Chapter 4
It takes Evie less than two minutes to get ready. She pulls on jeans, a crop top, and a swipe of dark lipstick.
“Good?” she asks.
“Great,” I say, nodding my approval. She looks amazing.
I stand in front of my closet, staring vacantly, trying to figure out what to wear. It might not even matter because it’s
more than likely Luke won’t recognize me. In fact, I hope he won’t. I hope I’ve changed enough that there isn’t a shred of
my old House of Bricks self left.
I reach for my favorite sweater, but Evie swats my hand away. “No. Bad Claire. You are not wearing jeans and a sweater tonight.”
“Why not?”
I feel good in jeans and a sweater. Safe.
“Because you always do. Here,” Evie says, pulling out a dress from the back of my closet. “Wear this.” Then she goes to her
overnight bag and pulls out a pair of boots she borrowed from her older sister, Kat, when we visited her in Brooklyn. “And
these.”
Knowing better than to argue, I change into the outfit she’s chosen.
I wish I had time to brush my hair or put on a touch more makeup, but Evie is already dragging me down the stairs. When she gets to the front door, she freezes and says, “Wait. Shit. Hold on.” She turns around and sprints back up the stairs. She’s back a minute later. “Okay. Ready.”
Nothing looks different. “What’d you forget?”
She shakes the shoes in her hand. Ah. She’d had on a pair of Adidas but is now holding the Jordans that Eddie saved up to
get her as a surprise. She keeps half her shoes—and some of her clothes—at my house because she’s outgrown her own closet.
“I don’t wear them enough, and I can tell it hurts his feelings.”
I take her arm in mine. “Ah, the things we do for love.”
“Damn,” Evie says when we get to Chelsea’s house. “Talk about a party.”
The air has a damp chill to it, and it’s one of the first nights that feels like autumn is here for real. Neither of us brought
a coat, so we walk fast toward the house. A line of cars stretches down the block, and we can hear the bass thumping from
out here. My blood pressure spikes. Both because it gives me an ulcer to imagine throwing a party like this, and also because
this must mean we weren’t the only ones who heard the rumor Luke is here.
Which means . . . maybe it’s true.
The music is even louder when we get inside.
“You guys made it!” Eddie shouts happily, fighting his way through the crowd to come over to us.
I still do a double take whenever I see him, because he shaved off his locs a week ago and he looks so different.
I haven’t heard the end of it from Evie, because she misses them so much—which is ironic given how much she changes her own hair.
“What up, Claire?” he says, before he bear-hugs and kisses Evie.
Eddie and Evie are one of those rare couples who aren’t annoying to be with. Probably because they’ve been together for so
long—since middle school. I’d be shocked if they didn’t stay together through college. In fact, the romantic in me hopes they
do.
When he pulls away, he looks her up and down, and then his eyes widen. “Babe!”
“What?” Evie says in alarm. “What is it?”
Eddie bends down. “You got paint on them!”
“Did I?” Evie peers at her feet. “Oh. Would you look at that? I did. Good thing it’s only a drop.”
“‘Only a drop,’ she says! These are special edition!” He scratches gently at the spot on her shoe with his fingernail. “Is
it acrylic or water-based?”
Along with being the cocaptain of our school’s basketball team, Eddie’s also an artist, which Evie says is like catnip to
her parents.
“Ummmm,” Evie says. “I’m not sure?”
He puts his face in his hands dramatically. “You’re going to be the death of me, woman.”
“Hey!” someone shouts over the din of the music, and I feel a hand on my arm. I turn, anxious to see who it is. But it isn’t Luke, thank God. It’s Ben Wilson.
“Oh, hey,” I yell back.
Even if things between us fizzled out, I still like being around Ben. He’s got this warm, focused energy that makes you feel
like he’s paying attention to you. He’s an inch shorter than me, but his face is so handsome and he’s so confident that you
don’t notice or care. His eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. “A rare sighting of the elusive Claire Hopper. I’m glad you came.
Can I get you a drink? A cup of foamy, warm beer, maybe?”
I laugh. “Thanks, that’s very tempting, but I don’t really drink.”
I can’t help but scan the crowd behind him.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asks, leaning closer.
“In fact, yes, we are,” Evie says. She also surveys the room, which is dimly lit and crowded with people, before turning to
Eddie. “So where is he?”
“Who?” Eddie asks.
Evie swats him. “Lucas Cordova! The entire reason we came here in the first place.”
“Lucas Cordova?” Ben says. “The actor?”
I feel sick waiting for Eddie to answer. Is he in the living room? The backyard?
“Oh yeah.” Eddie grins sheepishly. “False alarm. Just a tall dude from Halston Prep with a similar haircut.”
“Great. Thanks for telling us sooner.” She turns to me. “Sorry I dragged you out.”
“It’s okay.” In fact, it’s more than okay.
Because of course he’s not here. He’s a celebrity. Fully A-list now. He’s surely made millions from his various projects, most notably the
HBO miniseries that served as his “adult debut,” and the blockbuster apocalypse franchise he completed earlier this year.
It doesn’t matter that he’s around our age. It doesn’t matter that we were friends years ago, before he was this famous. We
might as well be two different species now.
This means I can finally rest assured that my carefully constructed facade won’t crumble.
But later, as Evie softly snores next to me in my bed and I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but feel a sense of having lost
something.