by Jenna Scott
“Umm, cool,” I say, feeling overwhelmed.
“Oh!” She grins at me. “And if you want to get shitfaced tonight, I’ll be your sober buddy, ‘cause you’ve babysat my drunk ass plenty of times already and I owe you. Also, no sneaking out early to come back to the dorm and be all depressed again.”
“I don’t—”
“Milla. Come on.” She raises her eyebrows. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but I’ve seen how mopey you get at night. I’m not judging, I just think it’ll do you a world of good to, like, not be home all by yourself for once. Okay? Let’s just have fun.”
I nod. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good girl. Do any of those speak to you?” She gestures at the armload of dresses I have, and I frown at all the colors. I just want something low-key.
“I think I’m just gonna wear my skinny jeans and a blouse,” I say, trying to ignore the voice in the back of my mind that says Hunter would love seeing me in any one of these dresses.
Stop it, Milla. Tonight’s about you. Wear whatever you want and try to forget that prick even exists.
“Perfect,” Olivia says. “You’ll fit right in—it’s not like it’s a black-tie event or anything. Want to borrow a pair of heels?”
“Nah. I’ll just wear my Converse.”
“The better to run from all the boys in,” Olivia teases with a wink. “I’m gonna do my face and then change. Can you be ready in like twenty–thirty minutes?”
“No problem.”
She grabs her makeup bag and turns to me. “Mini makeover? Not that you need it. Just offering.”
“Sure, why not? Don’t go too crazy though.”
“Never. I save all the crazy for myself.”
I sit down, and in under ten minutes, Olivia’s done.
“A work of art!” she brags, getting the hand mirror so I can admire the bronze shadow, the thick black lashes, the light dusting of mineral foundation. “You likey?”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now it’s my turn.”
I go back to my room to change my shirt—one of Isabel’s original designs—and then stretch out on the couch scrolling through IG while I wait for Olivia to finish getting ready. I debate asking Emmett to meet up with us, but in the end I decide not to. As much as I love him, I worry his crush on my roommate will leave me feeling like a third wheel—and the last thing I want is to be the odd girl out at my first ever college party. I’m already anxious enough, but it’s too late to back out now.
Then again, who knows? Maybe this will be good for me.
Chapter Four
Camilla
I’ve always had this idea of what a frat party is, thanks to the many depictions of them in books, TV shows, and movies. Solo cups everywhere, lots of dudes saying “bro” and egging each other on to chug beer, countless sorority girls in short skirts and too much makeup, and music so loud the walls pulse.
I’m a little disappointed to find out that this party is basically exactly what I expected. The door is wide open, electronic music is assaulting my eardrums, and someone is getting cheered on as they do a keg stand in the common room. Olivia takes me to the backyard so I can get a beer—meanwhile, she’s staying true to her sobriety promise and gets herself a soda instead.
“Hey, Liv,” one of the guys says as we walk toward a group of kids in a circle of lawn chairs, and when his eyes find me, he asks, “This your elusive roommate?” He has a charming southern drawl that sounds like warm honey. I don’t mind it.
“Hey, Pat. And it is indeed!” Olivia plops down on an empty chair, and I do the same with the one next to it. “Camilla, this is Pat from Mississippi, next to him is Maverick, and on my left is preppy Josh, his girlfriend Dana, Hannah in the red dress, Travis who’s majoring in dance with me, and Liam with the mohawk.”
I wave hello to each of them in turn, forgetting half their names instantly and suddenly feeling self-conscious with all those eyes on me. The social scene back at Oak Academy has scarred me for life. I can’t help worrying these people are all judging my clothes, hair, and shoes, probably thinking I’m a pariah who’s basically shadowing the one person she knows in this place.
“Oh my God, I love your top!” one of the girls—Dana?—exclaims gleefully, reminding me that this is not La Jolla after all. She’s got the curliest hair, and bright blue eyes. “It’s so hippie-chic. Where’s it from?”
