If I wreck or get pulled over with underage drinkers in the car I would get in so much trouble.” I can just imagine my mother’s face as she bails me out of jail.
“No, no, it’s not a far drive—you should just take my car. You haven’t even been drinking. If not, you’ll have to stay here, or I could ask around to see if someone—”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out,” I manage before the music gets turned way up and most everything is drowned out by bass and lyrics that are practically screamed.
My decision to come to this party is proving to be worse and worse as the night goes on.
chapter nine
Finally, after pointing around and yelling “Steph!” like ten times at Nate, the music drops into a quieter song and he nods and starts to laugh. His hand moves up into the air and he points into the next room. He is really a sweet guy—why does he hang out with Hardin?
As I turn to where he indicated, all I hear is my own gasp as I spot her. She, along with two other girls, are dancing on a table in the living room. A drunk guy climbs up and joins them, his hands gripping her hips. I expect her to swat his hands off but she just smiles and pushes her bottom against him. Okay.
“They’re just dancing, Tessa,” Nate says and gives a quick chuckle at my uneasy expression.
But they aren’t just dancing; they’re groping and grinding against each other.
“Yeah . . . I know.” I shrug, even though it isn’t as casual to me. I’ve never danced that way, not even with Noah, and we have been dating two years. Noah! I reach into my purse and check my messages from him.
You there Tess?
Hello? You okay?
Tessa? Should I call your mom? I’m getting worried.
I dial him as fast as my fingers will allow, praying that he hasn’t called my mother yet. He doesn’t pick up, but I text him assuring him that I’m okay and there is no need for him to call my mother. She will lose it if she thinks something happened to me on my first weekend of college.
“Heyyyy . . . Tessa!” Steph slurs and leans her head on my shoulder. “You having fun yet, roomie?” She giggles, obviously heavily intoxicated. “I think . . . I need . . . the room is starting to spend, Tess . . . I mean spin,” she says, laughing, and her body lurches forward.
“She is going to get sick,” I tell Nate. He nods and lifts her into his arms, draping her body over his shoulder.
“Follow me,” he instructs and heads upstairs. He opens a door halfway down the hall, finding a bathroom quickly, of course. Right as he places her on the floor by the toilet, she begins to vomit. I look away but grab her red hair and gently hold it back away from her face.
Finally, after more vomit than I can handle seeing, she stops and Nate hands me a towel. “Let’s get her to the room across the hall and lay her on the bed. She is going to need to sleep it off,” he says. I nod, but what I’m really thinking is that I can’t leave her here alone, passed out. “You can stay in there, too,” he says, seeming to read my mind.
Together we get her up off the floor and help her walk across the hall and into a dark bedroom. We gently lay a groaning Steph onto the bed and Nate quickly takes off, telling me he’ll check in on us later. I sit down on the bed next to Steph and make sure her head is comfortable.
Sober, with a drunk girl beside me and a party raging all around, I feel like I’ve hit a new low. I turn on a lamp and look around the room, my eyes immediately going to the bookshelves that cover one of the walls. Since this perks my mood up, I go over to it and scan through the titles. Whoever owns this collection is impressive; there are many classics, a whole range of different types of books, including all of my favorites. Spying Wuthering Heights, I pull it off the shelf. It’s in bad shape, the binding giving away how many times it’s been opened.
I’m so lost in Emily Brontë’s words that I don’t even notice the change in light when the door opens, or the