Chapter 2 #2
There are speakers set up out here as well, but without the walls to contain the music, it’s easier to have a conversation.
It’s also where two kegs are set up, so there’s a winding line of partygoers waiting their turns with red Solo cups in hand.
Small groups are also scattered over the back lawn, snippets of their boisterous conversations reaching my ears.
“Okay, this is extra,” Kendra says, fanning her face.
With the number of bodies crammed into each room, it’s muggy in the house. With her faux fur arm and leg warmers, she must be feeling it. In my floor-length cape, I certainly am.
It’s been uncharacteristically warm in West Virginia for this time of year, but there’s still enough nip in the air to feel good. I pull my hood off to let the slight breeze run through my hair.
“I can’t believe they actually decorated all the rooms like that,” Tate says.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I say with a grin.
“So you’re doing all right?” she asks nervously.
“Absolutely! All this is just . . .” I’m at a loss for words.
Kendra’s smile is smug. “Glad we twisted your arm to get you out?”
I nod.
“Good, because once I cool off, we’re going to go dance!”
My stomach drops. I have zero clue how to dance.
Seeing my face, Kendra laughs. “Don’t worry, girl. We’ve got you. I can promise you no one here is going to care about your dancing skills . . . or lack thereof.”
“Hey,” I say, not sure if I should be offended or not.
Kendra just grins wider. “I need something to drink,” she announces, her head on a swivel until she spots what she’s looking for and asks if we want anything.
I eye all the red plastic cups, and then the keg, and shake my head. I’m tempting fate enough by being here. I’m not touching whatever is in those cups.
When both Tate and I decline, she heads off with a finger wave, the furry tail pinned to the back of her dress swishing with every step.
Tate and I chat lightly, but my attention keeps drifting over the backyard and partygoers.
Everything feels new and exciting, like I’ve stumbled into another world.
A couple times, a few guys drift over, lingering near Tate and me.
Tate ignores them completely, but I can’t help casting coy looks their way.
Not because I’m interested, but because they’re just .
. . there. One time, one gets bold enough to cut into our conversation, but Tate politely but firmly shoots him down, telling him we’re just having a fun girl’s night out and aren’t interested.
I’m honestly surprised when he smiles good-naturedly, and then with a plastic cup salute, saunters off.
Maybe college guys are more evolved than I thought?
When Kendra returns, I’m relieved to see her holding a can of soda instead of one of the red cups. She offers me a drink and I take a big swig, letting the sugar-filled coolness slide down my throat.
“All right, ladies, you ready?” Kendra asks.
Tate and I nod.
Tate bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet. “Which room should we go to?”
“Any one but that clown one,” I say with a shiver.
“Agreed,” Kendra laughs, and then turns to lead us back into the house, which is somehow even busier than it was when we arrived.
We have to snake through the mass of partygoers single file, holding on to each other’s hands so we don’t get separated. Kendra stops when we reach a room that’s crowded but not wall-to-wall bodies.
This one is actually my favorite so far.
It’s decorated in a gothic theme, with fake spiderwebs hanging over the chandelier in the middle of the room, and plastic candelabras on the unlit fireplace mantel.
One wall is completely taken up by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
Flickering lanterns are interspersed between books that look untouched for ages, their thick layer of dust proof enough.
Hung on the walls are cockeyed antique pictures of severe-looking men and women, their eyes seemingly following us around the room wherever we go.
And a thin layer of fog covers the ground.
It’s spooky and interesting, and I’m having serious trouble imagining frat guys setting it up.
“These decorations are seriously cool,” I say, raising my voice so Tate and Kendra can hear me.
Tate nods. “The guys’ sister sorority helps them decorate every year. I think they do most of the work.”
Kendra rolls her eyes at that. “Typical. The women do the heavy lifting, the men get the credit.” She waves a hand through the air. “But enough about that. Let’s get out there.”
Grabbing my hand, she drags me into the crowd, where partygoers are moving and twisting to the music pumping through the speakers.
When we reach the center of the chaos, I freeze.
It’s one thing being on the sidelines, watching the action unfold, but it’s a totally different experience being in the thick of it. In a way, it felt like I was invisible before, just an interested spectator, taking it all in. Now I feel exposed.
