8. Serena
“You look like a cupcake.”
“Ava Maria, you cannot tell someone that they look like a cupcake.”
Sitting at my makeup vanity mirror, FaceTiming with Cece and Ava, I laugh as I listen to them bicker back and forth about Ava’s remarks on my outfit. She’s not wrong about my appearance; I’m going to a “My Favorite Food” mixer tonight, and my outfit is supposed to emulate a cupcake.
“C, it’s okay. Ava’s not wrong, I do look like a cupcake, but it’s intentional. It’s a messy mixer, and we have to dress like food before, well, we get covered in food.”
I’m surprised by the silence that follows my explanation. Looking up, I see the confused expressions on my two friends’ faces. “What?”
CeCe clears her throat, shaking her head before asking, “Are you saying that they’re going to throw food on you at a party? That can’t be a real thing.”
Gnawing on my lower lip, I try to find the words to explain the party I’m getting ready for. With a three-dimensional candle headband, a red bandeau top with glitter and cream-colored fabric gathered to look like frosting, and a red skirt, I look like a personified red velvet cupcake.
I didn’t even dress up for Halloween last year, so a DIY cupcake outfit in February is not something I saw coming.
“It’s not exactly food. Well, it’s edible, but it’s not like they’re throwing baked goods or a steak at you when you walk in. Meg told me that the seniors in the fraternity and sorority each get a bottle of syrup and whipped cream and that it gets very messy.”
“That sounds unsanitary. Are you sure this is a good idea?” CeCe questions, concern lacing her voice.
“It sounds fun, you old hag. Don’t bring Serena down when she’s so excited that she’s dressed like a limited-edition Hostess cupcake,” Ava offers.
Punching Ava in the arm, CeCe murmurs, “Shut up, Ava. Serena—” She pauses, turning her attention back to me and gentling her voice. “I don’t want to ruin your good time; I’m just telling you to be careful. It makes me uncomfortable that we’re not there with you. We went to the last mixer with you, and everyone was great, but still, if something happens, we’re over one hundred miles away. Don’t accept drinks from strangers; be cautious. Okay?” Greyson’s dad, Greg Jansen, is hosting a charity event this weekend, and Greyson and Dante took Ava and CeCe up to Connecticut to support him. Ava and CeCe tried to get me to come, but I had no desire to be the fifth wheel in the group.
“C, I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl, and I can handle myself. Meg is picking me up before we go over to the pre-game.” I met Meg, my big and a senior in Alpha Gamma, at the beginning of the semester in my diaspora class, and she convinced me to sign up for Round Robin. Before meeting Meg, Greek life was not something I was interested in, especially after the recruitment party Ava, CeCe, and I attended during the fall semester and one of the sisters, Felicity, displayed erratic and dangerous behavior toward Ava. But Meg convinced me to give it a chance. Though I’m not as active as most of the other sisters, and rarely attend chapter meetings because of my conflicting class schedule, everyone I’ve met has been welcoming and friendly.
“Make sure you turn your location on. If you need us, call, and I can always send one of my cousins over to help. Or Lincoln, he stayed back, but I think he’s working until close at Frankie’s restaurant. Just stay in touch with us, okay?”
Thoughts of CeCe’s cousins—or, more accurately, cousin—have my heart pounding in my chest, and I fight to retain a neutral expression. Adopting one of CeCe’s signature moves, I roll my eyes and laugh. “Okay, Mom.”
“I’m serious, Rena. As a group, we don’t exactly have the greatest experiences at parties. I don’t like feeling like we abandoned you, you little shit.” I wince because she’s not wrong. Starting with the first party that we went to, where I was verbally attacked by Marina and then kicked out of the party by Devin, followed by Ava’s encounter with Felicity, the sorority girl who was obsessed with Grey and tried to kill Ava, at the barbecue Grey hosted. Not to mention the Campus Hotties incident at the party on Ava’s birthday, where innocent mirror selfies of Ava and CeCe became dirty, distorted images with vile names and their contact information.
My God, we have a bad track record. But that is still not stopping me from going tonight.
Letting out a sigh, I grab my phone from where it rests against my vanity and look directly at the screen. “You didn’t abandon me; I told you that I didn’t want to come up this weekend because I’d feel like a fifth wheel.”
“That’s—” Ava starts, but I cut her off.
