“You’re still having fun,” I point out. He’s been more than true to our promise not to bring dates home—I never hear him having sex, never see anyone sneaking out in the mornings. I know he sleeps out fairly frequently, but I also see him studying regularly and last week he boasted about the B+ he got on an English essay.
“Why not?” he asks, shivering and picking up the pace, forcing me to speed walk to keep up. “I mean, if there’s no one tying you down, why not?”
I frown. That seems like an odd thing for Kellan McVey to say. “Was there?” I ask. “Someone?”
He’s quiet for a second. “Nah,” he says finally. “There’ve been a lot of someones, but no one special.”
Ouch. “I see.”
“What about you?”
I force a smile. “No one special.”
“And tonight? You have anyone in mind? Want me to introduce you? Because honestly, Nora? You’re super hot. And in that outfit, you could have anyone you want.”
I laugh because I can’t help it. “I’m steering clear of green paint,” I say, “otherwise, I’m keeping my options open.”
He gives me a weird look. “Green paint, huh? I’m making a mental note to ask about that in the morning.”
“I’m sure I won’t know what you’re talking about.”
“McVey!”
Ten feet from the front door of the Alpha Sigma Phi house, it’s like a starting whistle has been blown. Every guy and girl in the vicinity start to cry Kellan’s name, and he grins and waves and greets them like the world’s best politician. Almost immediately I feel myself fading into the background.
The walkway leading up to the front door is lined with modified tiki torches, each boasting a severed head with flames licking out the eyes. There are jack-o-lanterns and stuffed black cats, ghosts dangling from bare tree branches, and the entire front lawn is covered in tombstones, many of which appear to have been recently disturbed.
The front door is open, crime scene tape fluttering on either side, chalk outlines of broken bodies etched on the steps and floor. Dance music fights to be heard over shrill screams and ghostly howls, and the laughter of the living is barely audible over the sounds of the dead.
Kellan shoots me an apologetic look over his shoulder as he’s quickly whisked away, some sort of beverage in a plastic skull shoved into his hand. I shiver a little in my coat, wishing I’d come up with an outfit that didn’t bare my midriff and show more than a hint of cleavage. I try not to look uncomfortable as I climb the steps and enter the dim house, every light swapped for either red bulbs or flickering black lights, casting everyone in an eerie glow.
I shrug out of my jacket as I make my way through the throng of writhing bodies, barely miss walking through an enormous web, and finally find a table full of bowls of spiked red punch, tiny spiders and eyeballs peeking out between bubbles.
“It’s not bad,” comes a voice from over my shoulder. “If you don’t mind blood and guts.”
I glance back to see a zombie smiling at me, part of his skull missing, his overalls and plaid shirt covered in blood and gore as his innards spill out. “If it’s got spiders, I’m drinking it,” I say.
He takes in my costume. “Did you come with somebody?”
“Louise got a bad case of food poisoning.”
He ladles punch into my skull cup and pours himself a glass. “Lucky me.” He touches his cup to mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
We sip the sickly sweet liquid, dosed heavily with vodka. I try not to wince as it burns on the way down, telling myself it’ll soon wash away all this awkwardness. I came here to have fun, dammit—and I’m going to.
“I’m Max,” the zombie says, extending a hand.
“Nora.” We shake and he smiles and under the gruesome makeup, I think he’s probably quite handsome. “Do you live here?”
He shakes his head. “I did two years ago, but I moved off campus. I come back for the parties, though. Are you in a sorority?”
“No. My, uh, roommate has friends here.”
“Cool.”
“Thelma!” someone bellows.
I jump back as a bright blue blur cuts between Max and I, zipping around in a circle before coming back to stand beside us, hands on hips, chest proudly thrust out to reveal the iconic S on his skin-tight suit. It’s Crosbie, clad head to toe in spandex, a red cape hanging down his back. Even in the darkness I can see his clearly defined muscles, and just as quickly as I notice, I chastise myself for noticing.
“Hey, Cros,” Max says dryly.
Crosbie spares him a formal nod. “Maxwell.”
Max rolls his eyes.
Then Crosbie takes my arm. “Let me borrow Thelma for a minute, would you? I need her help with something.”
“I didn’t think Superman had a sidekick,” I say as he drags me through the crowd to the staircase. I grab the banister before he can pull me up. “What’s going on?”
“Kellan told me your friend bailed,” Crosbie explains. He stopped when I stopped, so now he’s one step up, looking down at me. “And he said you wanted to meet somebody. Well, I’m here to help.”
“I’m pretty sure Superman’s skills can be put to better use. Plus, if you didn’t notice, I was talking to someone.”