Page 75 of Saint Céline
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Lila Hawthorne’s house sat on the other side of Blackwater, farther inland, where the estates had tennis courts instead of ocean views. Her parents were away in Boston, which made the party feel more exciting to everyone than it probably deserved. By the time Katherine and I arrived, the driveway was alreadycrowded with cars driven by older siblings, and music spilled through the front doors into the warm summer night.
Katherine slowed beside me at the entrance.
I felt it immediately.
Her body changed in crowds. Her shoulders rose slightly. Her mouth tightened. Her eyes started moving too fast, tracking every laugh, every glance, every possible mistake before it happened.
I slipped my hand around her wrist before she could retreat.
“Don’t look like that,” I said.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to take an exam.”
“I’m always about to take an exam.”
“That’s deeply sad.”
She huffed, but some of the tension eased.
Inside, the house smelled like perfume, chlorine from the indoor pool, and the sharp artificial sweetness of cheap vodka hidden inside expensive juice bottles. Girls in silk tops and boys in rolled-up sleeves drifted through the rooms with the lazy confidence of people whose mistakes would be explained away by their parents later.
Lila spotted me almost immediately.
“Céline!”
The way she said my name made people look.
I felt Katherine stiffen beside me.
Lila crossed the room and kissed both my cheeks like we were European socialites instead of ninth graders at a party with stolen alcohol.
“You came!”
“Of course, you invited me.”
“I know, but still.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Katherine. “Oh, hi, Katherine.”
Lila’s tone was slightly rude, almost dismissive.
Katherine’s mouth curved into something that almost resembled a smile.
“Hi.”
“She came with me,” I said, keeping my voice light.
Lila recovered immediately. “Of course. Come on, everyone’s by the pool.”
And just like that, Katherine was allowed in because I had brought her.
The party should have been intimidating. Instead, after the first ten minutes, I realized it was easier than school. At school, people had time to inspect you. At parties, they wanted you to make things feel brighter. They wanted someone who laughed at the right moments, pulled quieter girls into conversations, let boys think they were funnier than they were, and knew when to turn attention away before it became cruel.
I could do that.
I could do that better than almost anyone.
