Page 58 of A Very Addicted Christmas

Music thumps softly outside, snow covering the ground, but the heated patio remains warm. It’s where I’ve sequestered myself with my untouched party punch. Yes, I didn’t sip after our toast, and my friends didn’t care.

I keep glancing at the punch like the Skittles are miniature eyeballs floating at the top.

A small gathering of Dalton students hang around the pool. Some play “party punch” pong, and a couple gossip at the outdoor fireplace. Audrey and Vada take on two other girls from our grade at punch pong. My best friends are losing—and it’s frankly hard to watch.

“Sip!” the crowds shout instead of “drink” to remain on theme for the sip-in-snow.

No one has their phone whipped out to film. Audrey, Vada, Winona, and I spent three hours combing through a yearbook to fine-tune our guest list, so I’m not that surprised that our friends here havemanners.

Plus, they’re all prep school students who want to get into Ivy Leagues. One video of them underage drinking could ruin their entire future. No one wants to risk that just for a thirty-second memory of tonight.

I hang back by an artfully trimmed bush and stare at my phone. Bethany’s Instagram is popped up, and IcouldDM her and invite her to the sip-in-snow. The girls encouraged me to invite her—and I said I’d think about it.

I’m still thinking.

Thinking that she’s so much cooler than me.Stop,Kinney. Yeahyeahyeah. Putting myself down is just something I’m good at, and no matter how hard I try to be nicer to myself, it’s just a struggle. I don’t know…it’s like I give shit to other people, so if I don’t give shit to myself too then that just makes me even more of a bitch. Right?

I wish someone had the answers for me.

Absentmindedly, I take a sip from my drink. The taste is overly sweet, and my cheeks pucker. Truth: I can’t taste anything other than Cherry Fizz and lemonade. I guess that’s the fucking point. Before I can second guess, I dump it into the bush beside me and set the cup on a planter.

“Didn’t like the punch?” Xander asks, approaching with his own cup.

“It tastes gross,” I say. “Like drinking a Fruit Roll-Up.”

He shrugs like it’s whatever.

I watch him for a second. It’s still weird he came here. He’s been invited to a lot of parties growing up, and if we hadanyadditional friends besides family, he’d never really go. I think he mostly hung out with Ben’s friends back when Ben invited him to soccer games. Or maybe it was lacrosse. It’s not likeIwas invited. So yeah, Ben sucks for leaving me out, but he’s not the only one who’s left me off invite lists for being “too young” and whatever.

Anyway, the fact that Xander is here right now is big.

And not just here at the party.

Buthere.

Emotions start barreling through me, and I almost regret throwing my drink away. Ugh, I have nothing to do with my hands, and I feel exposed. I glance hurriedly across the patio, noticing lots of the girls looking this way.Atmy brother.

He’s a spectacle. Always.

I sidestep in front of him and click back into my phone. “While you’re here, I could use your help,” I say, making a quick diversion so he doesn’t notice all the stares.

Maybe he still does.

But it makes me feel better knowing I’m doingsomething.

He frowns. “My help?”

“Yeah,” I say like he’s dense. “Your help, dummy.”

He rolls his eyes but he nods me on.

“Bethany Torch asked me to Winter Formal.” I wait for a reaction, but he has none. I scoff. “BethanyTorch,” I emphasize.

He frowns. “Should I know who that is?”

“She’s like the hottest girl in the senior class.”

He shrugs again.

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