“No, that’s exactly what it would have been. I’m so happy for both of you and that you have great guys in your life. But not everything has to include me, especially when it’s a couple’s thing. It’s starting to feel like I’m a pity invite or an obligation rather than your friend.”
“Rena, no. That’s not why we invite you.” Ava’s voice is stern, a tone that rarely accompanies her words. “We invite you and hang out with you because you’re our friend, and we love you. So, like CeCe always tells me, stop with that self-deprecating bullshit, my little butterfly and silence those intrusive thoughts that make you question everything.” She twists her lips, pausing. “Except drugs, white vans, and alcohol from strangers. Your intrusive thoughts can turn back on for those things. That’s important.”
CeCe takes the phone from Ava, moving her out of the frame. “Those aren’t intrusive thoughts; that’s common sense. Rena, we love you; just be safe. Call us if you need anything.”
“And you look like a hot piece of ass,” Ava calls out, making me blush.
“Thanks, and I love you guys, too. I’ll text you tomorrow. Have a great time at the charity event tonight.” I hang up quickly, breathing out a long breath as soon as the phone screen goes black. It feels strange having people outside of my mother care about me and my well-being, but I can’t say I’m not grateful. Though Dylan was my best friend and confidant, I couldn’t rely on him for everything. When I was upset, struggling, or needed advice, I would bypass him and consult my mother or keep my emotions locked up, firmly ensconced inside me.
Having two friends who care so deeply for me feels like a novelty, and while I’m endlessly grateful, I’m also determined to gain independence and experiences that have been denied to me because of my age and academic advancement.
A horn beeps outside my building, followed by my phone screen lighting up with a notification. Grabbing my phone, I swipe to open the latest text.
Meg: Hey! I’m outside. Come down when you’re ready :)
Taking one last look in my vanity mirror, I note the subtle changes in my appearance that have made the biggest impact on my psyche. My hair is blonder, brighter, and bolder than it’s ever been. I’ve always kept my hair short and highlighted with caramel streaks, but after everything that happened during the fall semester, I cut it to an asymmetrical bob and added blonde highlights to my face frame. The effect was staggering. My skin looks more illuminated, my brown eyes more golden, and my jawline more pronounced.
For the first time, I don’t look like a high school student who got lost during her campus tour and never left. I look like an adult, and more importantly, I feel like one.
Typing out a quick text, I let Meg know I’m on my way down and shut the lights off behind me. Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly, excitement coursing through my veins for the night to come.
—
I am covered in chocolate syrup, my phone is shattered, my jaw is tender from where I took an accidental elbow to the face, and I locked myself in a bathroom after a disastrous encounter with Dylan.
In short, this is the worst night of my life.
“Serena, Little, come out. I’ll have one of the sober drivers take us back to the house, and we’ll clean up and watch movies in the living room,” Meg calls from the other side of the door, concern lacing her voice. I hear grumbling, followed by pounding on the door, and nearly break.
But I am not going back out there. I should have gone to Connecticut with Ava and CeCe or stayed home in the quiet solitude of my apartment. Hell, I would rather watch paint dry than be here right now.
“Serena, I’m calling Celeste. If you won’t let me help, then I’m going to find someone who will.” I cringe, knowing that though CeCe won’t gloat that she was right to be concerned about this party, she will be extra protective of me. I don’t bother responding to Meg and instead just drop to the floor, curling in on myself while I replay the last hour in my mind.
When I first got into Meg’s car, I couldn’t stop laughing at the strawberry costume she wore and how indecent it was. Dressed in a red corset, tiny spandex shorts, and a red headband, she looked more like a lingerie model than an innocuous piece of fruit. In comparison, I felt overdressed.
My feelings changed when we got to the party; I was grateful for the clothing I had on since it provided an extra layer between me and the chocolate syrup that was squirted on us as soon as we stepped through the front door. I barely had a chance to take in the plastic covering the walls of the house like a scene from Dexter before a stream of chocolate pelted my skin and clothing like a water gun game at the boardwalk. Meg’s scream of surprise was followed by laughter as her boyfriend, Eric, wrapped her in his arms after the assault.
As soon as they started making out, I ran to the basement, where most people were dancing in the middle of the cinderblock room, and migrated toward a makeshift DJ station in the far corner. Syrup and whipped cream flew rampant down there, too, and I found myself knocked on the floor by a bony elbow to the face when I tried to shield myself from the onslaught. My phone dropped as I fell, and before even checking, I knew the screen was smashed.