“Thank you.” I find myself smiling as I look down at the gauzy, boho-style blouse. “My best friend actually made it. She’s at FIDM, but she wants to get into costume design or maybe go work for a fashion house someday.”
“That’s freaking amazing! Is she on Insta? I’m totally going to follow her.”
Reminder to self: tell Isabel other people like the clothes she makes.
“So how do you all know each other?” I ask, curious about the motley crew clustered around me and Olivia. “Just from partying?”
Dana laughs.
“We’re all taking Intro to Japanese together,” Liam “with the mohawk” says. “What language did you pick for your pre-req?”
“I took Spanish all four years of high school, so I actually tested out of the pre-req already,” I say, and then immediately regret it. Was that arrogant? I quickly add, “But I was thinking of taking Latin next semester, just for fun.” Shit. That probably sounds even worse.
“Blah blah blah, no school talk at parties, please!” Dana interrupts, waving her hands. “We were in the middle of Never Have I Ever. Do you guys want to play?”
“Only if you let me play with soda.” Olivia taps her plastic cup. “I’m Milla’s sober buddy.”
“You? Someone’s sober buddy?” Pat, the first guy who spoke to us, widens his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Never thought I’d see the day. Or night.”
“Well, sometimes sacrifices are necessary.” She pats my shoulder. “And I want my roomie’s first Stanford party to go smoothly in case she gets as wrecked as she’s planning to. Plus, she’s the only reason I ever make it to my 8 a.m. classes.”
“You can play with soda. We do this mostly for embarrassing stories, anyway,” Pat says. “Liam, you’re up next.”
Liam rubs his mohawk as he thinks, taking a moment before he says, “Okay. Never have I ever…had sex in a public place.”
Everyone howls with laughter, ribbing each other as cups are lifted.
Well, this is starting off well. I think back to those hot and heavy moments in Hunter’s car and then drink, a long, hard gulp, then some more for good measure. So much for trying to forget my ex for one night. Hopefully the booze will kick in soon and obliterate him, since I clearly can’t erase him with my willpower alone.
Some of Olivia’s friends are drinking, too—I guess when you’re a teenager, furtive sex in random places is just par for the course.
“Hannah, it’s your turn,” Liam says.
The girl in the red dress nods, pushing up her cat’s eyeglasses before saying, “Never have I ever...kissed my best friend.”
The guys groan, none of them drinking except for Liam, but I notice that all the girls do. Including me, of course. I tip my cup back, already low on beer.
Goddammit. Two in a row. Though really I should be glad, since getting hammered is what I came here for.
“Which one was it? Emmett or Isabel?” Olivia teases, sticking out her tongue.
This isn’t embarrassing for me to talk about, so I answer truthfully. “Emmett, but both of us were like, meh, this is like kissing the back of your own hand. We still joke about it sometimes.”
“At least now you know,” Hannah offers. “And it sounds like it didn’t hurt the friendship any, so that’s a bonus.”
“You’ve got that right,” I agree. I’ve lucked out with Emmett on every count.
Olivia’s dance major friend is up next, and he stares at his cup as he says, “Never have I ever...umm…cheated on a test.”
I don’t have to drink on that one�
��as a studious Ravenclaw, I’ve never even felt the need to look at anyone else’s paper during a test, beyond the fact that it obviously isn’t ethical. But a few of the others do drink, and all of them go around elaborating on where, why, and how. Pat’s story about cheating on his driving exam when he was sixteen has all of us in stitches. Apparently, he had to sweet talk his way out of a few deducted points from illegal turns and rolling stops, and still ended up barely passing.
Pat ends up going next. “Never have I ever...had sex in a pool.”
Pretty much everyone in the circle is drinking again.
“Why are most of your Never Have I Evers about sex?” I complain before taking my mandated gulp. Everyone laughs.
