Bored, I wandered out, drink in hand, of my safe hiding spot in the kitchen. A team of guys was holding Billy Ray upside down. He held the keg spigot between his lips and the audience was chanting. “Three … four … five…”
I twisted my head for a better view of a red-faced Billy Ray. Did it taste better from that angle? I watched as the counting grew more and more energetic. Was he able to swallow or was it just sitting there in his mouth about to explode. It was as if we were all spending New Year’s Eve in Times Square waiting for the ball to drop instead of watching a sweat-stained white tee creep ever closer to the nipples of an even whiter hairy chest.
The front door opened, and there was a shriek. A lanky girl with curly brown hair ran across the room and hugged a freckled redhead. The redhead turned an unflattering shade of pink. “What’s going on?”
The brunette pressed her hands to her friend’s cheek. “Where have you been? I thought you were … that maybe someone had taken…” She was slurring her words, but her tears made her seem genuinely distraught.
Knox stood up and raised his hands over the crowd. “New rule,” he shouted. “Nobody leaves. Everyone stays right here in this house. There’s a killer on the loose, people.”
There were cheers and hoots. Only in Hollow Pines, Texas, could a murderer turn a party into a better version of itself. The beat picked back up, and Billy Ray stepped up onto a coffee table and thumped his fist against his chest. “Who’s doing the next keg stand?”
I scanned faces for Cassidy and Adam. Maybe the celebratory mood was contagious, but as I weaved in and out of dancing bodies, I felt my lips working their way into a smile and had the faintest hint of champagne bubbles floating around in my head.
I held my near-empty glass of Coke to the light and then sniffed it again. I shrugged.
When I emerged from the throng, I spotted Adam near the fireplace. I was giddy at the sight of him. Giddy and a little bit groggy. I hadn’t known those two feelings went together. Weird. The thought was fleeting, and I pushed through the cluster of kids from my school. How did all these people go to my school? That was another weird thing. Why was I hanging out with them somewhere other than on campus? I squeezed my eyes shut. My head was beginning to feel like it’d been stuffed with cotton balls. I hoped I wasn’t getting sick.
As I came closer to Adam, I had to squint. He wasn’t looking right. His skin had that splotchy texture that made him look like he was coming down with a rare tropical virus. He stumbled and caught himself, using the mantel.
“Smith’s wasted!” a boy nearby crowed.
Wasted? I registered this in the back of my mind as my tongue would a leftover bit of chicken stuck to my teeth. Adam wasn’t supposed to drink tonight. Hold on. Neither of us was supposed to drink tonight. I flattened my hand to my forehead. The world seemed to have just performed a quarter rotation, and I had to steady myself to keep from spinning with it.
Where was Cassidy? I had to concentrate hard on each face in the room. They lurched in and out of focus. I didn’t see her. Adam’s knees buckled. A few more hollers of encouragement from the peanut gallery. Adam did indeed look drunk. Obliterated. And maybe he was, but I didn’t think so.
I cut across the room—or maybe not cut—since I swerved once or twice. This wasn’t good. I squinted at the ice cubes floating around in my drink. What was in this? My feet felt three times their normal size, and it seemed as though no matter how fixated I stayed on my target, which was, in this instance, Adam, he continued to jump to my left or right and I’d have to align my path all over again.
“Adam.” I caught his elbow. His name turned my mouth into marshmallow fluff. This wasn’t good. I wasn’t feeling right. I forced myself to concentrate. Through damp hair, he peered up at me. His arm, hanging from the mantelpiece, supported his weight. He tilted his chin as if to study me. “We have to get you out of here.”
“You’re different,” he said.
“I’m fine.” I glanced to either side. Then I put his arm around my neck and began leading Adam, my Adam, down a dark hallway. I chose the first door that was unlocked. I guided him inside, then made sure to turn the latch behind me.
We were standing in the Hoyles’ master bedroom. I lowered Adam to the floor on top of a plush oriental rug. The king-sized bed was a four-poster fit for royalty.
Inside the bedroom, the bass was a muted echo, muffled further by the cotton-ball stuffing that had taken over the space between my ears. I stretched my jaw, trying to make my ears pop. Something was definitely wrong. Adam lay on his back. His chin tilted up. His back arched slightly. His breaths were shallow.