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His face drops with stunned confusion. “What?” he grimaces. “Theo told you what!? What are you talking about!?”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I insist boldly. “I don’t want to see you. Please leave me alone.”
I expect my heart to break as I say the words, but it’s still hard and cold. I feel nothing for him in this moment. I just want more than anything for him to go. But he persists, erupting into a string of pleas and panicked explanations as he drops down before, clutching at my legs and feet. Bridgett tries to stop him, but he pushes her away. I look around the room helplessly, wishing someone could do something.
That’s when I notice Coach Granger catch sight of the scene, and he immediately runs over. He grabs Emmett by the arms and locks him against his chest, lifting him up into the air before finally carrying him out of the gymnasium kicking and screaming.
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“You okay?” Bridgett asks, gently rubbing my arm as I stare off into space.
“Just a little embarrassed,” I say.
“Let’s not let that ruin the night,” she suggests, pulling me toward the dance floor. “Whatever happens with him can be sorted out later. You deserve to have fun tonight.”
I follow behind her, feeling apathetic to this entire dance all over again. But then I realize she’s right. I do deserve to have fun. And why should I feel embarrassed? This school has seen all sorts of things from me including outbursts, emotional breakdowns, stolen and leaked nude photos, and fake images of Malcolm and I having sex. It’s really silly to have thought I could have made it out without at least one more incident. I decide to think of it as my farewell gift and dive into dancing with Bridgett.
We both lose ourselves in the pumping music and after a while, she pulls her own flask out from the cleavage of her corset. We take turns tossing back bitter, burning swigs from the little silver bottle in between songs. Soon I start to feel lighter and freer than I have in a long time. That is until one of my sips from her flask hits me the wrong way, making me gag as I nearly throw up.
“Go get some punch to mix it with!” she laughs over the blaring music.
I nod and make my way over to the punch bowl. I pour myself a glass, but when I turn around, I nearly bump into a big burly guy. My heart sinks when I realize who it is. I have to set my cup down to keep myself from spilling it. I can’t remember his name, but I’d never forget his face. It’s the punk who gave me my oh so warm welcome to WJ Prep. He gave me a tour and a little taste of what to expect during my time here. I brace myself for him to snap at me the way he did on that very first day.
“Oh, sorry,” he smiles lightly before disappearing back into the dancing crowd, as if nothing happened at all.
“What the fuck,” I mumble to myself under my breath.
Even if he didn’t remember me from my first day, he would know that I am blacklisted. Everyone does. The Elites make sure of it. And it is everyone’s responsibility to make my life as difficult as possible. Everything that’s happened with Emmett and Malcolm’s death would only make their expected wrath even worse. It’s hard to think of a single reason this kid would have the guts not to go off on me, much less apologize and smile.
Is everyone just that drunk? Or high on their quickly approaching escape from the hell hole? Or maybe we’re in one of those short periods of time when no one is sure who is in charge. With no one at the top of the food chain, maybe we can all just be nice to each other. It happened once before after Thomas died and a chunk of the Elites went under investigation.
I shrug it off and turn to pick up my cup, eager to steal some more of Bridgett’s liquor. I just want to drink and dance and keep thoughts about Emmett or anything else that’s painful as far from my brain as possible. I throw myself back into dancing until I’m covered in sweat and my feet are aching.
“Wanna take a break?” Bridgett suggests finally, but only after her flask is empty.
“Absolutely!” I yell back.
I follow her over to a line of folding chairs where a few sad, lonely looking kids sit along with another couple of kids who look pale or green, like they’re about to vomit. As I crash down into one of the chairs, still panting and out of breath, I start to feel a tinge of queasiness myself. I do my best to ignore it.
I stare around the room, laughing at how crazy some of the students are dancing. Bridgett and I point out our favorite ones to each other. But the more I look around, the more the lights start to bleed together. I feel my head bob slightly out of my control as it grows heavy. The sick feeling in my stomach grows and the only thing that seems to make it stop is closing my eyes. But the moment I do that, I feel like I could pass out within seconds. I quickly stiffen up, trying to stay awake.
“You okay?” Bridgett asks, looking at me with concern. “Did you drink too much?”
I try to answer, but my throat and mouth suddenly feel dry as cotton. But I know I didn’t drink too much. I’ve drank plenty before and made myself sick more than once on a lot more than what we had tonight. This doesn’t feel anything like that. This is something else entirely.
26
Chapter Twenty-Six
I sit as still as possible, hoping this sudden sickness goes away. But the longer we sit, the worse I feel. The booming speakers swell in and out, sounding too close one minute and a million miles away the next.
“Want to dance some more?” Bridgett leans in to ask. “I love this song!”
“What?” I groan, thinking how much I do want to dance. But I can’t even tell what song is on, much less how to stand up and flail around without falling over right now.
“I love this song!” she shouts louder, starting to dance from her seat.
I sway a little, wanting to join her, but I almost fall out of the chair. Thankfully she doesn’t notice, but I know this is quickly becoming too much for me to hide.
