Page 7 of Embrace

But a spark of jealousy ignites inside my bones when Julia comes up behind Cassie now. It travels almost imperceptibly, then all at once.

I don’t get jealous. Jealousy is green, angry, and resentful, but none of those thoughts come forward. It’s deeper than that. Something far removed from the girl. Like yet again it’s not me, and it never has been.

“Ishida! Beer?” Cassie asks, handing me her cup and tossing another one to Julia to fill. Cassie doesn’t seem to have any problem beaming at me. We had a good time. I know we did, and she told me so multiple times. But I can’t seem to forget that whatever we had wasn’t enough for her. We didn’t have sex. I can’t do that unless I’m all in.

Growing up, I saw the way my parents were, and that’s what I want. My friends are in relationships that are fulfilling. It makes it harder to justify a relationship that’s rushed, messy, or built on convenience.

I lift my cup, letting her pour the beer. “How’ve you been? Good summer break?” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. I’m alwayscompletely myself around everyone else, but with her, I’m disjointed and stunted.

“So fun! Julia and I stayed at her family’s house out in Calabasas.” Her gaze flickers again to Julia, who watches her with a soft smile.

Why am I here?

“I’m glad you had fun,” I say, stepping aside.

I’d gotten my feelings for Cassie so twisted up, so wrong, that I don’t understand what I want anymore. This whole year, I’ve been watching my life fall into a doomed countdown. Aiden and Eli have already left, and Dylan and I are graduating soon. Everyone is moving on, yet I feel like I’m trying to stop the hands on a ticking clock.

When I make my way to the kitchen, I spot Dylan, who gestures that he’s leaving.

“Nooooo,” I say. “Don’t leave. We’re going to play drunk Jenga.” The buzz in my system is obvious now that he’s staring at me with sober eyes, pointing to the exit.

Just as he leaves, I’m caught up in the middle of a makeshift mosh pit in the kitchen when “Mr. Brightside” blares from the speakers. I’m not sure what happens in those ten minutes when we shout for the song to replay, but by the end of it I’m sweaty and my head’s up in the clouds.

I push my way through to the sink but stop dead in my tracks.

Red hair. A darkish, kind of cherry and maroon mixture of color. My tutor.

Not your tutor.

She’s standing by the sink, rubbing something together in her hands, filling the metal basin with white soapy bubbles.

I snap out of hyper-fixating on her hair when a guy cups her elbow, his fingers digging into her tattoo-covered skin. At the library she was wearing a sweater, buttoned all the way up and no clear signs of ink, save for the hint I thought I saw. But now, I findmy gaze tracing each and every one. A bird, a red snake, and a white lotus—

“No.”

The word draws my attention to her lips. It wasn’t loud—she nearly whispered the word—but any idiot could tell from her body language alone that she’s not into whatever the guy just whispered in her ear.

Immediately, something mixes with the acid in my stomach. Something tight and unwilling to unfurl until it pulls me straight to where my eyes are burning holes into the dumbass touching a girl telling him no.

Four

Scarlett

This has tobe a bad omen. It’s the first party of the semester, and I’m covered in beer.

After some guy bumped into me, spilling my beer onto my top, I considered calling it quits and pretending this semester doesn’t exist. I had a solid run. Maybe it’s time to retire from college parties altogether.

But then I saw Sierra beside me, her eyes darting and fists tight. I’m the reason she’s here. I’m the one who swore that people had moved on. Except now, I can’t tell who the eyes in the room are focusing on, her or me. Sierra, with the near-fatal fall that benched her for a year and the partner who bailed right after. Or me, with the shiny reputation of having slept with half the guys in this house.

Two very different scandals. One very captivated audience.

That would all be fine, if I hadn’t lost Sierra. When I headed inside to get rid of the sticky beer covering my torso, and making my shirt see-through, I hadn’t realized she wasn’t following me. The guy who bumped into me and caused the mess didn’t bother looking back, he just barreled toward the backyard.

So now I’m standing at the kitchen sink, holding my shirt away from my chest, when a girl from the sorority notices my predicament and finds me a spare shirt. She even brought me a vodka cran.

But with things going so well, it was only a matter of time before some douchebag showed up to ruin my peace. I try ignoring him, giving him one-word answers, but the closer he gets, the more I tense. He grabs my arm so hard I’m sure it’s going to bruise, and all I can think about is kneeing him in the crotch.

Still, the urge to do what I want stays buried under the need to appear polite. It’s like being trapped in an endless improv, forced to repeat “Yes, and” into eternity.