Chapter 11
Nox isn’t in class on Tuesday, some swimming thing I presume, and it’s a real shame.
Our assignment this week was to write an expository or informational nonfiction piece with a humorous twist. I titled mine, How to Not Be an Asshole.
I’ve half a mind to tape it to my window, but I know he won’t be able to read it even from such a close distance.
So instead, I pull up the class list and copy his email address.
Dear Nox,
Professor Milton asked me to send my article along since you weren’t in class. He thought it might be particularly useful for you.
Break a leg!
Clara
About two hours later, I get a response.
Dear Clara,
Thank you so much for keeping me informed. Funny enough, Professor Milton asked me to do the same thing with the article I submitted last night. I hope you’ll find it just as stimulating as I found yours.
Nox
PS: I don’t need luck.
I grit my teeth as I click the link. The title pops up. A Complete Guide to Writing Thank-You Notes by Nox Monroe.
My nostrils flare and a literal growl vibrates at the back of my throat.
That freaking jerk.
My gaze slips to the side and I cast a furtive peek out my window, but his room is still dark.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I debate how to respond.
After about twenty minutes of arguing in circles with myself, I slam my laptop shut and cross the room to hop on Nova’s bed.
She’s in the middle of her twentieth rewatch of Mamma Mia!
to “get into character” since she landed the lead role of Donna, as Willa and I had no doubt she would.
The girl is talented. And dramatic. There’s no role more over the top than a single mother trapped on a small Greek island with the three men who might be her daughter’s father. It’s perfect.
Nova pops out her earbuds so the volume fills our room and hands me a sour straw as I snuggle in. Nox’s room is still dark when I go to bed. When I wake up, there’s a gold medal dangling from his window. I don’t actually see him again until Halloween.
The school throws a massive party every year to discourage students from venturing too far off our isolated campus.
Naturally, this leads to about three hours pregaming in our dorms. Nova puts the music at full blast as we bop around getting ready.
Two of our friends from the house next door, Katie and Annabelle, joined our theme, so the five of us squeeze in my and Nova’s room to transform into our comic-book divas.
The green velvet bustier bodysuit I got half-off two weeks ago sounded like a great idea at the time, but now that I’m staring at myself in the mirror, half-naked and barely covered by lime-green tights, I’m having second thoughts.
“You look so hot!” Willa squeals, as if sensing my dilemma.
She comes up behind me and squeezes my upper arms, grinning at me through our reflections.
Her transformation into Harley Quinn is nearly complete—pink-and-blue pigtails and all.
She shakes a can of red dye over my shoulder. “Let me do your hair!”
Why the hell not?
It’s Halloween.
I give myself over to the fun, letting Willa go wild.
Nova brings over her makeup kit and lines my eyelids with a dusting of green glitter, then paints my lips bloodred.
I wrap some costume ivy around my arms and legs, not sure how long it will last because they itch like freaking crazy, but it’ll look good for pictures.
We keep singing and dancing, cameras flashing, drinks flowing, until the rest of our dorm starts to empty out.
As we make our way to the tent on the upper quad, I can’t help but reflect on how different this is from the Halloweens I’m used to.
With Mabel, I always felt like the sidekick.
My costume had to complement hers, but not outshine.
We got ready together, but under her terms. She was the one in the mirror, and I was the one buzzing around her to make sure she looked perfect.
Sure, Nova decided our theme. And yeah, I had some reservations.
But right now, with these two girls, I don’t feel the need to compete.
I’m not constantly measuring myself against them.
I’m not worried how they’ll react. They want me to shine, and I want the same for them, too.
It’s freeing.
Goose bumps line my arms by the time we arrive.
I’m shivering in the cold mountain air without the assistance of a nice liquid jacket.
But as soon as we step through the tent flaps, the chill melts away.
It’s sweltering in here. And packed. People are chatting, dancing, indulging in general Halloween revelry.
We link arms and push our way closer to the DJ stand, letting the EDM blasting through the speakers fill our souls.
Time loses all meaning. We jump. We shake our hips.
