“The Annex,” said Poppy. “That’s what they call it. Doesn’t make heaps of sense, but that’s theater kids for you.”
Someone with a thick head of curly hair stuck their head out a window and placed their arm on a fire escape. “Password?” they called down. Rose had never seen Poppy even momentarily lose her cool, so it was somewhat astounding when Poppy’s face drained of color.
“Oh, I don’t—” Poppy began, but she was mercifully cut off.
“I’m messing with you,” they yelled down. “Your key card scans you in.”
Poppy gripped Rose’s arms harder. “Never mention this again.” Rose nodded and scanned her ID.
The room was washed with purple light, courtesy of no fewer than five lava lamps, and gauzy curtains drew the eye up floor-to-ceiling mirrors punctuated by long ballet barres. A fainting couchand worn armchairs were arranged in circles, populated mostly by ethereal women and a small assortment of men—mostly short, mostly with noses a little too large for their faces.
“Poppy!” A gorgeous woman with bright green eyes and blond hair that fell halfway down her back floated off the couch and into Poppy’s arms, now stretched as wide as they could go.
“Marin!” Her waist was so small Poppy’s arms wrapped back around to her own. “My roommate, Rose,” Poppy said, nodding toward Rose, her voice muffled by Marin’s hair. Marin leisurely untangled herself.
“I should have known you would bring more recruits into the fold. You’re fucking magnetic. Isn’t she magnetic, Rose?”
They both were. Rose blushed, as though her thoughts had somehow been made public. “Yeah,” she said. “I got lucky.”
“Drinks,” Marin said, waving them toward a folding table covered in more alcohol than Rose had seen in her life. “You need drinks.”
“Our parents are friends,” Poppy said under her breath, by way of an explanation. “I love the girl, but—and take this to the grave—I think her work is a little overrated. She skates by on looks, but she doesn’t have the fire that comes from experiencing real pain, you know? The gut-wrenching kind.”
Was that what it took to be an actress—to have experienced great pain? Maybe that was why she hadn’t felt a calling when she was young, when the world was safe and warm. Rose wondered what would happen if she read Cordelia’s lines now.
“This red is smooth,” Marin said, slipping a plastic cup full of wine into Rose’s hand. “And assuming you drink, you’re going to need it for tonight.”
Rose could have made an easy, open-and-shut case for nevertouching the stuff, but by some miracle she’d been blessed by a brain that thrived on moderation. On those rare occasions in high school when she’d ventured out of her shell and into packed basements, she’d learned just where her limits were. She wouldn’t ever say out loud what a victory she thought that was. “I drink,” Rose said, taking the cup.
“You’re really not going to tell me?” Poppy pouted.
“I can’t be seen already giving you preferential treatment,” said Marin. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
“Tell you what?” Rose asked, taking a slow, measured sip.
“Initiation,” Poppy said. “It’s different every year, but it’s always diabolical.”
Rose knitted her brows. “I thought tonight was just a mixer?”
“It is a mixer,” said Poppy. “With some light initiation.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny any of the above,” said Marin, topping off Rose’s already full cup. “All I’ll say is drink up.” She flitted off to greet the newest comers, and Rose grabbed Poppy’s hands.
“I’m not going to declare,” Rose said. “I thought this was just a party. I’m going to be an English major.”
“This is all harmless fun,” Poppy said.
“Initiation implies that I’m joining something.”
“I am begging you to live a little.”
“Poppy—”
“Just stay long enough to meet a few people.” Her blue eyes widened. “For me?”
Rose scanned the room, which had slowly filled with what had to be close to thirty people. Still intimate, but not in a way that threatened to make her uncomfortable. She could drift in and out of conversation without committing, make Poppy happy, and leavewith enough time to tuck into the first DeLillo on the syllabus for American Lit. Poppy correctly read her silence as a yes.
Rose had already stayed longer than she’d bargained with herself, wine and conversation flowing like they never had for her before.
