“You know, blatant misogyny hasn’t been sexy for two generations. Get it together, McKenna.” I steal the bottle back from him and down another two shots worth. Or, at least I think it was two shots worth. I’m actually not super-duper familiar with what, exactly, a shot constitutes. I am not a fun or interesting sixteen-year-old. Frankly, I would accept an AARP card tomorrow.
“How is that misogynistic?” Chas asks, throwing his arm around some random brunette as she snuggles her bikini-clad body against his side and giggles. My mouth twitches in annoyance, but not at her—at Chas. He had Lumen in his car earlier today, spent all of this morning blabbing about a completely different girl, and now … who even is this? “I'm not a misogynist at all. In fact,” he looks back at me and smiles, “I'm a feminist. I helped organize last year’s International Women’s Day parade.”
And with that, Chas steals the bottle back from me and takes off just long enough for me to realize that the girl was in a bikini so … pool? I follow the flickering light of the firepit to a row of hedges. Moving forward, I come around the side of them to see that not only am I not dressed right for the dancing-grinding-drinking portion of the party, I've also come sans-swimsuit.
“Hey!” Danyella calls out, dressed in a white bikini and waving around a bright-blue drink with an umbrella and a straw that most definitely did not just come from a cooler. I glance past her, across the lit surface of the pool, and over to where a bartender is mixing drinks.
A bartender.
At a high school party.
Right.
Okay.
I can so do this.
I turn back to Danyella and smile.
“Hey.” I give a weak wave and take a step forward, realizing already that my head is beginning to spin. Uh-oh. Not good. Not good at all.
“I didn't think you were coming,” Danyella replies, offering up her drink. My vision swims a bit as I look at it, but I manage to drag my gaze to her face. Somehow, someway. But I can definitely feel the uh, ‘only ever had alcohol three times in my life’ syndrome coming on. “I mean, I was hoping you would.”
“I figured it was better to be here than at Tess’ house,” I reply, when it occurs to me that—despite our similar love for creative endeavors—we are not friends at all yet. Just strangers. And already I’m dumping my shit on her. I wouldn’t be surprised if Danyella ran for the hills. Didn’t Maxx just tell me they were all rich assholes?
“Are you okay?” she asks me, sounding genuinely concerned as she sets her blue drink aside.
The last thing I want to be tonight is a burden, so I force my mouth into a smile. Oh, there it is. Guess I’m not entirely out of them. Each one just costs me a little bit more than the last.
“Actually, I’m good,” I say, letting my hands bury themselves in the sleeves of my hoodie as I cross my arms and take a step back. I give a slight bend of my knees, like I’m bowing out or squatting or something. “I’m just gonna look around. This is an …” I laugh. “An interesting house, for sure.”
Danyella picks her drink back up and shrugs.
“Well, if you get bored around the rich yuppies in there, come and find me. I’ll be here, suffering. Tremendously.” She shifts her gaze over to the writhing horde of teens in the pool. Was I somehow concerned about not having a bathing suit? Jesus, Chasm was right: I’m still twelve and pool parties are fun. Looking down at the pool water, I wonder how contaminated with lusty, sweaty teenage hormones it must be to change color.
“Deal.”
I spin on my heel and start powerwalking for the house.
I'm going to vomit.
No doubt about that.
On my way inside, I run into Parrish. With Lumen. They don’t look like they’ve just had sex though, more like they just … broke up? Or maybe were never together in the first place.
“Are you okay?” I ask Lumen, because she looks like she’s about to cry. Her mascara has run down her face in two charcoal streaks and her left falsie looks like it’s about to peel off.
Parrish snaps his attention over to me and our eyes meet.
He looks temporarily relieved—until Lumen throws herself into my arms, hooking them around my neck and sobbing into my shirt.
“No, I’m most definitely not!” she sniffles as she burrows into me, and Parrish’s flash of relief turns into an angry scowl.
“Twenty minutes into the party and you’re stealing my fangirl, too?” he growls in my ear, low enough that likely I’m the only person who can hear him. With her racking sobs, I doubt Lumen can hear a thing besides herself. “I hate you, Dakota Banks.”