“Because we’re all a bunch of perverts,” Olivia crows. “And don’t pretend you aren’t one, too. I’m honestly kind of impressed by all your drinking so far.”
I shrug. “There was a pool at my ex’s house. And the public place was in a car in a parking lot, which sort of doesn’t count.”
“It totally counts!” Hannah lifts her glass in my direction. “You can go next, Camilla.”
“Okay. Never have I ever…” I pause, trying to come up with something I haven’t done. “Danced naked under the moon?”
“Goddamn you,” the dance major guy says, taking a sip. Everyone cracks up.
“Do you have something you’d like to share with us?” Dana’s boyfriend asks.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you guys haven’t been to summer camp.”
“My summer camp was never like that!” Dana says.
The dance major says, “Then you clearly didn’t go to a summer camp for the arts.”
That has everybody cracking up again.
“He has a point!” Olivia insists. “Artsy people love getting naked. We stuck to body-painting and skinny-dipping though.”
“All right, all right. I’m next,” Dana’s boyfriend says, eyeing each girl before he says, “Never have I ever...given a blowjob.”
“Seriously, man?” Mohawk Liam groans.
At that point, I just sigh and raise my cup—but all the other girls drink as well, and so does Pat.
Olivia gripes, “Way to be basic, Josh. Moving on…” She drums her fingers against the rim of her cup. “Never have I ever…cut class when I wasn’t sick.”
She grins and takes a slug of her soda, and I drink too. So does everyone else, except for Dana—who must be another studious nerd like me.
“I went to Disneyland,” I say when they ask me for the details.
“That’s the best reason to cut class!” Hannah says, eyes wide. “What’s your favorite ride?”
“I actually loved all the kiddie rides in Fantasyland.”
“They’re the best!” Olivia cuts in. “I used to be so scared of the old witch with the apple on the Snow White ride. Actually, I still cover my eyes at that part.”
A few rounds later, everyone knows about Matt Mason’s kink closet with the purple dildo harness, Pat hooking up with a guy he later found out was a drug dealer, Josh and Dana walking in on her parents having sex, Travis the dance major losing his virginity at summer camp, and plenty of other embarrassing stuff that makes me feel accepted, like everyone’s happy to welcome me into the group.
I want to keep playing, but my bladder is about ready to burst. “I need to use the bathroom.” The ground starts spinning as I get up, and I grab the back of my chair and close my eyes until it passes.
“Why don’t I come with you?” Olivia asks, concerned.
I wave her a no. “It’s fine. I’ll be right back.”
“There’s a bathroom downstairs off the kitchen and another one upstairs, FYI,” Dana says. “And if the lines are too long, there’s no shame in peeing in the bushes.”
“Dana!” Olivia squeals.
“What? You’ve done it too!” Dana laughs.
As I head toward the house, I have to concentrate to keep walking in a straight line, and I realize far too late that I drank way too much. I should’ve skipped a round or two, or switched to soda. I’ll have to look for a bottle of water on my way back outside.
Stepping into the kitchen, I can see the air is thick with smoke of all kinds. I take in the line of people chatting in the kitchen while they wait for the bathroom, decide it’ll take at least twenty minutes before I can pee, and quickly make my way upstairs to see if there’s less of a crowd.
Last time I was this drunk, Hunter basically dragged me out of the party and called me a cab. As annoying as it was, it was also nice to know someone was looking out for me. I’m glad Olivia’s with me tonight. She’ll make sure I get home safe.
As I stumble down the dark hallway, I put a hand on the very dirty—and sticky?—wall to steady myself. Gross. I’m glad I’m not a guy in a fraternity, because I can’t imagine living in such a pigsty. Plus, the cleanup after these parties must be an actual nightmare. I know from personal experience how vile it is having to scrub puke stains out of the carpet, and spilled beer off the walls and floor.
