Taran’s parents, if they were ever here, are nowhere to be seen. They probably escaped as quickly as my parents did after they dropped me off.
I move farther into the party. The girls wear cute dresses with heels or tight jeans with tank tops. Nobody, absolutely nobody, has on a sweater—and certainly not one as ugly as mine.
And yet, conversation doesn’t come to a screeching halt like I feared. At most, a few eyes skim my offensive attire and then turn away, dismissing me. I guess I’m not that important. Which suits me just fine. As Mat is so fond of pointing out, I much prefer creeping along in someone else’s shadow.
Now what? my mind screams as I stand alone. Desperately, I recall the advice from the video call with my sisters.
“Get something to drink,” Bunny instructed, her eye makeup dark and dramatic. “Doesn’t have to be alcohol. A drink will give you something to do with your hands.”
“Make sure it comes from a closed container,” Ari added, her features softer but just as lovely. “Drink straight from the can so no one can slip any drugs inside.”
Squaring my shoulders, I make a beeline for the kitchen island, cluttered with cans of pop and an enormous punch bowl.
I pick up a Coke Zero, my feet bumping into a couple of empty glass bottles under the island. A girl from my trig class smiles at me, her eyebrows arched curiously.
“Winnie! You look so cute.” Is it just me, or was there a nearly imperceptible pause in Anjelah’s compliment? “What’s the occasion?”
“Oh, the sweater’s an inside joke,” I say weakly.
“Ah. Say no more.” She gives a sage nod. “Whoever they are, I hope they’re worth it.”
Again. Like the salesperson, Anjelah’s assuming there’s a romantic motive behind my sweater. And that’s only maybe—hopefully?—true.
“Nice bows,” a male voice says in my ear. It’s Steve from history. We’ve never actually spoken, but he leers at my chest now. How will he feel, come Monday, when we have to sit next to each other in class? Or will he not even remember that he ogled me, since he hasn’t bothered to look at my face?
He stretches out a hand, as if to untie a bow, and I slip nimbly out of his reach.
I walk through the party, searching for a friend—or at least a friendly face. My smile is beginning to feel like one of the wobbly Jell-O shots some guys are downing in the corner.
This is awful. No doubt Kavya’s having a better time than I am at a wedding with people she doesn’t even know.
And then I see him.
Mat, magnetic and compelling in a simple black T-shirt and jeans. Playing Flip Cup with a bunch of his friends. He performs a successful maneuver, and the group around him erupts into cheers. A guy pounds him on the back, and Delilah Martin kisses him on the cheek.
I freeze. The movement is easy and casual, as though she kisses him all the time. And maybe she does. As far as I know, they never dated after homecoming. But maybe they got together recently. Or maybe they don’t need to date in order to do…whatever it is they do together.
Cheeks burning, I walk swiftly out of the room before he sees me or my ridiculous sweater. I don’t know what I was trying to prove. Not only is this top ugly as sin, but its heavy stitches are freaking hot. Shoulda worn the green dress. Maybe I’d still blend into the foliage—Taran’s parents have potted kaffir lime plants just like mine—but at least I wouldn’t be sweating.
I retreat to a staircase at the back of the kitchen and sit on the darkened steps. The air is cooler here, but more importantly, I’m alone. I yank the sweater over my head, grateful that I’m wearing a black camisole underneath, and lower my flushed face to my knees. My parents are having dinner with their friends. How soon can I interrupt their evening to ask them to pick me up?
I don’t know how long I sit there, but eventually, I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs above me. I scoot to the edge of the step, hoping the person will sail right past. Instead, they sit next to me. Startled, I look up.
It’s Taran.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt. “It’s your party. Shouldn’t you be in the center of it?”
He tilts a purple cup into his mouth. “It’s terrifying out there,” he admits. His hair is neatly