Kendra and Tate start dancing, their moves fun and fluid, big smiles on their faces as they sway and dip to the beat, clearly having the time of their lives.
I hunch my shoulders, trying to disappear. The thin fabric of my costume cloak suddenly feels oppressive, heavy in a way it wasn’t a moment before.
It’s as if everyone is watching me.
Seeing me.
Knowing that I’m different. That I don’t belong.
I backpedal two steps before Kendra notices, shoving past a couple who have worked their way between us. She reaches out and hauls me back.
“What’s wrong?” Tate shouts over the music.
I shake my head and plaster on a smile that’s really a grimace. “I’ll just wait for you over there.”
I hitch my thumb behind me to indicate the side of the room and try to shuffle away again, but Kendra stops me. “Haven, wait. We’ll go with you if you really don’t want to dance.”
I don’t want to ruin their night. “No, really, you should—”
“Seriously,” she says, cutting me off. “If you’re not feeling it, we’re with you one hundred percent.
No questions asked. But I promise you, no one’s looking at you.
You’re not going to be judged if you don’t know the perfect step, or the exact right thing to say.
Heck, half the people here won’t even remember most of this night tomorrow morning. ”
I snort a laugh at that, because the way some of the people on the dance floor keep stumbling, she’s probably right about that.
“Tate and I,” she says, gesturing between the two of them.
“We’re your ride or dies. Even if the worst happens and you fall on your face and make a fool of yourself, we’re gonna be down on the ground with you, making it the funniest memory you have rather than your biggest embarrassment. We’ve got you. Promise.”
In the middle of the dance floor, with the music pumping and bodies jostling us, my heart couldn’t feel fuller.
After so many years of loneliness, how did I get so lucky with these two?
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay?” Kendra asks, and I nod. “That’s my girl.” She grabs my hand. “Now, let me teach you a little dance called the running man. It’s totally vintage, but a crowd pleaser every time.”
For the next hour or so Kendra and Tate show me every ridiculous dance move they know, making a hilarious spectacle of themselves.
I am, as feared, a horrible dancer, but I don’t care because they don’t care, and it doesn’t matter if anyone else does because I’m here with my friends and having the time of my life.
Poor Kendra is dying in her fur arm and leg warmers, so she takes them off, ties them together, and then wraps the fur rope she created around her waist. Even though the Little Red Riding Hood cloak is a light and cheap material, it becomes stifling as well, but something about wearing it feels a little like armor, so I let the hood drop back and keep it fastened around my neck.
Eventually, I run out of steam from laughing and bouncing up and down, and yell to my friends that I need the restroom. Tate asks if I want her to come with, but I wave her off. They already told me the bathroom is just out the door and at the top of the stairs.
They give me explicit instructions to come right back when I’m done and don’t accept drinks from anyone, like I’m a little child who might get lost or stolen.
Instead of being insulted, I find it endearing.
With a wave, I turn and cut through the throng, endorphins from dancing making me feel more confident than I have all night. After turning left once I leave the room, I climb a flight of stairs and find the end of the longest bathroom line in the history of humankind.
I join the line. The only good thing is the music isn’t quite as deafening on this level.
Leaning against the wall, I tip my head back and close my eyes.
As I’m waiting, I feel something vibrate in the pocket of my dress.
When I pull out my phone, my stomach drops.
I have seventeen texts and twelve missed calls, all from my parents.
My parents know Tate and Kendra. They’re trying to give me as much freedom as they think is safe, so they usually don’t give me too hard of a time for occasionally studying late with them, which is what I told them I was doing tonight.
As I scroll through the messages, I realize that they’ve been trying to get a hold of me for the last hour—and when they couldn’t reach me, they went into full panic mode.
I quickly punch in the numbers, nine-one-nineteenth, and hit send. Our code to let them know I’m safe. The ninth, first, and nineteenth letters of the alphabet are I, A, & S. I am safe.
Right after that, I type out a message telling them that my phone went dead and I didn’t realize it.
My stomach churns.
I hate lying to my parents, and the unease growing in my gut starts to make me think this was a mistake.