Chapter 4
Maybe he’s a student at Payen. Does the registrar have a database with picture IDs?
“Can I have one of your cookies?” Delia nudges the small stack of snickerdoodles on my tray.
“Go for it,” I say distractedly. How would I get access to that database? I wonder how hard it is to break into the registrar’s office.
“Anyway,” Delia says, her mouth full of cookie, “I still can’t believe this guy said that on the first day! And that he was twenty minutes late, walking in with that sort of you’re welcome for my presence attitude.”
“Uh-huh.” I stab at the gelatinous Salisbury steak on my plate. Delia reaches across the table and grabs another cookie. Even if I broke into the registrar’s office, I’d probably need a password to access the database, right? Who would even have that?
“And then when that douche and the professor whipped out their little baguettes and started sword fighting in front of the entire class. Right?”
I sit up straight, blink at Delia. “Huh? Sword fighting? What are you…” Delia raises her brows at me. Immediately, I feel ashamed. “I’m so sorry. I know I wasn’t listening. I was…Wait. Did you just call a boy’s…thingie a baguette?”
“Did you just call a boy’s penis a thingie?”
“Fair point.” I push away my tray, fold my arms on the table, and put my head down, groaning. “Ugh. Maybe I am just a stupid six-year-old.”
“Julian really did a number on you, huh?” I feel a gentle pat on my head. “Don’t listen to that asshole.”
I debate for a moment about telling her the truth.
In the end, I go for the safe, tried-and-true half-truth.
“It’s not just Julian,” I say, peering up at her.
“I…” I chew my lip. “Have you ever…been super sure you were over someone, so sure you had moved on, and then, out of nowhere, like, completely relapsed?”
Delia narrows her eyes thoughtfully. After a moment, she thumps her palm on the table.
“If that’s the problem, I know just the cure.”
“Oh yeah?” I perk up. “What is it?”
Delia stands up, stretching, and gives me a wicked grin. “It’ll be easier to show you.”
—
“But it’s a Tuesday!” I call after Delia. “It’s a school night!” How is she walking so fast in heels in this gravel parking lot? My borrowed pumps are only two inches, and I’m fighting for my life here, shivering violently in the little black number Delia insisted I wear.
“Rosie, less griping, more striding.” Delia flashes a perfect smile at me over her shoulder.
She looks stunning, of course, in an all-sequins sheath dress, her ten-mile-long legs looking even longer in her six-inch heels.
I nearly stumble in the gravel, and Delia shoots me a sympathetic look.
With shocking grace, she’s by my side, holding me steady.
“I promise you’ll have the night of your life.
I asked around. The Ballroom is the hottest club in the area. ”
As if on cue, we both look up, and a strong wind parts the mist to reveal a beautiful modern building made completely of glass. Each floor pulses with a different neon color: the first floor bubble gum pink, the second electric blue, and the third floor a shocking red.
“Here.” Delia slips a fake ID into my hand.
“I look nothing like her,” I yelp, staring buggy-eyed at the beautiful blonde in my photo.
“You do tonight, Giselle.” She winks at me and pulls me toward the entrance.
My heart pounds as Delia and I flash our fake IDs at the bouncer, but he seems more interested in the teasing smile Delia gives him than in checking how old we are.
“See?” she says, tucking the ID into her purse. “Men are easy peasy.”
“You certainly make it seem that way,” I say. “I have no clue how you did that.”
“Give me a couple days to show you the ropes. You’ll be running circles around me in no time.” Delia guides me from the small atrium into the heart of the Ballroom, and my mouth falls open.
I’ve only seen clubs in movies or television shows, but nothing I’ve seen on-screen was this impressive.
This room seems to be the main dance space.
The ceiling is impossibly high; it must cut through all four floors.
All the neon colors are flashing in time to a deep, delicious bass rumbling my chest. It’s loud, impossibly loud.
Delia’s right beside me, and she’s laughing, her lips moving, and I can only hear the techno beat and synthetic instruments.
Everyone here is young, hot, and, despite the cold weather outside, showing a lot of skin. It makes me feel a little better, actually; Delia’s dress is surprisingly short and low-cut on me, but when a girl walks by wearing a metal bikini, I’m not as self-conscious.
The club has a fog machine going on the dance floor, and people are rocking against each other in the waist-deep mist, jumping and howling beneath the colorful strobe lights.
The hot air is thick with sweat and perfume, and I can’t take my eyes off the swinging prismatic cages hanging from the ceiling, each one with a gorgeous dancer undulating to the music.
“What do you think?” Delia shouts in my ear.
“I…think I need a drink,” I shout back, wide-eyed and completely overwhelmed.