We join hands. We pull out some moves from Dance Club to the horror of everyone around us, but we don’t give two shits what anyone else is thinking.
It’s too much fun.
I’m out of my head, for once. I’m completely in the moment, unaware of anything but my friends and the vibes and the slight pain in my cheeks from smiling so damn much.
When Logan eventually finds us, Nova cracks her whip at him, the way I know she’s been waiting over a month to do.
He clutches his chest and falls to the floor as if struck, eyes glowing with a slightly drunken buzz, the always present smile on his lips.
I burst out laughing when I spot Grant behind him, dressed in armor with a red cape, wielding a hammer.
His dirty-blond hair is in a messy half-up, half-down style some of the women around me probably envy.
“Thor!” we all scream.
Grant just shakes his head with a grin and pulls Logan to his feet before he gets trampled.
Some other athletes I recognize stand around them in matching costumes, but a quick scan tells me Nox isn’t here.
I wonder if he’s already asleep back in his room.
For some reason, a sad little twinge pinches my chest.
At some point in the night we cross that invisible threshold where innocent fun turns to debauchery.
One sneaky shot from a flask turns to three, then four, then five.
The atmosphere tips over the scale, growing sloppy.
Drinks slosh over the edges of cups. Hands start to wander.
My friends pair off. Guys test their chances, pulling me up against their groins without so much as a hello.
I would never stop my friends from having their fun, it’s just not my scene, so I quietly slip out the side entrance for a bit of fresh air instead.
A strong breeze barrels down the quad. I hug myself and head for a sheltered place to catch my breath.
There’s an alcove on the side of the founder’s mansion, which has been all done up to match the haunted party vibes.
I push a curtain of fake cobwebs to the side and sit on the low wall, pressing close to the stone where the wind can’t quite reach.
Down the slope of the lower quad, moonlight reflects off the lake, the ripples shimmering like diamonds against an inky darkness.
It’s a bit funny that I just left a tent full of people dressed in scary costumes, blood and fangs and ghoulish masks, and nothing terrifies me more than this view, as beautiful as it is deadly.
I shiver.
A warm blanket lands across my shoulders.
“Thank—” I stop short when I turn.
“You,” Nox finishes with a wry smile. “I believe the term you were looking for is thank you.”
“What are you doing here?” Part of me wants to throw the blanket over his head and smother him with it, but the heat radiating from the fabric is too delicious to surrender for a silly little thing like murder. I pull it tightly around myself and look back to the water.
“You were turning blue,” he comments, ignoring my question as he takes the open spot next to me on the low wall. “Or was that just part of your costume?”
“And what’s your costume?” I tear my gaze from the lake to offer him a sardonic once-over, taking note of his gray sweats and generic Swiftmore University hoodie. “Insufferable know-it-all?”
“I prefer five-time Olympic gold medalist,” he says with a shrug, feigning nonchalance, though he can’t quite hide the mocking twinkle in his eyes. “But either works.”
A snort escapes before I can stop it.
That spark in his gaze brightens.
I roll my eyes and look away. “What are you really?”
“You’re wearing my costume.”
I glance down at the fabric I’m clutching around me for dear life, noticing the yellow-and-red S for the first time. It’s not a blanket. It’s a cape. Superman’s cape, to be exact. “Ah. So Logan did pull you into his shenanigans.”
“He usually does.” Nox sighs. I feel his gaze like a physical touch, running over my red hair, my green legs, the crimson paint across my lips. “So what are you?”
I grin and look him dead in the face, letting the blanket fall open just enough to reveal my green bustier. “Kryptonite.”
His eyes drop.
He swallows.
Heat radiates through me, so warm my skin starts to flush.
The moment stretches, and then it’s gone, so suddenly it’s as if someone yanked on the plug, taking us from full charge to nothing in less than a blink.
“Ha. Ha.” Nox offers me a flat stare, his expression wiped clean. “What are you really?”
“Marine algae,” I supply.
His lips quirk in a way that tells me he’s trying not to let them, the pursing doing nothing to stop his smile from leaking through. “Marine algae?”
“What? You don’t think marine algae is worthy of a Halloween costume?”
“Is it?”