Chapter 10 #2
After that, I type, delete, and re-type four different messages to Wes, each one lamer than the last. After five minutes of this, I decide to be apologetic but straightforward.
Me: Hi. I’m sorry, but I can’t do Saturday after all.
He replies almost instantly.
Wes: Aw, bummer! What about Sunday?
I blink at his message, my lips twitching down into a frown. Kaden said that Sunday is his actual birthday. He could do anything, so why would he want to spend it practicing his speech with me?
My fingers hover over the keypad as I debate my words. I want to mention his birthday but can’t for obvious reasons.
Me: That works!
Wes: What’s going on Saturday, if you don’t mind my asking?
I quickly wrack my brain for a reply, trying not to be suspicious. I’ll crawl into a hole and never come out if I’m the person to ruin the surprise.
Me: I forgot I have a study group for Art History.
It’s not a total lie. There is a study group that meets on Saturdays for my Art History class. I’m just not in it.
Wes: Tell them I’m jealous they get to steal you away from me :(
I stare at his words, conscious of the way my heart does this weird flippy thing in response and then scold myself for that sort of reaction. He’s just being his usual charming self. He’s not actually disappointed. Because that would be…that would be crazy.
Wouldn’t it?
I’m a bundle of nerves Friday night, and by the time Saturday comes, I’m in full-on freak-out mode.
I don’t do parties, and I have to stop myself from texting Quinn that it’s off about once an hour.
By seven, I’m so in my head that the world starts to warp around me.
Colors appear brighter. The room seems smaller. My hands don’t feel like my hands.
The longer I stare at my closet, the more confused I am on what to wear.
Every article of clothing I own is somehow too casual, yet too dressy.
Too sexy, yet too immature. And don’t get me started on makeup.
I spend thirty minutes alone deciding on a lip color and end up settling on the same tinted ChapStick I apply every damn day.
You can’t blame me, though. One tiny little decision can mean the difference between a good night and a bad one. One drink too many, one idiotic comment, one wrong move can turn everything sour.
I know from experience.
Don’t think about it.
I’m still debating which shade of denim is the most flattering when a knock sounds against my bedroom door. I toss the three options onto my pillow with a sigh. “Come in.”
Quinn peeks her head in, takes one look at the mountain of clothing piled on my bed, and steps fully into the room. “Judging by the fact that you’re still wearing your pajamas, I can only assume you’re freaking out.”
I nod because it’s all I can manage.
She holds her hands up in front of her in a calming gesture. “Okay. Don’t freak. Everything is fine.”
I try taking a deep breath, but it’s hot in this room and there’s too much fabric everywhere and my clothes all suck and this whole night is probably a horrible, terrible idea, anyway, and—
“Breathe,” Quinn urges, guiding me to my desk chair. She gently pushes me down.
“This whole thing is a mistake,” I blurt.
Quinn shakes her head. “It’s not a mistake. You’re just overwhelmed. Let’s start with clothes.”
I scan over Quinn’s outfit, wondering how the hell she manages to look like all the things I aspire to be tonight.
Self-assured and stylish and sexy, but not like she’s trying too hard—though I suppose the tattoos help with the whole effortlessly cool thing.
She rifles through my clothes, retrieving a top with lace sleeves and a pair of black jeans from the pile.
“Try these with those black boots you wear sometimes.”
I take the hangers from her outstretched hand, eyeing them with skepticism. “Okay.”
“Trust me. While you change, I’m gonna grab you some jewelry. I have the perfect hoops and necklace to go with that look.”
“Quinn, no. I can’t wear your jewelry.”
“Of course you can! Now, get dressed and meet me out there when you’re done.”
She shuts the door before I can protest further, leaving me alone with the clothes.
Sighing, I tug off my sweats and slip on the outfit, surprised when I actually like the way the two pieces pair together.
I’ve been so indifferent to fashion lately—I’m not even sure what my personal style is anymore besides your basic t-shirt and jeans.
I’d give anything for Quinn’s confidence and unique sense of self-expression, but sadly, I don’t possess either.
After lacing up my boots and running a brush through my hair, I meet Quinn out in the kitchen.
“You look incredible!” she says, and passes me a pair of silver earrings and a chunky, layered choker necklace. “Mr. No-Name’s gonna be saying ‘happy birthday to me,’ if you know what I mean.”
I snort, slipping on the hoops. “I’m sure he’ll have much better things to concern himself with.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve clearly got some level of importance if his roommates felt the need to invite you.”
I shrug. While I understand her logic is technically sound, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around it. It’s hard for me not to doubt it when I’ve been second-guessing everything all day long. “I guess.”
Quinn helps me secure the necklace and then nods at the door. “Ready to go?”
Reaching for my jacket, I sigh. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Quinn makes a face at my parka. “You can’t wear a jacket, Ivy. That defeats the whole outfit. Plus, then you’ll be stuck carrying it around, or else have to toss it on some beer-drenched, piss-soaked, basement floor, and good luck finding it again if that happens.”
