Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Unease prickles over me. She’s got me there. She does. I used Dani as a shield, because I knew if I got within one foot of Charisma—
“Tell me how you feel, Charisma. Wasn’t I just a good fuck? Weren’t you just using me?” This feels crucial to me, and I tuck my hands in my pockets to hide my nervousness.
Her head shakes. “Don’t turn this around. It doesn’t matter how I felt. We’re over anyway…right?” She stares at me, waiting for a response, and my chest feels tight.
“Right.” I rub a hand through my hair and hold her gaze. “Charm. I am sorry for how it ended.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” She turns her back to me, gets in her car, and cranks it.
I don’t try to stop her. I’ve pushed myself as far as I can when it comes to talking about this.
She pulls out, and I stand there until she’s gone, her taillights glowing in the dark.
13
“I hope we don’t get caught,” Margo mutters as we slip like ninjas through the stately front door of the Theta mansion on sorority row. It’s bigger than our house, rumored to have at least twenty bedrooms upstairs for upperclassmen. We’ve crashed parties before, and the opulence and over-the-top decor is enough to make me grit my teeth. We aren’t the “rich party girls” the Thetas are, and we’ve accepted it, but Margo is determined to get the latest scoop on our competition. I don’t know why since it’s our last semester, but that’s just her. No one gets the best of her. She’s on a mission, and she’s dragged me and Penelope with her.
Might as well.
It’s the Friday after a long week of classes, and my plan was to watch TV, but after Penelope gave me a rousing pep talk and reminded me we’d be incognito and then proceeded to say, “You never know who you might see,”…well, I jumped at the chance.
Margo adjusts her feathered black masquerade mask with red jewels on the side. Penelope and I do the same. We. Are. Ready.
“If anyone asks, we’re three freshmen, green as a blade of fresh spring grass. Got it?” I say.
Nods come.
“Right on,” Penelope says. “This party will blow.”
We’re dressed in all black, the theme of this fabulous shindig. Margo’s in jeans and an expensive-looking cardigan set—which I told her is a dead giveaway, but she ignored me. Penelope’s in a short leather skirt and a cropped sweater. Her red hair is swirled up in a tight bun, her mask loaded with feathers. She keeps blowing them out of her mouth.
I’m in three-inch strappy black heels, primo cropped leggings—the kind that suck everything up—and a snug gold vest with intricate black embroidery and cloth-covered buttons. With a deep plunging neckline that displays my cleavage, it’s a snazzy little vintage piece that caught my eye at a consignment store in New York. It breaks the “black only” rule a little, but I couldn’t resist it.
“Thanks for helping me spy on their party. Ugh. Why didn’t we think of a cool party for back to school?” Margo complains.
“Madame President, think of our high GPAs. Remember our kickass homecoming gig where everyone in the world showed up, even townies! This party will never top any of ours!” I say.
We do a fist bump. We had a few glasses of pre-party wine back at the house.
I adjust my own mask, which is made of soft velvet and has sparkling faux diamonds in the corners. My hair is slicked back in a high ponytail, the pink strands brushed with temporary brown hair paint Penelope swore would wash out later.
I could be any girl tonight.
There’s a long line of people in the foyer as we ease closer, the Theta standing there checking IDs and handing out wristbands for alcohol.
“Uh-oh,” I say. “ID check.”
“Dammit, how are we going to get past her?” Margo mumbles.
I’m in the middle of them and throw an arm around each of their shoulders. With me in heels and them in flats, I’m almost as tall as they are. “I’m sick and you’re taking me to the bathroom. Remember freshman year and that dance club we wanted to get into—do that, got it? Go with it!”
My head falls down to my chest and I force out a retching sound. It’s loud and gross. I have my brothers to thank for that—I’ve heard them barf plenty of times.
The crowd moves as Margo and Penelope support me, pushing through the people and carrying me straight to the front where ID Girl is at a podium, a little clipboard and earphones in her ear. Shit, they’re miked. Super cool. She’s talking into her headpiece as a guy in a Kappa Sig shirt stands there waiting, annoyance on his face.
“Girls! Get in line with everyone else!” she yells.
Penelope’s words run together. “She needs a restroom stat, please, plus we’re not twenty-one, don’t need a band, ’kay? Gotta go!”