Chapter 32

Iviolently don’t want to be here.

As in, I’m considering grabbing a steak knife off the nearest table and taking a hostage on my way out a shattered window to make my escape.

Sasha and I have taken up a strategic position near a stack of speakers to deter others from trying to talk to us. She also commandeered some expensive champagne, which is dribbling down our dresses as we drink straight from the bottle while watching Charlotte run around the dance floor chastising sisters for twerking on their dates in front of concerned boomers. We had to leave the DJ booth because alumni kept asking Sasha to play Neil Diamond and ABBA and she threatened to take the next one’s eye out with a fork, so I forced her to take a break.

“You should go dance with Eric,” I tell her, spotting him on the floor. He seems to be having a great time despite the fact that his date’s all but abandoned him to the wolves.

“And miss the chance to judge everyone condescendingly from the corner? Do you not even know me?”

“I mean it. Just because I’m resigned to wallow in self-pity doesn’t mean you have to suffer with me.”

“That’s exactly what it means,” she says. “Or, you could chug the rest of this bottle and get white girl wasted on the dance floor all over some overdressed trust-fund boy.”

“Not in the mood.”

“Oh come on.” Sasha takes another swig of champagne and wipes her mouth with her arm, painting it with lipstick. “We got all dressed up and shaved our legs. The least we can do is have something to regret in the morning.”

Ha. I already have regrets. For example, what the hell I was thinking when I picked out this ridiculous dress? The tight black fabric makes my tits look like two squished hams and every fold and lump is pouring out like toothpaste from a tube. I feel disgusting and I can’t remember why I’d been so excited looking in the mirror and imagining Conor’s face when he saw me.

Oh wait, I remember why—because I’d let Conor fool me into believing I was beautiful. That he didn’t see a chubby girl or just a pair of breasts, but me. All of me. He made me believe I was something desirable. Worth having.

And now I’m left with the ill-fitting disappointment of what could have been.

I’m annoyed to notice tears dripping down my cheeks, and I tell Sasha I’m going to evacuate some of that champagne. The restroom is stuffed with Kappas touching up their makeup, one stall occupied by a loud vomiter who has two Kappas holding her hair back. Another stall contains Lisa Anderson, who’s locked herself in with her phone and is drunk-texting her now-ex Cory over the protestations of her sisters banging on the door.

After using the toilet, I’m washing my hands at the sink when Abigail and Jules walk in laughing. My stomach knots when their malicious gazes take in me and my smudged mascara.

“Taylor,” Abigail calls loud enough to make sure everyone’s paying attention. “I haven’t seen Conor all night. He didn’t stand you up, did he?”

“Leave me alone, Abigail.”

She looks perfect, of course. Shimmering silver sequin dress and perfectly curled platinum hair, not a strand out of place. No sweat beading at her hairline or makeup dripping down her neck. Barely human.

“Uh-oh.” She comes to stand behind me, watching us in the mirror with a mocking pout. “What’s wrong? Come on, we’re your sisters, Tay-Tay. You can tell us.”

“He did stand you up, didn’t he?” Jules says in a condescendingly sweet voice, as if she’s talking to an animal. “Oh no! And your mice slaved all day making you a pretty dress for the ball.”

“Joke’s on you,” I snap back dryly. “We broke up.”

Abigail laughs, then gives me a sarcastic grin. “Well, of course he dumped you. I mean, after a month it stops being funny and then it’s just sad. You should have listened to me, Tay-Tay. Could have saved yourself the embarrassment.”

“Oh my God, Abigail, fuck off.” My last thread snaps. The bathroom goes deathly silent and I become aware everyone is staring at us. “We get it, okay? You’re a miserable cunt who mistakes bitchiness for a personality. Get a fucking life and get off my dick.”

I stride out of there, skin buzzing. A sort of delirious high overwhelms me as I return to the banquet hall. I’m dizzy from the lights pulsating to the music, the bodies thrumming on the dance floor. God, telling her off was so good I want to go back for seconds. If I’d known unleashing on Abigail would feel this amazing, I would’ve been doing it six times a day.

