see my reflection that I remember I don’t have to be scared and shy and lonely and silent all night, because that’s not me anymore. That was the old Madison. The new Madison is confident; she can handle herself at a party—even if she does end up calling her mom for a ride home.
I stand up a little straighter and push my bangs out of my eyes. I lean closer to the mirror to check my makeup. Then I stand up again and smile at myself, a big, bright, confident grin. If I can pretend I can do this long enough, maybe I’ll trick myself intobelieving it.
I can totally do this
.
I look at everything from the other angle: I’m at a party hosted by one of the most popular girls in the school—after only a week I’m in with the popular crowd, so even if I don’t know everybody yet, I guess you could say I know the “right” people. And one of my new friends is trying to set me up with a hot guy because she thinks he likes me.
When I look at everything that way, the grin on my face doesn’t feel as forced and the fearful anticipation is replaced by excitement. I steel myself with a few deep breaths, and head out of the bathroom before I can think about it anymore.
I walk with my head held high, exuding confidence like I’m not faking every bit of it. I even make it all the way to the bottom of the spiral staircase without tripping. I smile at people I don’t even know as I try to find the kitchen.
I don’t know how long I was up in that bathroom, but jeez, there are tons of people here now. The entrance is crammed and there are people spilling into all the rooms. I wonder if Tiffany invited them all, or if they just turned up, but either way—“small get-together,” my butt.
Eventually, after weaving my way to the end of the hallway and then through the dining room, I reach the kitchen. It has granite counters and everything is silver and chrome, from the refrigerator to the waffle iron. Just like everything else in the house, it is—surprise, surprise—very luxurious. People are hanging around and cracking open bottles or beer cans, and there’s a keg in the corner with a stack of plastic cups next to it—red ones, same as at the beach party. I reach the big chrome refrigerator and pull a door open to grab one of the silver Diet Coke cans.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, I take a sip of my drink, and assess my situation. I should find Tiffany, or Summer … Even Kyle or Adam, or Ricky. At least Bryce. Then I’d have someone to talk to, and hopefully they’d introduce me to some other people so I can make it through this party without looking like a complete outsider.
The one flaw in that plan is the simple fact that I have no idea where any of them are.
Only one thing to do, then, isn’t there? Look for them, idiot
.
I push myself off the counter and start making my way through the rooms, keeping my eyes peeled for a friendly face I can put a name to. It’s harder than I anticipated, though, trying to weave past the writhing bodies dancing to the pounding music. I shove my way through a couple of gossiping, tipsy girls, and burst free into the hallway.
“Ricky!” I cry in relief, when I spot him standing by the spiral staircase. He looksover, startled, and then smiles when he sees me waving a hand to him. “Hey,” he says. “Why are you looking so happy to see me all of a sudden?”
“Don’t I always look happy to see you?”
He laughs and shrugs. “I knew you’d fall for my charm eventually.”
“Sure. I’m practically swooning all over you.”
“Honey, you can swoon over me any time you want,” he says in a low, slow, suggestive voice, waggling his eyebrows. I don’t know how he manages to joke around and keep such a straight face. I burst out laughing (being careful not to snort), but feel my cheeks have grown slightly flushed.
“Not drinking?”
I shake my head.
Ricky arches an eyebrow, but smiles. “I’m sure Tiff won’t complain—one less person likely to
I stand up a little straighter and push my bangs out of my eyes. I lean closer to the mirror to check my makeup. Then I stand up again and smile at myself, a big, bright, confident grin. If I can pretend I can do this long enough, maybe I’ll trick myself intobelieving it.
I can totally do this
.
I look at everything from the other angle: I’m at a party hosted by one of the most popular girls in the school—after only a week I’m in with the popular crowd, so even if I don’t know everybody yet, I guess you could say I know the “right” people. And one of my new friends is trying to set me up with a hot guy because she thinks he likes me.
When I look at everything that way, the grin on my face doesn’t feel as forced and the fearful anticipation is replaced by excitement. I steel myself with a few deep breaths, and head out of the bathroom before I can think about it anymore.
I walk with my head held high, exuding confidence like I’m not faking every bit of it. I even make it all the way to the bottom of the spiral staircase without tripping. I smile at people I don’t even know as I try to find the kitchen.
I don’t know how long I was up in that bathroom, but jeez, there are tons of people here now. The entrance is crammed and there are people spilling into all the rooms. I wonder if Tiffany invited them all, or if they just turned up, but either way—“small get-together,” my butt.
Eventually, after weaving my way to the end of the hallway and then through the dining room, I reach the kitchen. It has granite counters and everything is silver and chrome, from the refrigerator to the waffle iron. Just like everything else in the house, it is—surprise, surprise—very luxurious. People are hanging around and cracking open bottles or beer cans, and there’s a keg in the corner with a stack of plastic cups next to it—red ones, same as at the beach party. I reach the big chrome refrigerator and pull a door open to grab one of the silver Diet Coke cans.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, I take a sip of my drink, and assess my situation. I should find Tiffany, or Summer … Even Kyle or Adam, or Ricky. At least Bryce. Then I’d have someone to talk to, and hopefully they’d introduce me to some other people so I can make it through this party without looking like a complete outsider.
The one flaw in that plan is the simple fact that I have no idea where any of them are.
Only one thing to do, then, isn’t there? Look for them, idiot
.
I push myself off the counter and start making my way through the rooms, keeping my eyes peeled for a friendly face I can put a name to. It’s harder than I anticipated, though, trying to weave past the writhing bodies dancing to the pounding music. I shove my way through a couple of gossiping, tipsy girls, and burst free into the hallway.
“Ricky!” I cry in relief, when I spot him standing by the spiral staircase. He looksover, startled, and then smiles when he sees me waving a hand to him. “Hey,” he says. “Why are you looking so happy to see me all of a sudden?”
“Don’t I always look happy to see you?”
He laughs and shrugs. “I knew you’d fall for my charm eventually.”
“Sure. I’m practically swooning all over you.”
“Honey, you can swoon over me any time you want,” he says in a low, slow, suggestive voice, waggling his eyebrows. I don’t know how he manages to joke around and keep such a straight face. I burst out laughing (being careful not to snort), but feel my cheeks have grown slightly flushed.
“Not drinking?”
I shake my head.
Ricky arches an eyebrow, but smiles. “I’m sure Tiff won’t complain—one less person likely to
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