these,” I protest.
“Then carry them and change out of your grandma orthopedic sneakers when we get there. Let’s go , Esther.”
She takes my hand and we wander down the residential streets, Romy’s heels clicking on the pavement followed by my reluctant shuffle. The air smells like autumn: cinnamon and wet leaves and crisp breezes. The wind blows and I shiver. I’m already not used to wearing so little clothing, but even if I’d been in my usual plain garb, I’d still be chilly tonight.
All the houses are quiet, the occasional blue glow of a television set falling through cracks in blinds and onto the front yard. We’re six blocks away when I hear the pounding of music.
Romy smiles at me. “We’re here.” She stops in front of a three-story, falling-down Victorian house. People spill out of it onto the front yard. “Shoes.”
I sigh and untie my sneakers, balling up my socks and hiding them inside. I hand them to her. She holds out her arm so I can steady myself as I slip on sparkly gold high heels. They’re at least four inches high. “You couldn’t have given me a shorter pair?”
“Those are my short shoes. Besides that, they make your legs look ten times longer than they actually are. I wish you’d be more grateful.” She pouts.
“Yes, thank you , Romy, for bringing me to a party I had no interest in attending and dressing me up like…like…”
“Romy! Get your ass over here!” A man’s voice calls out from the patio and I recognize one of the football players. Rick or something. I’m not sure.
Romy leaves me with her purse which she’s unfolded into the size of a tote bag, and runs to greet her suitor. I stare in shock as he lifts her off her feet and kisses her on the mouth. I realize I’m blushing. A drunken party guest bumps into me as they stumble into the street and vomit onto the pavement.
This night is off to a roaring start.
CHAPTER FOUR
SAINT
“Do you mind?” I grunt at Rick sitting next to me on the sticky sofa. I don’t know why the sofa’s sticky. I don’t really want to know.
This is just one of the many quirks of a party house: every surface is coated in something . I just don’t know what that something is. Rick moves an elbow into my ribs and I resign myself to the fact that he’s making out with his girlfriend, they’re taking up most of the couch, and if I want to get up I’ll lose this seat to someone else.
I lean back and cover my eyes. I’d wanted to come out tonight, but this party is a lot less fucking fun than the last one. Of course, the last one didn’t take place the night before a big football game, either. As much as I pretend to not give a fuck, I can’t blow a game. It’s career suicide, and a pro-league scout could be watching.
I heave myself off the sofa and fight my way through the crowd to the bathroom. It’s closed. I bang on the door.
“It’s occupied!” someone calls back to me.
I bang on the door again. “Whoever’s in there, you better be taking a shit and not having sex. I have to piss like a racehorse.”
Nobody yells back at me, so I wander back through the crowd and out the back patio door. There are fewer people out here, but most of them are smoking weed. I can’t risk even a contact high. I go back inside. A few women wave me over to their threesome of dancing but for once, I’m not interested. I scan the room for any activity that will keep me here. It’s only nine o’clock. I can’t sneak back onto campus yet, they’re doing hallway checks.
That’s when I see her.
Her blonde hair is pulled into a low, demure ponytail, and she’s pulling self-consciously at the hem of her top. The thin straps holding the fabric up look like they’re about to break from carrying her perfect tits around. She’s wearing one of those dime-a-dozen ripped miniskirts, but on her? It actually looks different. It sets off her pale, curvy thighs. I can’t see her feet but I’m hoping to God that she’s wearing a pair of
“Then carry them and change out of your grandma orthopedic sneakers when we get there. Let’s go , Esther.”
She takes my hand and we wander down the residential streets, Romy’s heels clicking on the pavement followed by my reluctant shuffle. The air smells like autumn: cinnamon and wet leaves and crisp breezes. The wind blows and I shiver. I’m already not used to wearing so little clothing, but even if I’d been in my usual plain garb, I’d still be chilly tonight.
All the houses are quiet, the occasional blue glow of a television set falling through cracks in blinds and onto the front yard. We’re six blocks away when I hear the pounding of music.
Romy smiles at me. “We’re here.” She stops in front of a three-story, falling-down Victorian house. People spill out of it onto the front yard. “Shoes.”
I sigh and untie my sneakers, balling up my socks and hiding them inside. I hand them to her. She holds out her arm so I can steady myself as I slip on sparkly gold high heels. They’re at least four inches high. “You couldn’t have given me a shorter pair?”
“Those are my short shoes. Besides that, they make your legs look ten times longer than they actually are. I wish you’d be more grateful.” She pouts.
“Yes, thank you , Romy, for bringing me to a party I had no interest in attending and dressing me up like…like…”
“Romy! Get your ass over here!” A man’s voice calls out from the patio and I recognize one of the football players. Rick or something. I’m not sure.
Romy leaves me with her purse which she’s unfolded into the size of a tote bag, and runs to greet her suitor. I stare in shock as he lifts her off her feet and kisses her on the mouth. I realize I’m blushing. A drunken party guest bumps into me as they stumble into the street and vomit onto the pavement.
This night is off to a roaring start.
CHAPTER FOUR
SAINT
“Do you mind?” I grunt at Rick sitting next to me on the sticky sofa. I don’t know why the sofa’s sticky. I don’t really want to know.
This is just one of the many quirks of a party house: every surface is coated in something . I just don’t know what that something is. Rick moves an elbow into my ribs and I resign myself to the fact that he’s making out with his girlfriend, they’re taking up most of the couch, and if I want to get up I’ll lose this seat to someone else.
I lean back and cover my eyes. I’d wanted to come out tonight, but this party is a lot less fucking fun than the last one. Of course, the last one didn’t take place the night before a big football game, either. As much as I pretend to not give a fuck, I can’t blow a game. It’s career suicide, and a pro-league scout could be watching.
I heave myself off the sofa and fight my way through the crowd to the bathroom. It’s closed. I bang on the door.
“It’s occupied!” someone calls back to me.
I bang on the door again. “Whoever’s in there, you better be taking a shit and not having sex. I have to piss like a racehorse.”
Nobody yells back at me, so I wander back through the crowd and out the back patio door. There are fewer people out here, but most of them are smoking weed. I can’t risk even a contact high. I go back inside. A few women wave me over to their threesome of dancing but for once, I’m not interested. I scan the room for any activity that will keep me here. It’s only nine o’clock. I can’t sneak back onto campus yet, they’re doing hallway checks.
That’s when I see her.
Her blonde hair is pulled into a low, demure ponytail, and she’s pulling self-consciously at the hem of her top. The thin straps holding the fabric up look like they’re about to break from carrying her perfect tits around. She’s wearing one of those dime-a-dozen ripped miniskirts, but on her? It actually looks different. It sets off her pale, curvy thighs. I can’t see her feet but I’m hoping to God that she’s wearing a pair of
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