I should have known that being reduced to a puddle of chocolate and questionable fluids on a concrete slab, along with a broken phone, was an omen of things to come. But instead, I accepted the profuse apologies of the handsome guy who, unknowingly, tried to incapacitate me.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice a mixture of worry and embarrassment. “Are you okay? Do you need some ice for that? Fuck, your phone.” Offering his hand, I didn’t hesitate to grab it.
Once I was standing, I shook my head and patted myself down to make sure all my body parts were still covered. I tried to emulate Ava, who would brush off the encounter and proceed as though it had never happened. “No, I’m fine. A little sore from your mean jab to the face, though,” I teased before looking down at the broken phone in my hand. “And it looks like I’ll need to go to the store tomorrow. But hey, you could have broken my jaw, so it could always be worse.” I watched as the blood drained from his face. I rushed to add, “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’m fine. It was an accident, and I can get this fixed. Have a great night.” I turned to leave but was stopped by a hand on my wrist. Looking back, I was startled to see the stranger’s handsome face still set in a look of worry.
“Don’t go. Shit, I’m so sorry. Can I pay for your phone? Let me get you a drink, or at least try to make up for the bruise on your face.”
“I—” CeCe’s words filled my head about not accepting things from strangers, like a DARE commercial from the nineties, and I shook my head. “No, I don’t want your money, and I don’t need a drink.”
“Then wait here while I set mine down. Maybe we can dance, or talk?” He seemed so eager, so desperate for me to say yes, that I couldn’t help but nod my head. “Great, don’t leave…” He looked at me, a smile breaking out across his face, before continuing, “What’s your name, beautiful?”
“Serena.”
“Serena. I like it. My name is Jack. Just don’t go anywhere.” I watched him leave, small butterflies erupting in my stomach at the attention paid to me by a handsome stranger. The butterflies were nowhere near as volatile as when I saw Wolf or had his hands jabbing ink into my skin, but I took the fluttering as a positive sign.
Only seconds passed before I felt warm breath on my neck and powerful arms band around my midsection. Startled by the intimacy, I tried to pull away, but the grip around my waist only tightened, preventing me from moving.
“Let go of me.” I struggled, gripping the forearms imprisoning me and trying to break free. A disfigurement on the inside of the thick wrist made me still, freezing me in place as I looked at the decimal mark-like scar.
“Dylan?” As soon as I said his name, the grip holding me in place loosened, and I took the opportunity to spin around, coming face-to-face with my former best friend. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”
“What am I doing?” Dylan chuckled darkly. “What are you doing? You don’t belong here. What fucking happened to you?”
“I became the person I was always supposed to be,” I retorted, taunting him like an idiot instead of disengaging and walking away.
“And you’re proud of that? The Serena I knew would be studying like the good little girl she was rather than half-naked in a basement, panting after some guy’s dick. Devin was right about you; one taste of cock and you became a fucking slut for it.” My slap was so quick, so instinctual, that I didn’t even realize I broke free from his hold to deliver it.
I was about to back away when Dylan grabbed ahold of my wrist and squeezed. “Don’t you ever put your fucking hands on me again. I don’t see your friends here to protect you, and don’t forget, I know you, Serena. I know you can’t defend yourself for shit, so don’t start something you can’t finish.”
I gasped, shocked and disgusted at his words. “Are you threatening me?”
“No, I’m promising you that you won’t get another free shot in.”
“Hey man, let go of her.” I whipped my head around to see Jack standing beside me, a look of confusion adorning his face. “You’re hurting her, let go.”
“It’s nothing she doesn’t deserve,” Dylan replied before pushing off me and stepping back, placing much-needed distance between us. “You fucking changed, Serena. You’re a goddamn embarrassment.”
Jack stepped between us, cutting off Dylan’s line of sight. I didn’t wait for any more verbal harassment; I just ran out of the basement, up the stairs, and into the nearest open door.
Which happens to be this bathroom, where I’m huddled on the floor and contemplating every decision I’ve ever made and every word I’ve ever spoken.
Yelling and crashing erupt outside the bathroom, and I whip my head toward the door. Whoever is out there sounds furious, like a lion trying to break out of a cage. “Where the fuck is she?” a voice growls. Goosebumps travel down my arms, and my body shivers. I know that voice; I’ve dreamt about that voice.
It’s not a lion that’s here; it’s a wolf.