“Yes, ma’am.” Delia steers me toward the outskirts of the giant room, where people are sitting at the black-marble-topped bar. She deposits me at an empty high-top table and flits off to get the first round.
I’ll give Delia this: It’s pretty hard to think about the fact that I saw him today with all that’s going on.
An electric-violet shot appears before me on the table.
It’s the same color as his eyes when they caught the bright beam of the truck headlights, just for a microsecond, before he whirled me out of Death’s way.
Pretty hard to think about him, but never, it would seem, impossible.
“Stop thinking about him,” Delia shouts, looking at my face. “Drink up. We’re here to forget.” We clink shot glasses and throw them both back. I cough, wiping my mouth. Jesus, that’s strong. “You know,” Delia says silkily, “if this doesn’t work, the other quickest way to get over someone…”
I huff a laugh, fiddling with my empty shot glass. “I know this one. ‘The quickest way to get over someone is to get under someone else.’ ”
“Perfect!” She beams. “You’re already ahead of the game! Here, I got two shots for each of us, drink.” She slides a peach-colored shot in front of me, and I take it.
“I’ve never been ahead of any game,” I shout. My head feels like it’s fizzy, and my blood’s already kind of warm. Damn, these shots work fast. “I’ve never even dated anyone.”
“How is that possible?” Delia howls. “Look at you! You’re fucking stunning!
” I roll my eyes, feeling my face flame.
I don’t even feel like myself right now, with the heavy eyeliner and mascara and my hair smelling like champagne and coated in expensive, glossy serum, all courtesy of Delia.
I look like someone braver. Someone louder.
Delia points. “See that tall, good-looking guy with shaggy blond hair? His friend’s not bad either.”
I spot them, the two guys Delia’s pointing at. They’re already looking our way. Both are tall, though Delia’s blond is the taller of the two boys. The other guy is pretty cute too, with close-cropped hair, intense eyes, and the tattoo of a cross on his biceps.
“Okay,” I say. “Now what?”
“Watch.” Delia shoots a thousand-watt smile at the blond, holding up our empty glasses and pouting dramatically. Immediately, he elbows his friend and holds up a finger before they both disappear into the crowd.
“Okay?” I say, blinking at Delia.
“Give it a minute,” she says.
Sure enough, in a minute or so, both boys appear at our table, holding two beers and two unopened cans of hard seltzer.
“Alright,” says the blond, “a pair of watermelon White Claws for the two most beautiful girls at the Ballroom.” He makes a face. “Sorry, laying it on a bit thick. I just…You’re both so gorgeous, you’re making me nervous.”
“Now, was that a line?” Delia raises a brow, handing me my can of seltzer and taking one for herself.
“No. Maybe?” The blond’s grin is crooked, self-effacing. I see why Delia likes him. The guy with the tattoo is staring at me. I shift awkwardly under his intense study.
“You guys got names, or should I just call you blondie and not-blondie?” Delia says.
“I’m Dec,” says the blond, “and this is Noah.” Noah smiles, never taking his eyes off me.
Dec and Delia seem to be hitting it off. He’s cute in a silly way, like the yellow Lab my neighbor had back home.
“I think we’re gonna go dance. Is that cool? Are you good if we dance?” Delia gives me a significant look. I know if I asked her to, she’d stay at the table. But her pale cheeks are flushed with delight, and she’s gripping Dec’s hand.
“Yeah, go have fun,” I say. “I’m gonna finish my drink.” As Delia and Dec traipse off to the dance floor, Noah sidles up to me.
“Do you not like watermelon flavor?” he asks politely.
“Oh.” I look down at my unopened seltzer. “I like watermelon fine! I just…I’m a little distracted.” I crack it open and take several deep gulps. I can feel Noah’s eyes on my throat.
“Th-thanks again,” I say, swallowing a burp. “S’great.”
“Of course,” he says smoothly, tilting his head at me. “You’re so pretty. You go to Payen?”
“Yup! First…first day of classes was today. I’m a freshman.” I hiccup.
“Wow,” he says. “You’re brand-spanking-new, aren’t you?”
“You’ve got…” The room feels a little fuzzy. I think it’d be kind of nice if I didn’t feel so on edge. “You’ve got no idea. I— This is my first time at a club. On a school night!”
“A school night,” he echoes. “That’s…adorable.” He takes a step closer, his eyes raking up and down my body.
“Hey—do you wanna dance?” I lurch out of his wake and hurry to the dance floor, where Dec and Delia are pressed against each other. I blink, surprised, when Delia pulls Dec’s face to hers and they start making out.
“H-hey,” I say to Delia. She pulls off of Dec’s face with a wet pop.
“Oh, Rose! You’re here!” She leans forward. “You okay? Everything okay? Say the word and we can go.”