30. Shadow #2
Three phone call attempts later, and anxiety riddles every inch of me.
As far as I knew, Maggie had gotten a ride tonight, she planned on getting drunk, and the party she was attending supposedly promised a night of debauchery.
Sure, it didn’t add up to anything good, but I figured the worst would be a mild hangover and maybe doing the Walk of Shame.
Maggie being so shitfaced that she can’t even operate her own phone?
That’s something else entirely.
It’s the kind of thing that can lead to something dangerous, if the wrong sort of guy comes along.
I thank the Lord when my phone finally sounds off with Mags’ name dancing across the screen. “I’m gonna kill you,” I sigh.
My friend giggles hysterically on the other end of the line, and much to my annoyance (and none of my surprise), she sounds wasted. “Well, if that ain’t a fine how-do-you-do?”
That’s the thing about Maggie. She may bounce back like none other from a hangover, but she’s just as capable as the rest of us when it comes to getting shitfaced.
“Did you text S.O.S. ?” I ask.
“Whaaaat?” There’s some fumbling on the other line, and then she abruptly cackles, evidently looking at her phone. “I meant to say ‘sex’ in the first message, but I misspelled it.”
“Yeah, you misspelled everything .”
She must hear the motherly tone of concern in my voice, because she lets out the most theatrical sigh. “Relax, I’m perfectly fine. The real question is, how are you? Did A certain British peninsula make allies with your American port? Hint-hint, wink-wink.”
“What?”
“IS WES SCREWING YOUR brAINS OUT RIGHT NOW?” she damn-near yells over the music.
“Yeah, I was on the brink of an orgasm but stopped everything to call you,” I say flatly. “No, I was with Jase, actually, but he just left.”
“YOU FUCKED JASE?”
“No.” I try to muzzle my irritation, not to mention the bile threatening to come back up at the thought of him and Natasha together.
Despite my best attempt to talk to Maggie, the other end of the call is so overwhelmed by cheering and music and what sounds like a siren of some kind that I can barely hear her. “Where are you?”
“At a party!” she shrieks with drunken glee. “Which is where you should be. Forget about the douchecanoe, and come join me. We just started doing body shots, and the floor started doing this tilty thing. It’s so weird!”
I groan. “What party, Maggie?”
“I don’t know… A big one, I guess.”
Jesus, she’s five sheets to the wind.
“Yes, because that’s helpful.”
“That bitchy girl and Trent are here,” she hiccups between drunkenly singing the completely wrong lyrics to Ed Sheeran’s “Don’t.”
Oh shit.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
“Maggie! You need to leave!”
The thought of my best friend completely shitfaced and vulnerable around either of those two sends my heart from a gallop into a jackhammering frenzy.
“Maggie! Did you hear me?
“Huh?”
“Can you order a rideshare?”
“And get picked off by the Boogedy Man? No thank you,” she sing-songs.
“You have to get out of there! Do you at least remember the street you’re on?”
“Londonberry… No, Londonmerry. Or was it London-ferry?”
“Listen to me. Just stop whatever it is that you’re doing, and don’t drink or take anything anyone gives you. You understand?”
“Oh, okay, Mom.”
“Maggie, I’m serious! I’m coming to get you, okay? Answer your phone when I call back, and meet me out front.”
“You seriously need to pull the stick outta your ass and loosen up. Forget about Fuck Face Jase and his gorgeous bod, and have some fun!” Maggie hollers something that sounds like, “Eat glue,” and a bunch of slurring voices around her begin chanting with her.
I try to talk again, but either the call cuts out or she ends it, leaving my heart lodged in my throat.
Turning to the back door of the restaurant, I’m all too relieved to see Reed come barreling out, his long legs eating up the distance between him and his car in just a few paces.
When I call out his name, he actually jumps a little. The guy isn’t the type to startle easily, so I can assume it’s the panic in my voice that catches him off guard.
I’m proven correct when I ask him for a ride, because despite his body language giving off the impression he’s in a hurry, he still demands to know what’s wrong.
Though the parties hosted on the north side of town may not be invitation-only, the upper crust makes it a habit not to let the “less-than-desirables” from the south side know about it, so when I give Reed a quick overview, I’m grateful and more than a little surprised by his answer.
“You’re in luck. I’m heading to the same place.”
