chaises have been shoved aside to open up a makeshift dance floor—though most of the people aren’t exactly dancing by any definition I know. They’re grinding up against each other, mostly, arms linked waists, lips brushing shoulders—it’s different. It’s a little scary.
It’s hot.
Harper twirls right into action, raising her arms high above her head. Her hips swivel, long blonde locks swaying with every twist. Freeform, casual, but elegant in a way. Confident.
I close my eyes. Feel the rhythm.
A fast beat. Deceptively minor despite the high energy. I’ve never danced to anything like this before, but I have a handle on it. I know what to do the same way that I know how to breathe.
One step forward. Shoulders rolling, head back, neck exposed. Quick breaths pulse past my lips. Even with my eyes still shut, I know I’m in no danger of collision. My body exists in conversation with the space around me, harmonious and fluid.
I spin once, twice, three times. My hair stings my cheeks. The music lulls for a moment, and I pause. Catch my breath.
My neck prickles, and every well-honed instinct in my body lights on fire.
I know danger when I feel it.
There.
By the pool table. Sitting back in a winged leather armchair, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, an unreadable expression upon his chiseled face.
It’s him?—
And he’s staring right at me.