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Chapter 1
Fuckmewithapineapple.
I gaze nervously around the club. Bodies are pressed together so tightly that I'm surprised the bouncers are still letting patrons in. I wouldn't be surprised if people end up spontaneously pregnant from the close proximity we are being forced to endure.
I can see colored streamers and old balloons floating on the ceiling, the movement indicating that the air conditioners are on, but given it's the end of June and one of the worst heat waves we've had in years, they may as well be paper fans.
My head is throbbing from the alcohol and the loud music. I'm only two drinks in, but I've barely drank at all in the short fourteen months since I hit twenty-one, and I'm still not used to it.
I can't believe I let Maxine talk me into coming out tonight. I was perfectly happy to stay at home binge-watching Gossip Girl, eating leftover Chinese and hiding from the heat. The apartment might not have an air conditioner, but it does have a ceiling fan in the living room, and right now, it would be more useful than the pitiful excuse for a cooling system that this club has. The drunk masses on the dancefloor don't seem to be bothered though. Sweat drips off them as they dance, drinks in hand, to the tracks the DJ is spinning. Everyone is having the time of their life before college starts back up next week. Well, everyone except me. Max was adamant we need to go out at least once before classes start. She caught me in a moment of weakness because as soon as she gave me the puppy-dog eyes, I reluctantly agreed. I guess that's what I get for being a pathological people pleaser.
Speaking of Maxine, she vanished twenty minutes ago to try to get some random guy's number and I haven't seen her since. So, I'm doing what any sane introvert would do; hide in the corner with my drink in front of my face and do my best to keep the resting bitch face active so no one tries to approach me.
But like always, I'm invisible anyway. Plain little Addison dressed in shorts and a band t-shirt. No guy would even give me a glance in comparison to the tall, slightly too skinny girls dressed in playsuits and mini-dresses rocking their confidence on the dancefloor.
Freshman year was not good to me. Neither was sophomore year, to be honest. Evidence of the classic Freshman-Fifteen still hides under my baggy shirt. I wish I had motivation to stick to diets, but I just can't seem to find the will power. Apparently, the method is sweating your ass off in a club every week if these girls are anything to judge by.
At least they are happy. They look happy. I'm not sure if it's genuine, or just the alcohol making them appear free and careless. But it makes me jealous. I'm too much of an overthinker and stress-head to just live in the moment.
I've had my college plan cemented since I was eight. Plan A - go to Groveton, get my degree in journalism, obtain a job in the city being a bad-ass newswoman, marry my sweetheart and live happily ever after with lots of trips to the Maldives.
There's no Plan B. Always just Plan A.
I'm determined to make something of myself. Growing up in a tiny trailer, learning to count coupons and save every penny, I decided that one day, I was going to be rich. Well, not filthy dirty rich - just comfortable enough that I can buy what I want, whenever I want, without having to worry about my rent check.
When I received my letter a few years ago, congratulating me on my acceptance to Groveton College with a full scholarship ride, I was on such a high. Except, no one prepared me for how tough college was actually going to be. Especially when you are stuck full-time around elitist wankers with chips on their shoulders.
They don't care about grades or success - many of them already have trust funds accessible to their greedy hands or chairs on company boards awaiting them at the end of their academic journey. They care about names, how many zeros are on the end of their account balances, and stupidly expensive shit that people like me can only dream of.
That doesn't matter though - my plan is on track. Junior year is about to start, next week is my one year anniversary with my boyfriend, and I can afford to buy takeout once a week.
Life is all about perspective.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a creepy looking man stalking towards me. There's a sway in his step, signalling that the beverage in his hand is not his first for the evening. I quickly look around for Max, groaning when she's still nowhere to be seen. A couple of guys walk in between the man and I while there's still distance, and I take the chance to duck off behind a crowd of people.
I'm not game enough to sneak a glance back, hoping that I just blend into the crowd well enough to make my getaway.
I'm not stupid. His desire has nothing to do with wanting me – at least, not in the way a girl would want to believe. These sleazy men prey on the downfallen women, their egos fuelling their confidence and believing that we are all just waiting for someone to validate our self-worth.
That's what I love about Aaron. He's never cared about my looks. We've been together a year, having met in the library at the start of my sophomore year when many people still didn't realize the library existed on campus. While I'm studying journalism, he's majoring in psychology. He has this fascination with body language and reading people from a sneaky perspective. Like me, he doesn't come from privilege. So, it was nice to meet someone who knew what it was like to actually earn your way into Groveton.
When I told Aaron I was heading out tonight with Max, he actually snorted. He knows my idea of a good night is staying in and being at home. I begged him to come keep me company, but he has a fantasy football thing tonight with his friends. I don't understand how sports work, other than I know it releases endorphins and messes up your body with injuries. But I think the fantasy football thing is like foreplay for him. Between that and poker, he tends to use his friends as practice puppets, reading their behavior and using that to win. I think football is more about luck than anything, but what do I know? I spend my days scrolling Tiktok and collecting newspaper clippings for my scrapbook.
I'm on the verge of just bailing and leaving Max to fend for herself when I start heading along the back wall. I can't see anything past the swarm of people and her brown hair is too normal to make her stand out.
I head to the bar and put my glass up for the bartender to collect. I don't need a bigger headache than I already have, so I fight the guilt and leave the remainder of the drink to be discarded. I hate wasting things but I want to get home in one piece, especially since there's a chance I'll be walking myself home.
I do a final check again in the crowd for Max before heading towards the entrance. More people are flooding in, shoving into me as they excitedly rush to the dance floor and bar. I grumble, making a comment about leaving my Invisibility Cloak at home next time, when I get shoved again by a group of guys fumbling past as they yell out to someone in the crowd.
"Fudge!" I yelp, stumbling into someone near the wall. I nearly end up with a mouthful of black shirt as I steady myself on them with my hands.
The individual turns around, cocking an eyebrow at me. Dark, obsidian eyes flash in amusement at my panic, making me jump back as if my hands were just burnt on flames.
"Sorry!" I squeak out, trying to step back as much as I can without running into more people.
The guy's lips tug into an amused smirk and I gasp in horror as I notice his empty glass and dripping shirt.
"Lucky it's half-price night," he says with a chuckle, motioning to his beer-drenched clothing.
