The dress Aster loans me isn’t my normal style. It’s fancier than my prom dress. It’s definitely tighter. I yank on the hem of the dark-mauve, sleeveless minidress, eyeing the deep halter neckline in Gracie’s mirror. How am I supposed to sit in this without showing everyone my underwear? I’m not even wearing normal underwear, just this tight girdle thing to hold in my stomach and a halter push-up bra. They’re incredibly uncomfortable.
“Your boobs look phenomenal in that,” Gracie says, looking at me in the mirror. I frown. I don’t think my boobs have ever been this high. And my hair—I used a YouTube tutorial to make my curls defined and voluminous instead of frizzy, and Aster made me wear a lipstick the exact color of my dress. Gracie is wearing an outfit that’s a cross between a blazer and a dress with sequined lapels. She says it’s her sister’s, who works at Saks Fifth Avenue. She’s also slicked her bangs back into a tight ponytail, which accentuates her cheekbones, and has on nude lipstick and dark eyeliner. She looks stunning, but she doesn’t look like Gracie.
Aster’s yellow dress is even shorter and tighter than mine, and her hair falls loose in soft waves. She’s wearing contacts instead of her oversize Gucci glasses, and makeup covers her freckles. Since I’ve only seen Aster in jeans before, she also looks strange. And gorgeous. I frown at the three of us, reflected in the mirror on Gracie’s closet door. Two journalism nerds and a girl-jock dressed like Kardashians. This is going to be an interesting night.
I throw a sweatshirt over my dress before my coat in case it’s cold. The weather’s still being so weird. Like it didn’t get the memo that spring should be here by now.
We split an Uber to the party. It’s late, past ten o’clock, but Aster says these parties don’t pick up until this hour or later. The Gormleys live in the posh Forest Hill neighborhood—a part of the city I’ve never been to. The car drops us off in front of an enormous gray brick house with black window frames and doors. It looks to be about eight times the size of my parents’ house in Alderville.
“Holy shit,” I say as we get out of the car. “This house looks bigger than East House.” I tighten my coat around my shoulders.
Aster nods. “It probably is. Jack says his parents are in Prague right now. The house is fucking nuts—careful you don’t get lost. Stay in Jack’s wing and you’ll be fine. I’ll tell Nat we’re here.” She pulls out her phone and texts someone.
Gracie glances at Aster, irritated.
We don’t knock on the double doors—but someone opens them anyway. It’s a tiny girl a bit younger than us with a short blonde pixie haircut. She’s dressed in wide-legged light-blue jeans and a cropped purple crocheted tank. When she sees us, her face lights up, and she throws herself around Aster in a hug. Gracie blinks at them.
The entryway of the house is about the size of my living room at home. The floors and the curved staircase are dark wood, and a huge chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around, but a low beat drifts through the house.
Aster introduces the girl with the pixie as Nat and tells us she grew up with Jack. Nat nods and says he’s practically her little brother. My eyes widen at that. Nat isn’t a clone of Emma or Bailey, and she’s not dressed how Aster told me I’d have to dress for this party. She seems out of place. When I look at her closely, I wonder if she’s actually older than I thought. She clearly knows Aster really well.
I start to unzip my coat. Nat points to a formal-looking sitting room off the entrance hallway of the house. “You can throw your coats there, in that room. Don’t leave any valuables in it. Jack wanted to hire a coat-check girl, but he’s always a bit extra.”
After we drop our things in the pile of coats, Nat loops her arm through Aster’s. “I am so glad you came. Youneverhang out anymore.”
As she guides Aster past the stairwell, Gracie and I follow, and I can feel Gracie’s annoyance at this girl radiating off her. What exactly is going on here? At some point I have to get Gracie to explain the status of her “relationship” with Aster.
As we walk toward a huge kitchen, long hallways branch out on both sides. Nat takes us down the left hallway, and we pass several rooms—a gym, a library, and what looks like a locker room. The hallway ends with large double doors. This is where all the noise is coming from.
Nat opens the doors with a flourish. “We need to keep the doors closed so the housekeeper doesn’t complain.”
I do a bit of a double take once I see the actual party room. It doesn’t look like it belongs in this formal house—it actually looks more like a quirky nightclub or an industrial loft. The lighting in the space is dim, but pale twinkle lights glow everywhere—around the windows, lining a bar area, even hanging from the ceiling. The flooring is gray tile, but there are several plush white area rugs scattered around.
An enormous screen covering one wall shows an old cartoon—something I don’t recognize. The furniture in the room is modern—steel and leather—and mostly clustered on one side of the room. There are about fifty people or more here, which is fewer than I expected. Some lounge on couches, others sit on those cushy white rugs, and many stand near the bar. Everyone is in club clothes—we’re not overdressed at all.
My eyes are drawn to a guy wearing a three-piece white suit with a pink scarf around his neck lying in the middle of the floor, not even on a rug, with his eyes closed.
“I’m not in Alderville anymore,” I say softly.
Gracie takes my forearm and squeezes.
“Natasha, tell me the sushi is here,” the guy lying on the floor says, his eyes still closed. He’s a stereotype of a rich white boy—impeccable features, shiny blond hair, bored voice. I assume this is Jack.
“Get off the floor, Jack,” Nat says, kicking his leg. “Aster and her friends are here.” She’s still holding on to Aster’s arm.
He snorts. “I thought Aster only cared about plebeians now.”
“Hi, Jack, great to see you too,” Aster deadpans. “Get up and meet my friends.”
He groans with annoyance. “I cannot possibly be introduced to new people right now. My brain isfullof people. Any more and they will drown out the much-needed voices.” Suddenly, he rolls himself onto his side, crossing his legs and propping himself on his elbow. He squints at us. “Oh, it’s you. I liked you better in a suit.”
I frown. Who is he talking to?
Nat shakes her head. “Don’t mind him. He’s already wasted. Let’s get you some drinks.”
She steps over Jack’s legs and heads to the bar area. I step around him. As we walk away, he mumbles something about glorious backsides.
We’re introduced to several people at the bar area, which is really more of a small kitchen with a huge stone countertop and silvery gray cabinets. I don’t recognize any of the people, and none of them are Bailey. The girls are all dressed like we are—in short, tight dresses. Some are shiny or glittery. The guys are more varied—some in jeans and T-shirts. A few in polo shirts, and at least one guy in sweatpants. There is a ton of untouched food on the counter—including a few trays of sushi. “I don’t know why Jack always orders so much food,” Nat says. “No one ever eats.” She waves her hand. “Wine? Or there’s beer, cider ... and I think Travis was mixing cocktails somewhere.” She turns around and walks away, yelling, “Travis, where’s the vodka?”
