“Hey, Cassidy,” one boy piped up. He was attractive in a very obvious sort of way. Slender, slouched shoulders, an easy, imperfect grin.
“Well.” I scanned the room, ignoring him. “This sucks. I thought this was supposed to be a party, but you’re just sitting here playing, like, Mario Brothers or something.”
I walked deeper into the room and punched some buttons on the pinball machine. Nothing happened.
“Excuse you.” The pitch of Paisley’s voice shot up. “Since when did you become Miss Social again? Last time I checked, you were still busy blowing off the world.”
“Christ.” I shook the pinball machine, trying to make a ball appear. “Now I see why.”
“Nobody forced you to come.” The girl’s pitch went up an octave.
“Oh god, is that why the rest of you look so glum? Are you being held here against your will? Blink twice to call for help.” I smirked as everyone stared at me dumbfounded.
In one of the corners, there was a guitar display surrounded by vinyl records. I wrapped my hand around the guitar and pulled it off of the wall brackets to examine it. An autograph was scrawled at the bottom.
“Um, can you not touch that, please?” the blond said, still hovering.
“You mean like this?” I strummed my fingers across the strings and it made an off-tune chord.
She flinched. “Yes, like that. Now can you please put it down. It’s autographed by Dolly Parton.”
I stuck out my lower lip. “But I feel so rock and roll.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop being stupid, Cassidy. What’s gotten into you? You’re making me nervous.”
“God, have you always been so uptight?” I strummed a few more misguided notes. The room collectively sucked in air so hard you’d have thought it may cause a vortex.
The only boy that had spoken to me stood up off the arm of the couch. “Can I get you a drink, Cass? Beer? Water?”
“Cass…” I practically hissed at the name. “What are you, my waiter … or my boyfriend?” Amid a dead silent room, I laughed at my own joke.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Reluctantly, I set the guitar down and checked the message that was waiting. Where are you? The text had been sent by Lena. Instead of responding, I pushed the button to darken the screen and stowed it back in my pocket. Cassidy wasn’t finished yet.
Something like power was rushing through my veins, filling me up and hollowing me from the inside out. The boy hovered near the couch. “Are you okay?”
I ignored him. “Doesn’t anyone do anything fun? Doesn’t anyone do anything interesting?” I threw open the doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The night was clear. I peered down at the shimmering pool below.
I studied the balustrade. It was flat on top, mounted on wooden posts.
“What are you doing?” The hostess rushed to the balcony.
I clutched a gutter running from one of the roof eaves down the side of the house and climbed onto the rail. “What does it look like I’m doing?” Slowly, I straightened my knees and stood upright. My arms went straight out for balance.
Others had crowded the balcony’s opening.
“It looks like you’re being a raving lunatic,” she huffed.
“Who are you to tell me what to do?”
“I’m your best friend, moron,” she pleaded with me.
I peered down my nose at her. “No, I mean literally. Who are you?” I let the edge in my voice slice through her.
“P-Paisley. What the hell are you talking about, Cassidy? This isn’t funny.” She looked around to her other friends for help.
I stared down at the pool, trying to calculate how deep it was. “Somebody here needs to not be a total bore.” I enjoyed the pounding of my heart in my chest. The way it knocked so hard it threatened to pull me over with the smallest puff of wind. “Who here dares me to jump?” I twisted my chin over my shoulder to several gasps.
“Cassidy … don’t jump.” Another girl’s—not the pixie blond Paisley’s—voice trembled.
My calves burned with the effort of balancing. Any second I could tip over. Adrenaline pumped by the fistful.
“Cassidy, you’re not acting like yourself,” said Paisley.
“No, that’s exactly right.” I grinned. “I’m not. That’s the entire freaking point, isn’t it? So who am I acting like?”
Paisley looked anxiously between the faces in the crowd. “Stop this, Cass. Is this some cry for help? Are you trying to prove you were sadder than me or punish me for trying to take over the Oilerettes? Forget it. You win. Just don’t splatter your brains all over my parents’ imported Italian granite, okay?” She chewed on her lip. “Look, you’ve got our attention. Now maybe you should go home. You’re making a fool out of yourself.”
“I’m making a fool out of myself? Really? Says the skinny, frigid witch. Come on. Who here dares me? Anyone?” Silence.
Another text. Feeling more confident with each passing second, I pulled my phone from my pocket to read Lena’s number across the top. Did something happen? I’m waiting. You said you’d be here.