College students stumbled in and out of the house, talking in loud voices as though they hadn’t adjusted to the drop in volume outdoors. I traveled up the walkway, slipping in among them, and made my way into the home of the Beta Psi brotherhood.
Immediately, I was plunged into frenzied flashes of on-off darkness. Strobe lights blinked and the world around me shrank disconcertingly to the distance I could see between blinding flickers of light. I hadn’t known what to expect. What was a throwback rave, anyway? Now I saw girls dressed in neon spandex, ponytails crimped and swept to the side. Boys wore aviator sunglasses and tank tops with atrocious patterns, all homages to a much tackier decade. Glow necklaces were worn around heads, necks, and wrists, giving the illusion of moving targets. And from somewhere a black light shone over the crowd, turning white T-shirts electric blue and Crest-strip smiles eerily radioactive in the dark.
I hovered near the entrance, letting my eyes adjust. Gradually, I began to thread my way through the thrashing bodies, cups of beer, and swirling smoke. The music pounded my chest, egging me on as I searched the faces.
I wouldn’t be greedy tonight. One boy. A tasty appetizer. That would be my prize. I worked the room, passing a banister, a tarp-covered pool table, and a keg.
“Do you know a Beta Psi brother about this height?” I yelled in the ear of a guy filling up his cup from the keg hose and held up my hand to suggest a person only an inch taller than me.
His grin was sloppy. He raised his cup. “Cheers,” he yelled back.
I waved him off and moved on.
I tried again. “A Beta Psi brother. This height?”
The boy appraised me, shrugged, and pointed to his ear like he couldn’t hear before wandering away. Frustration built up inside me.
I disappeared into the throng of people who were all oblivious to my hunt. Faces appeared and disappeared in stop-motion. Disorienting. A nightmarish haze. I was tracing the entire perimeter of the downstairs floor when my heart fell out of rhythm with the music. There he was. Short One. The one who’d watched from behind his video camera.
It was my turn to watch him now. He stood smiling over a red cup, talking with two boys that I didn’t recognize. Their faces blurred into the background. Neither of them were part of my evening. They were collateral.
Short One wore a bright yellow T-shirt and white shorts that glowed underneath the black light. Target practice. Hatred bubbled up from my gut like a pot of water reaching its boiling point.
I found you.
I removed the knife from the pocket of my black hoodie and stashed it in the side of my boot. I then unzipped the hoodie and draped it over my arm. Underneath, I was wearing a skintight black tank top. I cupped my breasts and pushed them higher up in my bra. Better.
It took me ten steps to cut the distance between us. I counted them. I also made them count. I walked with a swing in my hips that begged to be lingered over. He did.
“May I?” I asked, cocking my head and holding my hand out for his cup.
His brows pulled together, but he offered me his plastic cup. I brought it to my lips and took a swig. The sickly sweet scent of beer poured over my taste buds.
“Do I know you?” he asked in my ear.
“I don’t know. Do you?” I said coquettishly, and took another sip.
“You look familiar.” He squinted his eyes, trying to place me between the flashes of strobe light.
“Maybe it’d help jog your memory if my clothes were off?” I said this as though it were an invitation, not a jab. As though it weren’t the figurative tip of a blade poised at his jugular.
The corners of his mouth tugged upward. He motioned for his two friends to leave. They pounded fists together like they were the ones in on the joke and I was the one left on the outside.
“Did you say ‘clothes off’?” he asked when they were gone. His eyes were bright and shiny. He was thick around the neck and stocky from there down. He didn’t have the wolflike grin of Circus Master, but that didn’t stop me from hating him.
Watching me and doing nothing. Recording me for entertainment value. Did he really think those were crimes I could allow to go unpunished? Think again, Short One.
“Not here,” I said. I had to brush my lips against his earlobe so that I didn’t have to scream. I imagined that he had a clear view down the front of my shirt. That was okay, I figured, when all he could do was take it to his grave.
“Where?” he asked. He snaked his fingers between mine. They were clammy. Up close, he smelled like a sour mix of cologne and alcohol.
I leaned in close again like I was going to tell him. Instead, I used my tongue to trace his ear and felt him shudder. Without another word, I pulled at his hand, leading him through the crowd. I was so close. When we reached the door, a thrill raced through me.