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Chapter 10

VERONICA

I SMOOTH DOWN MY DRESS and check myself in the mirror one more time, because if I’m going to do this, I don’t want to look like the campus freak everyone whispers about. The dress is one Aniyah threw at me once, back when she still dug through her whole closet with me and held things up against my chest to see what fit. It’s tighter than anything I’d normally pick and shorter too, but for once, I want people looking at me for a different reason, so I mess with my hair until I like what it looks like.

Aniyah’s on her bed with her phone up close to her face.

“Are you sure you’re not coming?” I ask.

“Can’t. Got a thing,” she says, her fingers sliding over the screen.

Right. I press my lips together and turn back to the mirror. Not too long ago, she’d have been up off the bed already, tossing tops onto my side of the room, and telling me that I looked either amazing or underdressed.

Now I get a few words from her, which I guess is great in my situation. Who’d want to room with the girl the whole college calls a stalker? Being seen next to me is basically social suicide right now, so she’s backing off before I drag her down with me too. But it still sucks, and I hate how quiet we are.

I lean closer to the mirror and put some lip gloss over my lips, then rub my hands down the front of the dress and turn to check the back. It’s fine. More than fine, actually. The girl in the mirror looks like she’s got her whole life together, unlike me. Maybe that’s the point of a dress like this. I put it on and get to be a different version of myself for one night.

I glance back at Aniyah, hoping she’ll look up, say something, ask me who I’m trying to impress, or even just make fun of me. But her fingers keep going over the screen, and whatever’s on her phone is a lot more interesting than me. I sigh. I don’t need a pep talk to go to a party anyway, and I’m not about to beg my roommate to notice I exist.

I grab my little bag off the desk and check the time on my phone. If I show up when plenty of people are already there, I can slip in without the whole room turning to look at me.

I can’t hide in my room forever anyway. If I show up at Jayden’s party and let people see me just being normal, maybe the story will start to die down, like he said it would. Maybe everyone will get bored of me and move on. I really don’t like that my best shot at fixing this is going to a party thrown by the guy I suspect of ruining my life, but I’m fresh out of better options.

And I still can’t say for sure it was even him. Every time I think about it, it doesn’t make any sense. Maybe I got it wrong, even though I didn’t see anyone looking like him anywhere on campus.

Ugh. I don’t even know anymore. I’m just so done with everything.

THE HOUSE IS ONE OF those places people rent off campus just for parties, and I can hear loud music pouring out of the open front door. I take a deep breath before I go in. Once I step inside, I’m instantly swallowed by the crowd.

But a girl by the wall catches sight of me and her eyes go wide, and she leans over to say something to the guy next to her, who turns to stare. Someone even lifts their phone toward me. Great. The stalker showed up. I lift my chin and act like I can’t feel any of it and belong here as much as any of them.

I push a little further in and let the crowd close around me, because the middle of a party like this somehow feels safer than the doorway. A couple of guys look me up and down as I squeeze past, and one of them says something I don’t catch to his friend, both of them grinning at me. I ignore it and keep moving, because the last thing I need is to snap at some jerks.

I look around for Jayden, and it’s not hard to find him. His group is by the far wall, and he’s basically surrounded by girls and guys. He’s got a bottle in one hand, tilting it around as he talks, and I hate how good he looks. His hair is just the perfect amount of messy, and his jeans are tight in all the right places. His black dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows. Totally fuckable, but that’s not what I should be thinking right now.

If I actually want to know whether it was him who sabotaged my presentation, despite all the odds, hanging back in a corner and glaring at him isn’t going to get me anywhere. Besides, it’s exactly what everyone expects the creepy stalker girl to do.

But if I get close to him, maybe I can get him talking when he relaxes. Guys like him love running their mouths when they think they’ve got someone eating out of their hand. If it was him and I got him comfortable enough, maybe he’d admit it.

The problem is getting his attention without it seeming like I’m a desperate stalker chasing the star soccer captain, since that’s the exact story the whole room is already itching to tell about me. If I go over there and try to start a conversation, someone might post a video of me like I’m the freak who cornered Jayden at his own birthday party. I need to do something that would get his attention instantly, so he’d come to me instead, and I need it to look like I couldn’t care less who’s watching.

But what could I do? Dance, of course. I elbow my way into the middle of the room where the crowd’s thickest. As I roll my hips to the rhythm of the music, I lift my arms over my head, forcing myself not to care about anything. A couple of people shift away from me, and I catch a few stares at the edge of my vision, but I don’t look at any of them. I just move like I’m alone in my room.

I close my eyes and let the song carry me, rolling my hips and tipping my head back. Then I run my hands up and down my body, trying to make the dance as sexy and seductive as possible. I even run my hand down my neck.

When I get the feeling someone’s staring at me, I open my eyes. It’s Jayden. His blue eyes are fixed on me, his face serious. I hold his gaze for a moment, then look away as if he means nothing to me and I didn’t even see him over there.

When I glance at him again, he’s on his way to me, the girls he was with staring after him. My heart rate picks up, and I don’t even know why. It’s not like I’m really interested in him or anything.

He stops right in front of me. “Do I get a happy birthday?” he says, a grin tugging at his mouth.

Right. His birthday party. I force my lips into a small smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Do you want a drink?” He tilts his head toward the kitchen.

“I don’t drink.”

“What a coincidence.” His grin spreads wider. “I don’t either.”