Page 10 of Death is My BFF

I admitted. Marcy’s face slowly drained to a pallid color and hurt entered her eyes again. “He’s Thomas’s best friend, Marcy. It’s all right you didn’t tell me, I get it—”

Marcy held up her hand to stop me. “That’s the thing, Faith, youdon’tget it. I didn’t tell you because I thought you would judge me. And you did.” Reaching for her purse, Marcy rushed to exit the car. She followed a group of giggling girls on the sidewalk toward the mansion with the pounding music.

I twisted the keys out of the ignition and jumped out of the car.

“Marcy!” I shouted and jogged to her. “Wait! Come on, don’t do this!”

She turned sharply around, stopping me with a terrifying glare.

“You only came to this party to prevent me from seeing him, didn’t you?”

“Marcy . . . ”

She shook her head with a bitter smile. “This has been a wonderful conversation. Truly. It’s nice to know my best friend thinks I’m a desperate slut.” She turned her back to me again, stomping up the stone steps leading up to the mansion.

As I chased Marcy up into Thomas’s house, a wave of nostalgia hit me hard. The three of us grew up together. Throughout our childhood, Thomas had a crush on Marcy, and in middle school, he finally acted on it. Thankfully, I was never a third wheel, so our trio never died. Until, of course, Thomas grew apart from both of us and became captain of the swim team. He joined the popular crowd and, according to the high school food chain, Marcy and I were well below the apex predators.

Thomas continued to play games with Marcy, hooking up with her from time to time, never putting a label on it. Real Prince Charming material. Despite my distaste of their toxic relationship, they became an item junior year, when Marcy started to party more.

Their relationship ended the summer before senior year, when she found out he’d cheated on her. Well, technically, they’d been on a break, and it was a drunken kiss he’d regretted, but Marcy loved him so much,too muchfor him to not get his shit together and step up.

So, in my mind, he might as well have been a cheater.

Marcy had changed a lot over the past two years, ever since her mom died. She was in a dark place for a while and never wanted to hang out. Since her father was sheriff and worked often, she’d relied on Thomas for comfort. For a distraction. And when that security blanket was gone, a part of her never recovered. She was right—I felt obligated to help her get over Thomas. Marcy wasn’t just a best friend to me. She was my sister.

The silhouettes of jocks ran out of the home and onto the lawn.

They shouted drunken slurs, laughed, and wrestled each other over a blow-up Halloween decoration.

I caught up to Marcy and grabbed her by the arm. “We haven’t fought like this since the first grade, when you threatened to pull my hair out if I didn’t trade my chocolate chip cookies for your carrot sticks.” Marcy almost laughed at the corniness. “You aren’t hopeless, Marcy. Come on, this party is going to be lame anyway. Let’s pick up some Chinese food and ditch this Popsicle stand.”

She hesitated for a second and then ripped her arm out of my grasp. “You’re not my guardian angel, Faith. I don’t want your help with my love life. Besides, how can you help me when you havenoexperience?”

Marcy hurried up the steps to the front door before I could formulate a response.

I followed her into the house, only to discover this party was claustrophobic anarchy. Inside the Gregory mansion, drunken teens and college students were crammed in together. Trying to move through them felt like running through trenches of thick mud wearing a parka.

I peered into every room on the first floor, calling out Marcy’s name. The music and chaos swallowed up my voice.

The air was thick, hot, heavy. People moved sensually to the music, grinding and grappling bodies. I tore free from a throng of people and came across a girl standing in the middle of the grand staircase. She ranted in strange tongues, laughing maniacally to herself. I looked above her, grossed out by the sight of a couple half-naked on the stairs, and decided it was best to check the rest of the ground floor.

I walked past the indoor pool house to the billiard room.

Nostalgia washed over me again as I took in the tall bookshelves and the crimson-red pool table to the left of the room. I’d hidden in here once during a game of hide-and-seek, when Thomas, Marcy, and I were kids.

Leaning against the pool table was a guy wearing a gray Henley long-sleeve and dark denim jeans. Three cheerleaders, dressed as Charlie’s Angels, hovered by the fancy mini bar behind him, their glossy eyes eager. He had his back to me and bowed over the table with a lazy fluidity. His arm, lean with strong muscle, snapped back in a dexterous movement to strike the cue ball and make an impressive bank shot.

I headed toward the three cheerleaders. Marcy was loosely friends with them, since the varsity volleyball team was invited to all the cool parties. “Hey, have you seen Marcy by any chance?”

The girls laughed like there was a joke I missed, their nasty stares crawling over my skin. The middle one, Nicole Hawkins, captain of the cheerleading squad, stepped up to me. “Why don’t you check under the bleachers, goth girl?”

My face grew hot. My friendly ambiance slipped away, and I wanted to defend Marcy and myself, but I bit my tongue. These girls weren’t worth it. They were boring, copy-and-paste stereotypes with no discernible qualities that made them stand out enough to insult.

I actually felt a little bad for them.

“Need help looking for your friend?” The billiards guy was racking up another shot. He had taken off a pair of mirrored aviators and hung them on the collar of his shirt. I recognized him instantly and froze.

David Star.

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