Page 7 of Gilt

“Better?” I ask when she’s recovered from the liquid courage.

“Yes!” She wiggles away from the bar, her mood shifting instantly.

We weave through the crowd. A few lightweights are already on the floor. I step over a girl, biting my lip, torn over and leaving her there. But when I move closer, I don’t see the girl. I see my sister. Stumbling back, the girl’s friend pushes past me. She shoots me a disgusted look.

“I can’t believe you would just leave her like that.”

I mutter an apology before whipping around to look for a way outside. Anxiety is a bitch, and she’s always crashing the party. By the time I find one, I’m sucking desperately for air.

You didn’t leave her, I remind myself. You didn’t leave her.

I didn’t leave her, and it didn’t matter.

It takes a second to catch my breath, and then I remember where I am. The rooftop patio contains a collection of cabanas and even in the dark, it’s obvious they’re occupied. I look away, feeling like a perv, only to discover a pool full of my naked classmates. The pool itself extends to the edge of the building. It probably offers a pretty amazing view but right now, the number of boobs on display has temporarily blinded me. This clearly isn’t the sanctuary I’m seeking.

Josie didn’t follow me outside, which means I’ve lost her to the crowd. I wait a few minutes, hoping she’ll find her way out to me. Despite the HBO level of nudity in progress, it’s still safer here than there. I count to one hundred before I give up and head into the fray.

“My favorite conquest!”

I force a smile as Hugo greets me at the door with his harem. He’s wearing a shirt that proudly proclaims STD Free.

“That’s false advertising,” I inform him, planting my hands on my hips.

“You’re welcome to check.” He grins widely, tossing his arms around the girls closest to him.

“You really should pay them more. They can’t even afford clothes,” I say dryly.

The blonde on his left’s mouth falls open, but the redhead on his right just looks bored.

“Jealousy isn’t becoming, Emma.” He emphasizes each syllable, and the sound of my name on his lips plucks at me.

I’ve been ID’ed by Hugo, which means it’s time to find Josie and get home. I only get a few steps from him before Monroe lunges at me. Her fingers dig into my arm, and I have to resist the urge to slap her. She studies me with disgust. Apparently, the scrap of cloth I’m wearing isn’t as designer as the scrap of cloth she’s wearing. This close, I realize she has the same blue eyes as her father. But whereas his blazed, hers are as cold as ice.

“You’re going to break a nail,” I warn her.

“Who let you up here?”

“Nice guy downstairs. Little head. Big muscles. Wait, I’m not sure that narrows it down. How many cavemen do you employ here anyway?” I yank away from her.

Her closest friends flank her, each girl dressed in a slightly different shade of pink. Leighton is blush, and Sabine is bashful. I guess, they’ve not been given the thumbs up to adopt Monroe’s grapefruit hue. Monroe, Leighton, and Sabine —the three of them are a veritable spectrum of evil. Leighton is a state-dependent bitch. Get her alone, and she’s actually not a terrible human being, but either Monroe flips a switch in her, or she’s far too eager to impress the Housers. Monroe is Monroe. Sabine, on the other hand? Click on crazy bitch in Urban Dictionary, and you’ll find her picture. Most of the rumors aren’t true. Like the one about her pushing some freshman off the roof of the gym? I sincerely doubt even her parents could cover that up. The rub is that she is totally capable of pushing someone off a roof.

I guess there’s a little bit of truth in everything.

“Leighton. Sabine.” I nod in greeting. “I had no idea they were filming a Pepto Bismal ad tonight. Congrats on the gig.”

“You need to leave.” It’s amazing Monroe actually produces sound, given how tightly she’s gritting her teeth.

“Is that any way to treat a guest?” Riling her up is a calculated risk, but I need to buy time before security escorts me off the premises. But even as I scan the crowd around her, I can’t find Josie. Over half of Belle Mère but no best friend. I check my phone again, but there’s no response to my S.O.S.

Monroe whispers furiously to Leighton. No doubt placing a takeout order. It would be so like her to not even kick me out herself. In the periphery, Jonas moves into view, his gaze flicking from me to Monroe and back again. It’s been a long time since I felt those eyes on me, and I hate how it twists my stomach into knots.

Coming here was a mistake.

“Don’t bother,” I interrupt. “I’m going.”

I don’t bother trying to look graceful as I push my way through the crowd, but I keep my head up. Jonas and I have had a good thing going, each of us pretending the other doesn’t exist. If that unspoken treaty is no longer in effect, I plan to stay as far away from him and Monroe as possible. I guess it’s a good sign that seeing him no longer makes me want to cry. I think that’s what they call progress.

Before I can make it back to the elevators, Jonas intercepts me at the door. His eyes are warm like melted chocolate as he stops. I used to love staring into those eyes. Now I can barely stand to eat a Hershey’s bar. That’s love for you: the destroyer of life’s simple joys.