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“But you like dress-up parties,” I say, frowning. “Is this some kind of Greek toga party just with black sheets?”
Zoe breaks out into laughter behind me, and Rhia glances over, biting her lip to stifle a smile.
Am I missing something?
“A black toga party…” Zoe repeats through bursts of laughter. When I turn in my seat to look at her, she’s bending over, holding her stomach with tears streaming down her face.
“I’m glad I’m amusing you,” I mutter.
“You have no idea what a Black Sheet Party is, do you?” Rhia asks, barely holding in her giggles.
I don’t reply. It’s blatantly obvious I don’t and my naivety will be revealed any time now.
“It’s an orgy, El,” Rhia explains.
My facial expression must be hilarious, because Rhia is laughing now, too. I’m rendered speechless. Would Zoe actually go to something like that?
“Who invited you?” Rhia wants to know.
“My friend Mathilda. You haven’t met her yet. I’d like to go.” At my shocked expression, she adds, “Don’t worry, I don’t want to bonk a heap of strangers. I just want to watch.” I’m not sure I believe her. Jeez, Zoe really is the wild child of the family.
“Zo, be careful. Once you’re there…” Rhia doesn’t finish her sentence, she doesn’t need to.
Zoe shrugs her shoulders. “Want to join me, big sis? And make sure I don’t get into trouble?”
“No thanks,” Rhia replies. “I’d prefer you didn’t go.”
“Gee, you’re no fun since Lex wrapped you around his little finger.”
Rhia ignores the jab and navigates our little red Fiat Panda to the city center.
“What about you, El? Want to broaden your horizons?” Zoe asks, giggling.
“Leave her alone, you deviant,” Rhia replies before I have a chance.
I’m still lost for words that Zoe would even consider this, when Rhia takes another turn, and suddenly cars are driving towards us.
“Rhia, why are there cars barreling down both lanes?” I shriek, panic seizing my body.
She, of course, has no time to answer, as she focuses on the road ahead, while the oncoming traffic swerves around us, honking furiously.
There are angry people sticking their heads out of the window, yelling at us, but our only option is to forge forwards.
Zoe and I are letting out ear-piercing screams. My heart is racing in my chest, and there’s a good chance I might pass out for real this time.
For a second day in a row, I feel the adrenaline pumping through my body—fight or flight… just that there is no one to fight and nowhere to flee.
I close my eyes, feverishly praying I’ll open them again.
At last Rhia can make a right turn to put us out of harm’s way.
She stops the car in a safe spot and lets out a long breath.
We look at each other for a long while before Rhia says dryly, “Holy cow! Italian drivers are psychos.”
“I think the fact we’re in an Italian car made people scream less at us,” Zoe pipes in, looking a little pale.
I’m too shocked to speak.
