Page 24 of Grown

I guess I get a little... uncomfortable, around all these rich kids.

I feel u. Well, if u need someone to talk to, u know I’m always here.

Chapter 15

W&W Cluster

The DJ’s hectic lights twirl across Shea’s face as she sways on the dance floor. She hand-altered that red top herself, letting her belly button wink at the boys circling her like prey. Even the little makeup she wears appears expertly applied, thanks to the countless YouTube beauty-bloggers she and her friends worship.

Shea’s first Will and Willow teen event. She is in her element, chameleoned with little effort. It’s baffling how she can melt into a picture yet somehow I’m cast aside, the unwanted piece of furniture in the room.

It’s not that I didn’t want to dance, but no one asked. Those thoughts start swimming against the current. If my hair waslonger, if I was skinnier, if I had better clothes... they wouldn’t ignore me.

Wish Gab was here. Really, I wish Korey was here.

I check my phone for the tenth time. No new messages from Korey. And no new activity on Instagram or Twitter. His distance pinches like a bruise on the inside of my forearm. A bruise no one can see but I feel with every move.

“Yo, Enchanted,” Creighton says, bumping my hip. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Why you ain’t out there with everybody else? Your sister is having a good time.”

I glance at Shea, the brightest spot of joy in the room.

“She deserves it,” I mumble.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m just not into this DJ. His set is all over the place.”

Creighton laughs, tugging at my arm toward the dance floor. “Man, you hard to please! Come on!”

Go along to get along, I tell my muscles so they’ll loosen their gripping hold.

He waddles behind me, arms wrapping around my waist. I want to squirm away, but Shea is watching, and I want her to think I’m OK. I want her to look up to me; I’m supposed to be the older sister, the cool one.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you, you been looking good lately.”

His sweaty scent and clammy hands are distracting. He pulls me to a wall in the shadows where other kids are dancing. OrI shouldn’t say dancing—more like boys leaning back and girls grinding on them like they’re trying to find a seat in the dark.

Creighton doesn’t think I’m going to do that, right?

But he does. He assumes the position, backing me into him. His hands feel like raw chicken cutlets rubbing my arms.

“Um, nah,” I mutter, trying to pull away, but his grip is tight. His cutlet hands reach down my dress to my bare thighs. I slap his hands away the first time. Then again.

“Cut it out,” I say.

“What? Girl, come on.” He yanks me hard, my head whiplashes.

“Are you stupid?” I pop at him, then storm out the ballroom, fuming, not caring who sees.

I’m at the elevators when I hear his hard-bottom shoes stumble behind me.

“Oh God, what do you want?”

The elevator door opens and he follows me in.