The bathroom up here has a line that’s about half the size of the one downstairs, and just girls. Six of them. Luckily, they go in groups, and a few minutes later I’m all done, flushing the toilet and splashing cool water on my face and the back of my neck. It isn’t enough to sober me up by any means, but I do feel better. Less nauseous, lots more relaxed, and just a little bit giddy. I’m actually having a pretty good time.
Back downstairs I cut through the living room and walk by the couch, catching a familiar figure on the edge of my sight. At first, I assume I’m so drunk that I’m hallucinating—that all my wishing for Hunter is making me see things that aren’t there. Ever since we broke up, any guy who’s tall and lean and blonde looks like him at first glance, and I always do a double take to make sure it’s not.
But this time, I stop dead in my tracks. This guy doesn’t just look like Hunter. He sounds like Hunter, too. That low, rumbling laugh knotting my stomach, making my heart race. As he leans to whisper something in the ear of the skanky sorority girl curled up in his lap, I find myself staring even harder. It can’t be him. Hunter said he’d never leave La Jolla while his little brother was there. And there’s no way he’d come all the way up to Stanford just to go to a party.
Determined to prove it’s not him—there’s no way it’s him—I step closer, waiting for the Hunter doppelganger to turn his head. But when he does, I realize: it’s not just some random guy.
It’s the devil haunting my thoughts.
Hunter Beck.
Chapter Five
Camilla
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I yell, already stomping toward the couch.
I’m ready to blow not just a fuse, but the whole light box. Shoving people aside, I ignore the complaints and stares. I’m on a mission, and that mission is to confront this total jackass. Stopping in front of Hunter, hands on my hips, I glare down at him.
He takes his sweet time to raise his head and stare at me with his deep blue eyes, then shrugs lazily. “Just chilling with this chick.”
The girl in his lap smiles at me drunkenly. “Hi.”
Ignoring her, I hiss at Hunter, “I meant what are you doing at Stanford? You came all the way up here just to go to a frat party?”
“I go to school here,” he says, deadpan.
My blood goes ice cold. “You’re enrolled?”
“It’s a good school.”
“It’s a good...” I trail off in shock. We both know he never gave a damn about how good any school was—he wasn’t interested in college. And even if it weren’t for all the time we’d spent together, I can still smell his lies from a mile away. “Whatever happened to, ‘I have to stay with Harrison’?”
“Guess I changed my mind.”
Words escape me, rage making me hot all over. The nerve of this piece of shit. Putting me through all that drama and agony because he had to stay in La Jolla with his little brother, just to coincidentally end up at the exact place he kn
ew I’d be.
“Did you follow me here, stalker?”
It’s slight, but I catch him wince. “Not everything is about you, Camilla.”
The girl in his lap is visibly uncomfortable as she looks between the two of us. She’s very pretty, with long dark hair and warm brown eyes—come to think of it, she bears more than a passing resemblance to me. It only irritates me more.
I turn to her, reminding myself she’s not at fault here. “Just so you know, if you’re looking for more than a one-night stand, you’re with the wrong guy.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Hunter asks, and I see he has his hand on the girl’s waist, thumb brushing the curve. I know exactly how that hand feels.
“This is my business! You followed me here.” My voice is shaking. At least the music is so loud that most people can’t hear me screaming at him. “Was it not enough that you ruined my life twice? You had to come up here and do it again?”
“Yeah, umm. I’m not interested in getting in the middle of”—the girl gestures between Hunter and me, and starts to get up—“whatever this is. Bye.”
“No, don’t go.” He tries to grab the girl’s hand, but she yanks it out of his reach. “Let’s find a room upstairs.”
I scoff in disgust. I might not be experienced at partying, but everyone knows that “going upstairs” at a college party means having sex.
“Do you even know my name?” she asks Hunter, hand on her hip.
Suddenly I want to laugh, because there’s no way he knows it. That’s the kind of guy he was before we got together, rarely remembering—or even learning—the names of the girls he slept with. I’m sure he’s gone right back to his old ways.