After nearly half a bottle of champagne, my taste buds feel fuzzy and maybe my head does too, so I head for the bar and ask for a club soda with lime.

“Taylor,” a voice says from behind me. “Hey. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

A guy slides in next to me. Tilting my head back to look at him, it takes a few inches before I realize it’s Danny, one of the skyscrapers from Malone’s the other night. He cleans up nicely in a sharp tux.

“Do me a favor, then,” I say, taking my drink from the bartender, who I think was in my elementary mathematics class last semester. “Don’t blow my cover. I’m in disguise.”

“Oh yeah?” Danny orders a beer and moves in a little closer. “As what?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet.”

He laughs for lack of anything better to say. Truthfully, I don’t know either. Lately I’m not sure what’s actually me and what’s a role I’m trying to play to please everyone else. I feel like I’m trying to live up to some expectation that becomes a little harder to define every day. Never quite achieving the image I set for myself and having a harder time remembering where I got the idea in the first place.

People always say we come to college to find ourselves, and yet I’m becoming less recognizable each morning.

“You look nice, is what I meant,” he says shyly.

“Who are you here with?” I ask him.

“Oh, no, no one,” he tells me. “My parents were invited by their friends, Rachel Cohen’s parents, so I kinda got told to come.” He takes an awkward swig of his beer and I can almost see the moment he convinces himself to go for it. “You know, I wanted to say something the other night. I mean, I should have, but I got the impression you were seeing someone?”

Oh. “Yeah, no, it was just…a casual thing.”

“So then it’d be okay if I wanted to ask you out sometime?”

Sasha and I catch each other’s gaze across the room, and her eyes are alight with approval. She gives me a nod that says you should hit that. Then she grabs Eric and they make their way to us.

I don’t know how to answer his question without sounding like I’m committing to something, so I stall and take a long sip of my drink while Sasha approaches.

“You found each other,” she says with too much excitement. Then smirks at me like I’m being punished somehow. “And neither of you have dates, so it all worked out.”

“Actually,” I start, “I was thinking I’d go—”

“You still owe me a dance,” Eric reminds Sasha as she puts an arm around me to stop me from running away.

“Taylor loves to dance.”

I’m going to kill her in her sleep.

“Dance with me?” Danny. Sweet, shy Danny. He holds his arm out like they do in the movies and I know he means well. And since I can either go willingly or have Sasha make a scene, I accept his invitation.

The four of us make our way onto the dance floor. It’s an up-tempo song, thankfully, so Danny doesn’t feel compelled to hang on to me. We start out in a loose foursome until it becomes apparent that Eric and Sasha have been looking for an excuse to get all up on each other all night and then I’m left with the awkward moves of a skyscraper who can’t judge his own foot size. To be fair, I’m not giving him much to work with.

“Dance with him,” Sasha leans in to hiss at me, only halfway pulling herself from Eric’s grasp.

“I am,” I snap back.

She shoves me at him, which forces him to catch me. Danny’s smile says he thinks it’s my coy way of saying, please, hold me closer, to which he obliges. I tense up but he doesn’t seem to notice. Sasha meets my eyes again with an insistent look that says TRY, DAMMIT!

But I can’t. My head’s stuck on wondering what’s happening with Conor and Kai. Has he made the drop? Is he safe? Not that I think Conor can’t handle himself, but what if something went wrong? Ten grand is a lot of money to be carrying around. He could’ve gotten stopped by police, or worse. There are a hundred ways tonight might have gone wrong for him, and I can’t even find out if he’s okay. He’d just ignore my call and then I’m right back where I started—worrying about him, afraid for him.

It occurs to me I could have done more. I should’ve told his roommates or Hunter to stop him. Or to watch his back at least. Damn it, why didn’t I do that?

If something happens to Conor, I’d never forgive myself.

I’ve just decided I have to make a call when I hear a low growl of warning and Danny and I are suddenly yanked apart.