Chapter Thirty-Four
When Kristen arrives, I run outside to meet her, planning to make the most of our time alone before the party.
“You have a CAR!” she shrieks, definitely loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
“I have a car!”
“And your hair looks amazing,” she says, tilting my head to the side to see my mom’s handiwork.
“I know Tupac had a fade, but obviously I wasn’t going to shave my head—”
“This is Halloween after all, not a method acting class—”
“Exactly.” I laugh a little.
With the sun down, the October chill is fierce. A breeze blows and I can feel it on my scalp, which is refreshing at first until it creeps through the thin fabric of my shirt.
Inside, Kristen helps draw me some thick eyebrows.
I put on a sports bra and the oversized white T-shirt my dad lends me, the front tucked into a pair of boxers I bought from Target, loose-fitting boyfriend jeans, and my Air Force 1’s.
I was torn between those and the Timberlands, but Vincent reminded me that sometimes Val’s parties get busted, and I’ll want to be able to run if necessary. Again, terrifyingly exhilarating.
Once I put on my fake gold chain and Kristen and my mom fight over perfecting the navy-blue bandanna headband to look like the picture of Tupac I pulled up on Google for reference, there’s only one more piece to my costume.
I lean into my vanity, gently pressing the fake mustache against my upper lip, feeling it stick to my skin and knowing there’s no going back, since this is the only fake mustache I have… seeing as I had to do test runs to make sure they’d actually look good on me before today.
Mom helps Kristen with her wig, a black shoulder-length number that rivals Kylo Ren’s glossy locks in Star Wars: The Force Awakens. When she finishes, Kristen stands up, her cape cascading down to her ankles, and she grabs her red lightsaber.
I open my mouth, thinking I’m going to comment on how amazing she looks, but my own voice isn’t the one that speaks first.
“I remember when you girls would get dressed up and watch Halloweentown,” Mom gushes, already holding up her phone.
“Mom.”
“You’re right, the light in the living room is better.”
I don’t even try to hide my exasperated sigh as we’re ushered into the living room, where Dad is sitting on the couch watching a show about people roughing it in Alaska.
“Well, well, well,” he says, pausing the TV so he can focus on us. “Oh, now my eyes can see, that I have my sweet Clarity.”
“Dad,” I moan, flinching when I hear the camera shutter on Mom’s phone.
“I thought you were dead,” Dad says.
Great, Tupac conspiracy humor.
“Or I faked it so that I could slip away and have some peace.”
“You should write sometimes, let your parents know you’re okay,” he says, smiling.
“I’ll think about it.”
The party is alive. Everywhere I look, there’s something to take in—glittering wings, painted faces, costumes that look like they belong on Broadway, and ones that look like they were put together in five minutes.
Music pounds through the floor, rattling in my chest, while the cacophony of voices, laughter, and off-key singing layers over the beat.
Valerie makes her rounds, dazzling in a sequined space cowgirl outfit.
I can’t believe she throws parties like this all the time.
I can’t believe I’m at one of them.
I take another sip of my drink, a small sip since I’m not used to the taste.
The combination of juice, seltzer, and rum is sweeter than I expected, with just enough burn to remind me it’s spiked.
Kristen raises her cup toward me in a silent cheers before knocking back the rest of hers.
How does she do that with a straight face?
Hannah brushes against me—the benefit of being in such a crowded space is that we can stand close together without it meaning anything.
So her shoulder can bump mine, I can drop my hand and my fingers can “accidentally” graze the back of her hand, and when we turn to each other, her elaborate pirate hat towering over us, our faces can be so close that I can smell her shampoo and lose myself in the hazel of her eyes, all in plain sight.
This has to be my best birthday ever.
Kristen holds her phone up for me to see; it’s easier to show me Vincent’s I’m here text than try to shout over the noise.
She points toward the front door, and I nod, taking her hand and Hannah’s to form a chain so we don’t get split up as we cut through the crowd.
Before we can step outside, the door swings open, and Vincent steps in, a smile immediately taking over his face when he lays his eyes on Kristen.
“The whole gang’s here!” he says, his gaze shifting from Kristen to… me. He steps aside—
Maurice.
I freeze. So does Kristen. Hannah’s gaze bounces from me to Maurice, her brows furrowing.
“Hey, Clarity,” Maurice says, stepping around Vincent. “Almost thought I wouldn’t get to see you tonight. Happy birthday.” He pulls me into a hug. His smile, the warmth in his words, the way he doesn’t sound… surprised to see me, all put me on edge.
