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PROLOGUE
LYLA
Most people probably can’t point to one moment from their past and recognize it as the second the trajectory of their entire life changed.
I can.
Life is an intoxicating mixture of scenarios we can’t control and decisions we make.
Chance and choice.
Predictable and uncontrollable.
I promised myself I’d learn from others’ mistakes.
Promises are easy to make.
Problem is, they’re also easy to break.
CHAPTERONE
LYLA
As soon as we step from the porch’s slatted floor inside, past the red front door, I know this is the wrong house. A rap song is blaring, loud enough that I can feel the beat pulsing against my skin and rattling my bones. The hardwood floors, stained with spilled drinks and muddy shoes, are vibrating beneath me.
It’s crowded and hot inside. Loud and smelly. Sweat and smoke swirl in the sticky air, adding substance to the intangible. Each time I breathe, I have to suppress the urge to cough.
I glance at Kennedy, who looks as shell-shocked by the scene we’re standing in as I feel. Her tawny skin is flushed, her eyes wide as she takes in the throng of people packed in the room. My wildest college experience so far was passing around a bottle of cheap merlot in Pembrook Hall’s common room late on a Tuesday night, knowing I had an eight a.m. interviewing skills class on Wednesday.
I’ve never attended a party like this.
I didn’t even know parties like this existed in real life. The termragerseemed like a product of Hollywood and its unrealistic expectations about…basically everything.
But here I am, awkwardly standing and experiencing it firsthand.
There’s an honest-to-God disco ball attached to the ceiling at an awkward angle, sending glints of light spinning around and dancing off the bodies filling the room.
Kennedy mouths something to me, but I can’t catch a word of it. Reading lips has never been a strength of mine, especially when I’m already overstimulated and overwhelmed.
I shrug in response, then wave a hand toward the door we just entered, silently asking if we should head back out into the cold. There’s no way to pinpoint exactly where the music is coming from. It seems to be emanating all around us, pressing in and making conversation impossible.
My wave whacks a passing football player’s arm. The one and only reason I have any clue he’s on the football team is his attire. His backward ball cap, sweatshirt, and sweatpants all haveUPenn Footballembroidered on them. He looks like a football player too, tall and broad.
And he’s clearly used to taking hits packing more force than my hand is capable of. There’s no acknowledgment of the contact or of the apology that gets lost in the high decibel of the music before he keeps striding forward, unbothered.
The crowd parts for him in a way I haven’t seen it do for anyone else. Kennedy nods toward the opening, and this time, unspoken communication works.
We follow the path that’s been carved before it disappears, through the first room and into the kitchen, whose cabinets are painted the same garish shade of red as the front door. It’s quieter in here, but not by much. The music is audible, just slightly muffled.
“I’m going to find somewhere quiet to call Ellie and find out the right address. Be right back.” That’s all Kennedy says before she disappears in a swish of curly hair, leaving me alone.
It’s not as crowded in here as the living room was, but it’s far from empty. I’m standing between the fridge and the dishwasher, amid a small sea of strangers. A few of them eye me curiously, although at a school this size, I know I’m not the first unfamiliar face they’ve seen.
I glance anxiously in the direction Kennedy disappeared, but there’s no sign of her. I’m confident she’ll come back, but unsure how long she’ll be gone for. Kennedy could make conversation with a brick wall while I struggle to hold a conversation with an extrovert. If she runs into someone she knows—or wants to get to know—this could take a while.
Kennedy was my randomly assigned freshman roommate. Well, not entirely random. We were supposedly matched by some commonality discovered on the housing questionnaire, an elusive one I have yet to find.
I go to bed early; she stays up late.
