Page 306 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“Hey, man,” I say, walking right up to Jeremiah. “Indi Virgo check in yet?”

Jeremiah consults his clipboard, and then shakes his head. I pat his shoulder. “Let me know when she gets here.”

He nods and steps aside, unhitching the red rope so I can pass. I hear murmured complaints from the queue behind me, but none loud enough for me to make out actual words.

The bottom level of the house has a few separate lounge areas, mostly intimate, all crammed with girls in whorish cocktail dresses and uncomfortable guys in suits. There are already some loose ties and rolled-up sleeves—and the party hasn’t even begun yet.

I find Dylan in the game room, playing pool with Zak and a few other guys from our team. The music thumping from the dance floor beneath makes it almost impossible to hear anything over the bass track.

I check my watch. Ten minutes to eleven. Did Indi honestly chicken out?

A hand lands on my shoulder, and I’m grinning before I even turn around. “My man,” I say, chest-bumping Marcus. He’s also wearing a tuxedo, but where mine is a little tight, his seems to be hanging looser than it did last year.

All the drinking, I guess. That, and I barely see him eat anymore.

“Let’s get a drink,” he mouths, cocking his head back the way I just came in. I slip my phone out, checking the screen to make sure I haven’t received any notifications. Jeremiah has my number, so he’s bound to call or text when Indi shows up.

“She not here yet?” Marcus says, raising his voice above the music as we head into one of the hallways leading to the smaller kitchen where Dylan keeps his alcohol.

“Not yet.” I grin at him. “But she’ll come.”

Marcus doesn’t look convinced, but I ignore him. Shewillbe my date tonight. Even if I have to go to her house, throw her over my shoulder, and bring her back here myself.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Indi

I slide the last tray of shortbread into the oven. Marigold is snoring quietly, head in her arms on the countertop. I set the oven timer, push a strand of hair from my face, and bite back a sigh of relief.

Quarter to midnight.

Hey, it’s not a party if it’s over before midnight, right? If anything, I’ll just be fashionably late.

Wearing what, exactly? My school clothes? A pair of baggy jeans and my hoody?

I creep down the hall and consider the stairs before grabbing the rail. Then my eyes track down the hallway again.

The brief thought that my mother may have left behind something suitable for the party tonight has been pestering me since I tried that locked door hours ago.

Locked, Indi.

But every locked door has a key, right? I just need to find it…

I creep up the stairs and hurry down the hall to Marigold’s room. The door creaks a little as I push it open, then I’m inside.

Yup, just as I thought—it’s as lifeless and dull as the rest of the house. It seems like the only room in this place that ever had any spirit was my mother’s—and that’s been a tomb longer than she’s been dead.

I scout around for a few minutes, but I come up empty. Marigold doesn’t have a drawer of trinkets, or a jewelry box, or any reasonable, logical place to hide a key.

Which means it’s probably on her person.

I let out a sigh, and start opening her closets. But after tugging out the fifth shapeless, beige dress, I give up.

On her person…

I stand at the entrance to the kitchen, pushing my bottom lip against my teeth with a thumb so I can nibble it real good.

Worst case scenario? Marigold wakes up and thinks I was about to molest her. Honestly, she probably considers me a no-good deviant to some extent already.

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