Page 70 of The Very First Night

Tanner just shrugs, not entertaining Brendan’s confusion, and it takes a total of two seconds for Brendan to stop caring about it.

“Anything we can do?” Brendan asks Jenna.

“Actually, yes. Can you guys set the table?” Jenna responds.

“Sure, how many?”

“Uh, everyone.” And suddenly I know what had Jenna so spooked moments ago. She’s avoided Elijah just as much as I have since moving into the house; she swears she wouldn’t even breathe the same air as him if he wasn’t one of Marcus’s best friends.

I understand, though, why she still loosely associates with him despite being my best friend. I wouldn’t feel comfortable asking her to cut him off and subsequently throw a wrench in her relationship with Marcus.

As soon as the table is set, Jenna begins cutting the lasagna. “Guys! Dinner’s ready!”

Within minutes, everyone is filtering into the kitchen, each person individually complimenting Jenna on the beautiful dinner. Marcus approaches her, whispers something in her ear, then kisses her temple.

It isn’t until we’re all seated at the table with the baked pasta dish in the center that Elijah joins us. He sits down next to Marcus and I don’t miss the way he barely looks at me.

We haven’t spoken since our argument, if you’d call it that. I suppose it’s better categorized as him attempting to apologize, then—when I didn’t lay down and thank him for his kindness—turning on me instantly.

It’s a weird feeling, disliking someone so much but also holding onto the memory of who you thought they were. Still, I can’t figure out what would have driven me to go back in time and fix things with a man like that. The holes in my memory of what’s yet to come only leave me more frustrated as I make decisions.

I like to think I’m doing things differently, but it’s impossible to say.

“It looks great,” Elijah says to Jenna, and she smiles softly and nods in response.

We all dig in immediately and begin chatting about our classes. Most of my classes have been pretty slow so far, but apparently that isn’t the case for everyone.

“Have you thought of any ideas for the spring fashion show?” Jenna asks Regina.

“I have a few concepts I’ve drawn up. Thankfully, I don’t have to start working on it quite yet, but it’s on my mind.”

Regina is a senior in Kent State’s fashion design program, the most competitive fashion program in the state and top five in the country. Every spring, the Kent Fashion School puts on a fashion show that serves as their senior showcase, where they show off their individual designs and are judged by a panel of industry critics.

“I was actually wondering, would either of you be willing to walk in it?” Regina asks, looking between Jenna and me. My eyes nearly bug out of my head as Jenna’s light up with delight. “I know it’s a tall ask, but most everyone has chosen their models already and I know that if I wait any longer to ask people, I’ll end up with the reject pile of models.”

“Of course we’ll walk in the show for you!” Jenna squeals before her eyes meet mine. “Won’t we, Kat?”

All eyes shift to me, putting me on the spot with little opportunity to think it over. It’s not that I am completely averse to being in the spotlight, but I’ve always gravitated toward being behind the camera, not in front of it.

“Sure,” I respond, then quickly shove a bite of food into my mouth.

“You two will look beautiful,” Tanner says, and now all eyes drift toward him.

He’s said stuff like that to me on many occasions, but seldom in such a group setting, and I am unsure if he’s ever said it to Jenna. I try not to read into it as we still haven’t talked about last night.

Tanner seems to notice all the attention on him, and he laughs. “Complimenting your female friends shouldn’t be so foreign. Have some respect, man.”

Idiot. I laugh to myself.

Brendan suddenly jumps up and heads into the kitchen. We hear the clinking of bottles and glasses and a faint whirring noise as he blends something. He emerges with an almost fluorescent green liquid in hand, declaring it to be his newest concoction. I can smell the sharp scent of alcohol emanating from it, and my stomach turns at the thought of drinking any more after last night’s heavy indulgence.

Politely, I decline his offer to try it.

“Do you need any help cleaning up?” I ask Jenna.

“No,” she says with a laugh before turning to the table of mostly men. “You guys get to clean up.”

I take the opportunity to grab my backpack from the entryway and escape up to my room, thankful to excuse myself.

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