“This isn’t a frat party,” I remind her. “There shouldn’t be any,” I wrinkle my nose, “piss-soaked floors.”
But even so, I understand her point, and I set my jacket back on the counter. I’d like the second layer of protection between me and the outside world, but I’d hate to lose the jacket if it’s warm inside. Satisfied with my decision, Quinn leads us out of the apartment.
Wes’s house isn’t far from campus, but I offer to drive since I’m not drinking. We park on a side road, two blocks down from the house, and step out into the chilly, night air.
Huddling together, we hurry down the first block, reading house numbers as we pass them by. It’s pointless, though. Once we cross the street, there’s no mistaking which house the party is at.
We come to a halt on the freezing sidewalk, shocked by the crowd gathered on the front lawn.
“I thought it was supposed to be invite only,” I mutter, anxiety creeping up my spine.
“They’re turning people away,” Quinn says, pointing to a group of dejected girls walking away from the house. She snickers. “Suckers. We’ve got the hook-up.”
“Quinn,” I say, my voice wary.
“It will be fine. I won’t let you out of my sight, okay? And if it’s lame, we’ll say hello to your man—”
“—he’s not my man—”
“—grab some free drinks, and we’ll dip. We’ll go home and watch The Two Towers like the cool people we are. Deal?”
“That honestly sounds preferable right now,” I mutter.
She pats my arm. “I’m sure it does. But we’re already here, and you look amazing. Give it a shot, at least, otherwise all that stress was for nothing.”
I heave a sigh, and we continue forward even though my feet have gone numb. My hands too. But Quinn guides us to the back of the line, and we begin to inch closer to the door.
I’m so focused on the people in front of me that I don’t notice Alexis Cane until she’s practically on top of us. Flanked by her friends, she’s walking away from the door with the same annoyed expression as all the other people being turned away.
Alexis freezes on the stairs when she sees me, causing Madison to barrel into her from behind. Her lip curls, and she gives me a blatant once-over. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
My stomach knots at the disgust in her voice. I don’t say a word, but I can feel Quinn’s confusion beside me.
Alexis laughs. “You can’t actually think you’re getting into this party, can you? It’s invite only.”
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even though I’m completely on edge. I say nothing in response, not wanting to risk my stutter making an appearance in front of all these people.
Alexis rolls her eyes, shaking her head like I’m a moron, and continues down the steps with her lackeys following behind. She mutters, “Fucking delusional as ever,” before she reaches the grass.
“Who the hell is that?” Quinn whispers, but I don’t get the chance to explain because we’ve just made it to the door.
I recognize the guy with the clipboard as one of Wes’s housemates from the night I left my key, but when he doesn’t recognize me, unease thrums through me.
“Now this I’ve got to see,” Alexis sneers to her friends. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me they’re waiting on the lawn, watching our pending rejection with knowing smirks.
“Name?” the guy practically barks.
I shift, nerves getting the best of me, and my name gets stuck for a second before finally breaking free. “I-Ivy Combs.”
It takes a moment for my words to register, but once they do, his face breaks out into a welcoming smile, making it clear the stern, no-nonsense demeanor is an act to keep people out.
“Oh, hey, Ivy. Kaden.” My shoulders sag in relief when he juts out his hand.
I give him a timid smile as I give it a shake. “Nice to officially meet you.”
“You, um, too.” I gesture to the girl beside me. “This is my friend, Quinn.”
He nods at her. “Hey, Quinn. Great to meet you. You two head on in. I’ll find you later.”
“Thanks,” I manage, in disbelief that went so smoothly.
I glance back at Alexis as I enter the house, only to find her staring at me incredulously. A smug sense of satisfaction spreads through me at her shocked face.
“Who’s delusional now?” Quinn calls over her shoulder, but I tug her inside before Alexis’s shock has a chance to morph into rage. When the door shuts behind us, I blow out a shaky breath.
Stepping further into the house, we glance around the decorated interior.
The ceiling is draped with school-colored streamers, and football balloons fill every empty corner.
Quinn freezes, her jaw dropping at the giant blue banner that says, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR #1 DOC!” and she slowly turns to face me.
“Ivy?”
“Yeah?”
“How could you not tell me we were attending the birthday party of the most popular guy on campus?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “It didn’t seem important?”
Her hands reach out to grip my upper arms, and she gives me a little shake. “That’s the guy you’re talking to? Wes Tucker? I can’t believe this!”
“It’s not a big deal,” I try to say, but Quinn shakes her head like I’m an idiot.
“This is a huge deal!”
Muttering to herself, she drags me away from the doorway and deeper into the house.
The air is humid from the number of bodies, and although it’s not as claustrophobic as I thought it would be, it’s definitely not up to code.
I scan the interior, searching until my eyes land on the reason we’re all here.
He’s impossible to miss, and not just because of his stature. Wes stands in the kitchen, full-belly laughing at something with his head thrown back and his eyes closed shut. When he opens them, his gaze locks with mine across the room. His laughter dies as he stares at me in surprise.
I swallow, shifting on my feet.
Here it is. The moment of truth.