The bass from the dance music pulsates through the pavement all the way down the block. Despite my repeated attempts to get a hold of Maggie again, she still won’t answer any of my calls or texts.
I have no choice.
I have to enter hostile territories.
The Eastons live up north on the waterfront in a historic monstrosity of a castle, but the family still has several other properties in town, one of which is on this very street.
I’ve never been to the house, but even I know the parents let Trent and his younger brother use it to throw parties.
Sure, just because they own property here doesn’t mean it’s hosting this particular bash, but my luck right now is just that shitty.
The fact that none of the neighbors have called in a noise complaint only lends credence to my fears. Only the Eastons could be immune to the busybodies of the HOA, since nobody’s dumb enough to report them.
The entire block is lined with parked cars, so we have to double back on foot to the house in question.
Teenagers and young twenty-somethings can be seen gyrating inside through the front windows, given the contemporary style has most of the floor plan made of glass.
Red Solo cups litter the walkway, and we have to strategically pivot our feet all the way up to the porch, trying to avoid the mysterious, sticky liquids splattered all over the stairs.
Despite never attending any house parties back in high school, I’m still very well aware of Ravenswood’s reputation for having some seriously fucked up bashes.
Last summer, Brad Phillips dropped acid and wound up running buck-naked across his neighbors’ front lawns, only to pick up what he thought was a dog down by the sidewalk.
Given the dozen rabies shots he had to get, it’s safe to assume the cuddly creature was actually a raccoon.
I shudder to think of what kind of substances are in circulation tonight. With Maggie already shitfaced, there’s no knowing what she may have taken since hanging up on me, and the fact this is Trent’s house only makes the prospect all the more terrifying.
The second we come in through the front door, Lindsey Coffman homes in on us, or rather Reed. She nudges Sienna, who’s standing beside her, and they both take a good, long look at him.
“As they say, the freaks come out at night.” Sienna laughs and starts to turn back around…until she realizes Reed didn’t come here alone. Her eyes narrow slightly, and an all too familiar smile spreads across her face. “Well, if Hell hasn’t frozen over. Isn’t it past little Birdie’s bedtime?”
Neither Reed nor I are in the mood to be dealing with her bullshit right now, so we don’t give her a second glance, heading across the foyer—
But the Queen Bee and her minion charge over, blocking the hallway leading to the back of the house.
“Yeah, I didn’t think birds came out at night,” Lindsey says, inciting an eye roll from me so hard that I’m surprised they stay in the sockets.
“Guess you’ve never heard of a nightingale. Or an owl,” I say flatly. “Now, if you’d please, before this conversation kills any more of my brain cells—” I start to move around the pair, but Sienna cuts in front of me again, so close the tang of alcohol on her breath assaults me.
“The party’s invitation only. You don’t have one, you don’t get in.” She sweeps her brown locks off her shoulder and eyes me up and down like I’m covered in fungus. “So, does ugly baby Birdie have an invitation?”
“Yeah, it’s at the bottom of your drink,” I say, looking down at the blue liquored concoction in her hand. “Don’t worry. If you’re half the alcoholic your mother is, you’ll find it in no time.”
“Bitch—!”
I go to step around her again, but a pair of hands slams into the front of my shoulders, the force hard enough to knock me back into Reed.
Sienna’s lips may as well be dripping with venom by the way she flashes her smile at me, every bit the predator. “Olivia may not be here, but I know for a fact that Trent is. I’d say a little locker room reunion is in order, wouldn’t you? And I’m sure he’ll be all too happy to give you an encore.”
The threat is implicit, but I’m past trying to temper myself. Not with this bitch. I refuse to give her the satisfaction of even blinking at the response. “Why? Does he want more stitches in his hand? Perhaps I’ll switch up the repertoire and give him a retractile testicle instead.”
Sienna’s smirk only grows as she lowers her voice so that I’m sure only I can hear it.
“It’s almost cute that you think you have any power here, but clearly it’s about time you were reminded of your place.
Whether it’ll be tonight, or when you’re leaving that piece of shit restaurant after a late shift, or when your family’s away at some fundraiser, you’re eventually going to find yourself alone.
And when that happens, don’t think we won’t come a-knockin’.
A concussion will be the least of your problems.”
Lindsey clears her throat, loudly, and it’s only then that Sienna seems to remember I didn’t come here on my own. A silent but fuming Reed cuts in front of me, and both girls have enough sense to stagger back.