me.”
“Aren’t I always good to you?” I ask, then slip my hands into her sleeves. She shrieks, barely saving her drink when she jumps back.
“Oh, no, you are not freezing to death at my party,” she says. She grabs me by the front of my coat and drags me inside.
The music’s so loud, I feel every filament of the beat on my skin. Bodies crush close, to talk, to dance, begging me to slip into the teasing heat. The coats are shed in here, revealing tropical cuts, bare backs, bare arms. I feel like a vampire. I want to drink them all up.
Caught in currents, I spin around to say, “Hi,” or to surrender hugs.
“Brrrr, sweetie!” Sinjai says, clasping both my hands between hers.
Morgan pulls me close. “So good to see you!” She rocks me against her chest until Olivia peels me away.
“You’re a whore,” Olivia says lightly.
Shrugging, I smile. “I’m just friendly.”
She pulls me into the kitchen. We don’t stop at the impressive array of liquor bottles or red party cups filling the counters—she leads me into the pantry.
It sounds intimate, but it’s not. The pantry is almost as big as the kitchen; instead of appliances, it has shelves. Lots and lots of shelves, filled with jars of homemade jam, fruit and pickles. It smells of cinnamon and of something vaguely earthy in there, and as Olivia turns, her spiced perfume slips into the mix.
“So what’s going on with you and Tyler?” she asks abruptly.
I watch her rise on to her toes, slipping fingers into dark reaches. With a shrug, I start to rub out the smear of her kiss off my cheek. “Wish I knew.”
Olivia ticks her tongue. “Don’t give me that.”
“I don’t know!”
Producing a dark bottle, she twists off the cap. Slow, deliberate motions, the metal band flashing between her fingers. “He’s been worrying himself crazy. Have you seen the circles under his eyes?”
I laugh. “I haven’t even seen him, let alone his fucking circles.”
“He’s been sick over this,” she says. She takes a sip from the bottle, then hands it to me. “Sick over you, texting me at all hours. Having nightmares.”
The smooth, golden burn of Jamaican rum is almost as good as drawing heat from touch. It’s like a swallowed ember,glowing dimly in my chest. “Well, I can’t tell it from here. Did he move his locker?”
With pursed lips, Olivia waits for the bottle before she answers. “He’s been using mine.”
“He’s skipping trig, too.” I point at her. “He was there on Monday, haven’t seen him since. And he’s gonna get busted off the team if he flunks it. I can’t help him there.”
Rubbing the bottle against her lower lip, Olivia shakes her head. “I don’t know what …”
“Liv,” Tyler says behind me. His voice shimmers like oil on water.
“Look who’s here,” Olivia says.
He answers with a kiss, dipping her back until she has to scramble to keep the bottle upright, propped on his shoulder. The air arcs electricity when he rights her, when he tosses me half a glance. “Hey, Ev.”
Olivia starts, “Maybe you should—”
“Dance with you?” He slings his arm around her shoulder, then kisses the back of her neck. It’s the only skin her coat reveals. “Any time, let’s go.”
Wedging past me, Tyler shrugs, as if to say, “Hey, when the lady says she wants to dance …”
With a touch, Olivia palms the rum into my hand, and she’s spirited into the pulsing body of her party again.
It’s funny; she actually takes warmth with her, and sound. The pantry makes a hollow echo of my breath. Before the walls can close around me, jarring me up with green tomatoes and apple rings, I slip into the party, too.
I used to know how to do this. I can fake it.
CUT TO:
“No,” I say, raising my voice. With a finger pressed into one ear, I lean closer to Sinjai. “I’m still in physical therapy now,but I should be able to play by spring.”
Her nails press into my arm as she presses closer. “Oh! We were all
“Aren’t I always good to you?” I ask, then slip my hands into her sleeves. She shrieks, barely saving her drink when she jumps back.
“Oh, no, you are not freezing to death at my party,” she says. She grabs me by the front of my coat and drags me inside.
The music’s so loud, I feel every filament of the beat on my skin. Bodies crush close, to talk, to dance, begging me to slip into the teasing heat. The coats are shed in here, revealing tropical cuts, bare backs, bare arms. I feel like a vampire. I want to drink them all up.
Caught in currents, I spin around to say, “Hi,” or to surrender hugs.
“Brrrr, sweetie!” Sinjai says, clasping both my hands between hers.
Morgan pulls me close. “So good to see you!” She rocks me against her chest until Olivia peels me away.
“You’re a whore,” Olivia says lightly.
Shrugging, I smile. “I’m just friendly.”
She pulls me into the kitchen. We don’t stop at the impressive array of liquor bottles or red party cups filling the counters—she leads me into the pantry.
It sounds intimate, but it’s not. The pantry is almost as big as the kitchen; instead of appliances, it has shelves. Lots and lots of shelves, filled with jars of homemade jam, fruit and pickles. It smells of cinnamon and of something vaguely earthy in there, and as Olivia turns, her spiced perfume slips into the mix.
“So what’s going on with you and Tyler?” she asks abruptly.
I watch her rise on to her toes, slipping fingers into dark reaches. With a shrug, I start to rub out the smear of her kiss off my cheek. “Wish I knew.”
Olivia ticks her tongue. “Don’t give me that.”
“I don’t know!”
Producing a dark bottle, she twists off the cap. Slow, deliberate motions, the metal band flashing between her fingers. “He’s been worrying himself crazy. Have you seen the circles under his eyes?”
I laugh. “I haven’t even seen him, let alone his fucking circles.”
“He’s been sick over this,” she says. She takes a sip from the bottle, then hands it to me. “Sick over you, texting me at all hours. Having nightmares.”
The smooth, golden burn of Jamaican rum is almost as good as drawing heat from touch. It’s like a swallowed ember,glowing dimly in my chest. “Well, I can’t tell it from here. Did he move his locker?”
With pursed lips, Olivia waits for the bottle before she answers. “He’s been using mine.”
“He’s skipping trig, too.” I point at her. “He was there on Monday, haven’t seen him since. And he’s gonna get busted off the team if he flunks it. I can’t help him there.”
Rubbing the bottle against her lower lip, Olivia shakes her head. “I don’t know what …”
“Liv,” Tyler says behind me. His voice shimmers like oil on water.
“Look who’s here,” Olivia says.
He answers with a kiss, dipping her back until she has to scramble to keep the bottle upright, propped on his shoulder. The air arcs electricity when he rights her, when he tosses me half a glance. “Hey, Ev.”
Olivia starts, “Maybe you should—”
“Dance with you?” He slings his arm around her shoulder, then kisses the back of her neck. It’s the only skin her coat reveals. “Any time, let’s go.”
Wedging past me, Tyler shrugs, as if to say, “Hey, when the lady says she wants to dance …”
With a touch, Olivia palms the rum into my hand, and she’s spirited into the pulsing body of her party again.
It’s funny; she actually takes warmth with her, and sound. The pantry makes a hollow echo of my breath. Before the walls can close around me, jarring me up with green tomatoes and apple rings, I slip into the party, too.
I used to know how to do this. I can fake it.
CUT TO:
“No,” I say, raising my voice. With a finger pressed into one ear, I lean closer to Sinjai. “I’m still in physical therapy now,but I should be able to play by spring.”
Her nails press into my arm as she presses closer. “Oh! We were all
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