Page 107 of Revolve
We had practice yesterday, but we were so winded from the brutal session that we didn’t talk. Sierra, of course, decided it was the perfect time to try a lasso lift. Lidia gave in, so we turned into the move, her hand in mine, and I hoisted her overhead as she stretched into an effortless split. Lidia wasn’t satisfied, though. She made us do our entire program with the lift, nineteen times.Nineteen. Sierra refused to complain, so we kept going.
Finally, parked in the garage, I take the cake from the back seat and make my way up the steps. The party is just starting to shift from a casual gathering into something raucous. Years of attending college parties have honed my ability to predict their trajectory. This one is going to leave me with a headache, I can guarantee that much.
I take a breath before I enter the house, immediately hearing my name chanted. I weave through the sea of inebriated college students who wish me a happy birthday as I slip into the kitchen. There, I put the cake into the freezer. My gaze flicks to the bottles of alcohol lining the counter. I don’t reach for one.
“Damn it,” Amara Evans, Summer’s best friend, says. We’ve been friends since earlier this year, and a few weeks ago, she used her computer skills to help me take down all the videos of Sierra’s accident that were still online.
She bites into a carrot with a loud crunch, prompting me to glance in her direction. Clad in a black latex costume with cat ears perched atop her head, she’s dressed as Catwoman.
“She’s even hotter in person,” Amara says, gaze fixed on the front door.
I follow her gaze as Eli and Sage, dressed as a firefighter and the fire, finally enter. Apparently, they all had some last-minute errands to run. “Sage?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
Amara nods, offering me celery, but I refuse. “Why? Do you have a thing for Eli?”
“I have a thing for both of them now, apparently,” she mutters.
“Fair,” I say. “But aren’t you and Sampson—”
The rest of my sentence is muffled by her hand. “We do not speak of that.Ever.”
I pry her black-latex-covered hand away. “Still haven’t told Summer?”
“Don’t need to, because it doesn’t mean anything,” Amara replies with a dismissive shrug, though her nonchalance doesn’t quite mask the unease in her eyes.
“I don’t know, Amara, it seemed pretty meaningful when you two were in the storage closet at Porter’s.”
She purses her lips. “What about you? Still pining over your skating partner?”
Before I can answer, she mutters a curse, shoots me a rushed “Happy birthday,” and swipes the vegetable platter and vanishes into the chaos of the hallway. Tyler Sampson strolls in wearing a gladiator costume, waving a bottle of Clase Azul tequila. Because of course he would bring top-shelf tequila to a college party.
“Was that Amara?” he asks, eyeing the trail of her departure.
“Not sure.”
“Well, congrats, man,” he says, slapping my back. He takes a swigdirectly from the bottle and clinks it against the can of seltzer I’m nursing. The dull clink of our drinks offends him. “This is how you’re celebrating your birthday and getting back on the team?”
Though he’s hammered, Sampson manages to hold himself together. That’s why I appreciated having him around this summer; we’re both heavyweights, and neither of us had to drag the other home. Those days of amateur drinking are behind us, though sometimes I still end up taking care of a trashed Kian.
“Not really my thing anymore,” I say.
“Is this because of that hot figure skater you’re always with?”
Suddenly I want to punch him in the face. “Her name’s Sierra.”
Sampson grins. “Sore spot?”
His attention shifts, and he’s already walking away before I can respond. From the look on his face, I know he’s spotted Amara in her Catwoman costume.
I haven’t seen Kian yet, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing. I notice Aiden leaning against a wall and sipping on what’s probably water. His girlfriend is on the dance floor, and he watches her with careful focus.
Aiden’s got on gladiator chest armor and a red cape, while Summer’s got purple fabric draped around her lavender dress. They’re Hercules and Megara. Of course they are.
“Don’t you hate dressing up?” I ask him.
“You made me go as Snow White last year. I think we both know I don’t care,” he says just as Summer barrels into him. “Besides, it’s my girl’s birthday. She gets whatever she wants.”
Summer spins on her heels and crushes me in a hug. “Happy birthday!”