“Thanks,” I say when we pull apart. I take a small step back.
“What’s going on?” Kristen asks, the first to recover from our collective shock. Her eyes dart between Vincent and Maurice.
“I invited him,” Vincent explains. “He knows Valerie anyway, and I figured you’d want him here,” he says to me.
Right.
“Nice surprise,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. I’m just glad it doesn’t crack given how dry my throat is all of a sudden.
“We’ll be… back,” Kristen says, touching my shoulder. When I look at her, she tilts her head toward me, her brows pinched together: You’re okay, this is okay.
“Sounds good,” I tell her, nodding slightly. I hate this, but I’ve got this.
As I watch them leave, I realize Hannah’s disappeared too.
“You look good,” Maurice says, leaning in. “I like the costume.”
I swallow, fighting the urge to take another step back. I’m supposed to like him. I’m supposed to make it look like I like him. “Thanks. I, uh, like your… old man costume?”
He chuckles, tugging on the collar of his blazer. He has on a fake gray Afro and a bushy mustache to match. “I’m Neil deGrasse Tyson,” he states proudly.
Before I can think of what to say next, someone calls Maurice’s name from across the room. His face lights up when he looks past me, recognizing whoever it is.
“Cool if I catch up with you in a bit?”
“Absolutely,” I say, my smile only half fake this time.
The second Maurice is gone, I beeline to the kitchen. Now I understand why people want stronger drinks.
I pluck a few colorful and clear bottles, scanning labels with a sharp focus that keeps my mind from spiraling. Maurice being here is fine. It’s fine. Vincent was simply trying to do something nice.
I find grape-flavored vodka. Remembering seeing a bottle of sprite, I scour the counter and then turn around, seeing my prize across the room on the kitchen table.
Tonight wasn’t supposed to be about Maurice. I don’t want to slide into that role. I’m already pretending to be Hannah’s friend. I don’t want to spend my birthday pretending I like Maurice, especially not where she has to watch.
Nor do I want to pick up where he and I left off. If what Vincent said about Maurice acting how he did when he got with his ex is true, who’s to say what tonight means to him? What if he tries to kiss me or… what if he asks me to be his girlfriend?
My throat tightens. I should drink something.
I start with the vodka, eyeballing what I hope is twice the amount Kristen put in my first drink. Then I go over to the table, popping some gummy worms in my mouth while I execute a slow pour so that the sprite won’t bubble up and force me to wait for it to simmer before I can add more.
Pretzels. Chocolate. Gummies.
Drink.
Nerds. Chips. Chips and salsa.
Drink.
A slice of pizza from a box that has been sitting on the table open for God knows how long. Another slice.
Drink.
Maurice doesn’t reappear, so I drink some more.
“Come On Eileen” ends—a blessing if you ask me—and “Sex Lies” by Latto comes on, which clearly means it’s time for me to dance.
I squeeze my way into the living room, suddenly not as nervous about being alone in a room full of people I barely know.
More and more people press in, limiting the amount of space there is for any single person to jump around and shake their hips.
Whether more people have arrived or it’s been this crowded since I got here, I don’t know.
And I don’t care. I just start moving, savoring the way the volume of the music drowns out everything else.
A girl dressed as an angel bumps hips with me, her drink sloshing a little and nearly landing on my white tee.
We both look up at the near disaster at the same time, and for some reason this is incredibly hilarious.
I laugh so hard that I feel a cramp trying to take hold in my gut and double over to stop it.
Someone dressed as Luke from Gilmore Girls joins us, the angel rubbing against him in a way that could mean they know each other, or this is what it looks like for them to get to know each other.
I sip my drink, not even cringing as sweet bubbles sting the back of my throat and warm my stomach.
Captain Save a Hoe materializes, getting pushed into our little trio from the crowd surrounding us.
“Sis, you got moves!” Rowena shouts, taking my hand and holding it above my head.
I spin once, then twice, then stop when the room seems to spin faster than me.
“Are you okay?” she asks, leaning in close. “Do you want me to get Hannah?”
“Shhhhhh!” I hold my finger up to my lips and grab her shoulder to keep from tipping over. “You can’t tell anyone, remember?”
I don’t know when she slips my cup from my hand, but I watch Rowena take a sip of my drink, her lips pinching together and then spreading into a smile.
“Jeez.” She’s smiling though, like she’s proud. “Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”