Page 2 of Nightmare

I close my eyes, transporting back to that night – Summer on speakerphone trying to talk me down from my panic attack. The group of kids from the neighboring high school spread along old sofas, sniffing white lines and throwing back shots. My throat starts to close up so I clear it a few times to cut through the lump, not letting myself fall back down this rabbit hole.

I rip the AirPods from my ears then poke a finger at Summer, who’s snoring lightly through her dropped open mouth.

“Wake up.” I throw my legs across her lap, the heels of my boots hitting the door beyond her, making her jump

“What?” She mumbles, cracking her eyes open to peer at me through the lenses of her sunglasses.

“What’s the plan for tonight?”

She smirks, making my stomach twist like a tornado, because my best friend is a lot of things – but crazy is the majority.

“Party.” I wait for her to continue speaking, to expand on the statement of ‘party,’but she doesn’t, her mouth just twists at the side, leaving me to my own imagination.

I chuckle, rolling my eyes at her, “Whose party? Kids from your school?” I pry.

She shrugs, “Probably, who knows. I got a Facebook invite, some club party.”

I laugh, leaning my head back against the door and stretch my legs across the seat as far as they’ll go, my t-shirt dress moving up to expose my thighs to the air conditioning that’s blowing from the center console in between us.

“All I need to know is, will there be hot boys to use and abuse?”

She rolls her head back on the seat, closing her eyes again, “Always, they follow this amazing ass around town like their favorite food is shit.”

I laugh, a full belly laugh, “You’re disgusting.”

She shrugs, settling back. I lean my head back too, pop my AirPods back in, close my eyes, and let the music flood my ears for the rest of the drive.

Summer and I have an interesting relationship. We’re more than friends, we’re sisters. But unlike sisters, we aren’t shy with each other. She knows it all – the deep, dark and dirty. There isn’t anything I keep from her, no matter how shameful or shitty.

There are no secrets between us, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. She’s my heart and soul, my other half. She’ll be there forever, like a built-in fixture in my life, unremovable and irreplaceable. More than family and thicker than blood.

Summer and I are opposite just as much as we are similar. We were both born and bred on the Upper East Side of the city, both raised by nannies instead of our parents, we’re both spoiled girls with unimportant problems that can be solved with a swipe of our credit cards.

The only difference is – I was disowned when I was fifteen. Sent to a boarding school in California, and I never heard from my parents again. They paid the hefty price to keep me across the country for four years, then on my eighteenth birthday, suddenly my credit cards didn’t work anymore.

I’m surprised they kept me supplied with money for the last four years, but it’s very on-brand for them to want to keep up appearances. And, what, was I going to question a high credit limit and flashy amenities?No.

The kids in our social circle have it made, past, present and future. Born into cookie cutter worlds with cookie cutter people living cookie cutter stereotypes.

Rich women with even richer husbands, spoiled kids with unlimited funds and unrealistic standards. In this world, mommy and daddy pay your way, throw their money at you and give you everything, but couldn’t answer simple questions about you like your favorite color. You’re left on your own from a young age, catered to by hired help and people you’re taught are beneath you.

Fit into the box that’s provided, keep your social media private, keep your secrets tight, and you can do whatever you want. Run wild, be whoever you want behind the scenes, but don’t go public with it, because at eighteen you’re expected to go to the college your parents went to and follow in the career paths that their parent’s parents led.

Our lives are written like a book at birth, except we don’t have to read it to know how it ends. It ends with a boy whose last name can escalate your status, whose bone structure matches yours well, whose hair waves perfectly in the front and can produce another generation of similarly looking, perfect offspring who will do exactly the same thing in eighteen years.

I couldn’t fucking do it.

I couldn’t fit in the mold provided – so I got the boot.

Both of my parents are execs at the largest publishing company in North America. If you go to a bookstore – chances are their names are stamped in that little section in the front, even though they probably have nothing to do with the books on the ground floor.

I was expected to follow. Go to Brown University like my mother and father, and their parents before them. Major in business – matching minors in Economics and English.

But thatisn’t me.

I never gave a shit about money, status, climbing the corporate ladder, marrying a powerful man. Any of it.

And when I told my parents it was my plan to attend NYU for music, I was on the first plane out. They couldn’t afford for their friends and business associates to see their only daughter defect.

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