Page 6 of Beyond the Lines
“Like, if a hovel and a haunted Victorian mansion had a baby, and that baby was raised by wolves with no concept of interior design.”
“That’s... vivid.”
“But accurate,” another girl—Katie? Kaitlyn? I’ll need to consult Em’s spreadsheet—chimes in. “Though the haunted vibes add to its charm.”
“See?” Em bumps her hip against mine. “Plenty of adventure already, and we haven’t even arrived.”
I smile, forced to admit I’m already enjoying myself. Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is exactly what I need—a night of normal college experiences to help me forget about Chris and his betrayal, about the postcards still sitting in my backpack like little paper reminders of my naivety.
The thrum of bass grows louder as we approach a sprawling Victorian that definitely lives up to Marnie’s description. Every window glows with multicolored lights, and the wrap-around porch is crowded with students holding red cups and shouting over the music.
“Welcome to college,” Em says with a grin. “Time to make some questionable decisions, although we’re both out of the boy market.”
I laugh and let her pull me toward the house, already feeling lighter than I have in weeks. For the first time since Chris, and since the rejection letter from the Rhode Island School of Design—whichledto my year abroad and to Chris—I feel something like excitement flutter in my chest.
Maybe this is where I’m meant to be, I think as we step through the doorway into the pulsing heart of the party.Maybe this is where my real story begins.
The moment we’re inside, I understand why Em insisted on the wedge sandals. The floor is sticky with spilled drinks,and navigating it in flats would’ve been like walking through a tar pit. The music hits me like a physical force—some EDM remix that makes conversation impossible without screaming.
“Drinks first!” Em shouts over the bass, grabbing my hand. “Then dancing!”
I’ve been to parties before, but they were always intimate affairs in friends’ basements or backyards while their parents were away. This is different. This is chaos incarnate, bodies pressed together in every direction, the air thick with sweat and cheap beer, and something sweeter.
Probably whatever neon concoction is being ladled out of trash cans.
The thought grosses me out as we push through the crowd, Em leading the way with the determination of a heat-seeking missile locked onto its target. The Victorian’s layout is confusing, as if the house was designed by an architect who’d had a few too many shots of absinthe, and soon we’re on our own.
“I think we lost the others!” I yell to Em.
She turns back with a grin. “They’ll find us later! Come on!”
We squeeze past a couple making out against a door frame—hello, college—and finally emerge into what, I assume, was once a formal dining room. Now it’s been transformed into party central, with a makeshift bar setup that would make any health inspector have an aneurysm.
“What’s your poison?” Em asks, already reaching for a red cup.
“Whatever has the lowest chance of making me go blind.”
She laughs and ladles something fluorescent blue into twocups. “This’ll do…”
“What’s that?” I ask, my nose crinkling in some measure of disgust.
“House special,” a nearby frat guy laughs. “Don’t ask what’s in it…”
“Here you go, one plausible deniability,” Em grins as she hands me my cup.
I accept the cup and take a tentative sip. It’ssurprisinglynottotallyterrible—sweet and fruity, with an undercurrent of what might be vodka or might be paint thinner. Hard to tell, but it’s strong, and I can tell it’s going to give me a buzz before too long. A few more, and… well… it might not be pretty…
“Not bad, right?” Em takes a healthy swig of her own drink. “Now, let’s?—”
A surge in the crowd separates us suddenly, a group of guys pushing through and not stopping for anyone. I stumble back, getting lost in the pack, my drink sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my cup. By the time I’ve recovered, I look around but can’t see anyone I know.
“Em?” I call out, but the music swallows my voice.
I catch a glimpse of her disappearing into the crowd, but before I can follow, another wave of people sweeps through the kitchen, carrying me in the opposite direction. I end up pressed against a wall, watching the chaos unfold around me.
Great,I sigh.Fifteen minutes in, and I’ve lost my roommate, my floormates, and any sense of direction in this architectural fever dream.
I take another sip of my drink, bigger this time. The sweetness can’t quite mask the burn of the alcohol, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I’m about to attempt to retrace my steps when I notice something odd about the wall I’m leaning against.
