My breath escapes in a rush, and I try really, really hard not to think about that ring of red candles, and the decapitated bird inside of them.
Or the dead boy hanging in the tree.
A shiver travels through me, and I reach out to clasp Spencer's hand. He takes mine and squeezes back, our fingers entwined. My gaze swings over to him, and I flush.
“My parents own the building. I have an open invitation.” Church doesn't even look at me as he tosses that juicy bit of arrogance over his shoulder, and I narrow my eyes.
“He's the richest person in school, huh?” I ask, and Spencer grins.
“Most definitely. By, like, leaps and bounds. Why? Think you picked the wrong guy?”
“Leaps and bounds, huh?” I start, but then the elevator is swooshing open and there's a sea of glittering girls with hair like silk, dresses like jewels, and faces painted like magazine models. My stomach clenches, and I feel that same old, self-conscious monster of envy inside of me. I've never been the prettiest or the most popular, but it's been something I've always wanted.
Except, then I look over at Spencer, and I remember that gaping, emptiness inside my heart when I thought he was dead. But he's not. He's here now, and there are paper lanterns floating in a dark sky to celebrate some other boy I didn't know.
I exhale, and some of that insecurity goes out with the breath.
Maybe … it’s just something I used to want?
“Ladies,” Church purrs as they giggle and bite their lips in his direction.
“He's a seventeen year old junior in high school,” I blurt, narrowing my eyes at the coeds.
“So? We're only a year apart,” the one in front says, turning to look at me, surrounded by dudes. “Besides, you have a few extra boys. You could spare one or two, right?” The women laugh, and then stream around us, letting us into the elevator which, by the way, also has its own attendant.
“Were you defending me against the pervy college girls?” Church asks, smiling brightly and tossing golden hair from his forehead. If this were a Japanese anime, there'd be sparkles. I frown at him.
“What would you say if a bunch of college dudes were hitting on me? Gross, right? Like, I'm in high school.”
“A lot of girls like college guys,” Church retorts, lifting his amber eyes up to the ceiling as if in thought. “My sisters always did. They found them mature, experienced, just slightly in the realm of the forbidden.” He drops his attention back to my face, and throws a royal smirk my direction. “Would it bother you if I went home with one of those girls tonight?”
“They only want to fuck you if they get your money, too,” the twins supply together, lifting their hands up on either side in a gesture of faux innocence.
“Right.” Church reaches up and loosens his tie as the doors swing open and the sound of blaring music thrums down the hallway. Ranger sighs, and then pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, offering one up to Spencer.
“I hate these parties,” Ranger mumbles, but then he and Spencer are lighting up, and the twins are leading the way toward the open doors. Isis by Joyner Lucas and Logic is playing, and the first thing I notice when we walk in are the drugs.
“Holy sweet baby Jesus, is that cocaine?!” I choke out, and Ranger gives me a look with his dark sapphire eyes.
“Weed, coke, alcohol. Pretty standard fare. You don't party in California?”
“I …” I start, but I guess I have seen Monica and some of our other friends oohing and aahing over Heather's cousin's connection to some small-time drug dealer. One time she brought cocaine to a party and everyone tried it, but me. “I guess.”
But like here? There are people doing lines on the coffee table. Or like, off of each other.
I feel so out of my league.
“This is insane.”
“Don't worry about any of these people,” Spencer says, waving one hand while he holds his cigarette with the other. “They're just background noise.”
The twins come back with drinks in their hands, both of them holding onto the same cup. They offer it out to me, and then glare at each other.
“We got you a drink,” they say as I reach out to take it, my fingers brushing theirs and sending a hot thrill through me. Spencer watches us carefully, and then stabs his cigarette out in an ash tray.
“Are you aware those cause cancer?” I joke, and he swings his turquoise eyes over to me with a grin, hooking his arm around my shoulders.
“We all have our vices,” he admits, guiding me through the grinding, sweaty bodies of the crowd toward the balcony. There are other high school students here, too, dressed in uniforms similar to ours. North York Prep is the one that stands out the most. They're all wearing stark-white, girls and boys in pristine slacks. They glare at us as we pass by, and I cock a brow.
