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Love: You have no idea.
Zac: What happened?
Love: You go first.
Zac: Just been stuck at some lame-ass party and debating on drowning myself in the punch bowl. You?
My breath hitches, scraping at the back of my throat.
A party?
As in… this party?
Love: Theodore Cox’s party?
Please say no.
Zac: Yeah. How’d you know?
Fuck.
Love: Because I’m here, too.
He stops replying for a bit, and it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s probably just as freaked-out as I am. We’re closer to each other than anticipated.
Much closer.
And here I thought this anonymity pact would be child’s play.
Zac: So, we run in the same circle then?
Love: Looks like it.
Zac: I didn’t know you were popular, L.
Love: Who says that I am?
Zac: Don’t bother. You got invited to the cool kids’ party. The jig is up.
Love: So? Maybe I snuck in through the back door.
Zac: You mean the locked back door? Fat chance.
Love: How do you know it’s locked?
Zac: Tried to take a piss outside earlier. Backyard’s off limits.
Damn it.
For what it’s worth, his presence here most likely means he’s part of the basketball team or friends with a player. Whatever it is, he’s got to be popular—even if it’s just by association. Or maybe he’s a stoner? I wouldn’t put it past Theo. I know he tends to invite whoever can keep the grass coming.
Before I can text back, Zac tops it off with an emoji of two hands high fiving each other.
Love: What was that?
Zac: Just me high fiving myself.
Love: For what?
