last-ditch effort to get Sam to relent, “I do actually have a test on Thursday. Plus, I don’t drink. How fun could I possibly be?” Into the ensuing silence, she yelled, “Spoiler alert: not fun at all!”
“There are plenty of other things to do besides drink…” came the disembodied reply.
“Like what?” Then it dawned on her. “I don’t do drugs, either. Super not fun. Happy with a pocket protector. Best left at home.”
“Donnie’s going to be there.”
Charity’s shaking head jerked to a stop. Fizzy excitement she couldn’t help bubbled up her middle.
First the big guns, then the low blow. That crush was so stupid, too. She couldn’t even talk to the guy. She stammered with a red face every time he said two words to her. God forbid he try for a conversation. He was too pretty for his own good. Too suave by half.
So why was she now contemplating going to a party she wouldn’t have any fun at, with a girl who would ignore her as soon as they got there, just to see him? She might as well pour paint on her head and label herself a social pariah.
Sam’s head popped into the doorway. “And he always looks good when he goes to parties,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Fine, I’ll go,” Charity grumbled, hating herself for uttering the words. Hating Sam for making her.
She looked down at herself. One knee looked back up through the hole in her jeans. It wasn’t a trendy hole, either. It was a Kmart special hole in a pair of jeans so old they should’ve been shot and buried in the yard.
“What am I going to wear?” Charity called as Sam ducked away again. “Earlier tonight you called me a hobo tramp.”
Metallic black material flew into the room. It shimmered and sparkled before landing on Charity’s desk, washing across the surface, and then slinking down to the floor. Samantha popped her head back in, shooting Charity a pointed stare. “Don’t you dare spill anything on it.”
“Why do all of your going out clothes resemble something a cross-dressing rock star would wear?” Charity mumbled, picking up the dress. “Besides, I can’t wear your clothes. What if I do spill something? I can’t…”
She cut the sentence short, not wanting to admit that she could barely afford her hoodies, let alone an extravagant, fashionable dress. Some things were too awkward to voice, especially around people who didn’t understand the value of money, or how lucky they were to have it.
“Hurry up,” Sam called. “We need to be fashionably late, not late-late.”
Knowing a losing battle when she saw one, Charity lugged herself out of her chair and faced the smudged closet mirror. The shimmery fabric twinkled, light reflecting off the disco-ball material. She put the dress to her body, the fabric cascading over her baggy clothes, and took in her appearance.
A little color in her pale face would make her look like less of a vampire. A wider set to her flat brown eyes would definitely give her more wow factor. Maybe a curl to her mop of brown hair, or a highlight or two. Did they have time for a nose job?
She smirked at herself, moving away. Plain but perky. It could certainly be worse.
A shoe torpedoed into the room, smacking off the edge of the bed. Another shot in as the first was bouncing around the floor.
“Hurry up!” Sam shouted.
Charity fingered the dress and sighed. “How bad can this party be?”
Chapter Three
“Oh my God, he’s here?” Sam stomped on the brake, making the seatbelt dig into Charity’s pronounced cleavage.
“I already regret this dress,” Charity mumbled, pushing back in her seat.
“That is who I think it is, right?” Sam sounded giddy as she leaned heavily over the steering wheel to see through the darkness.
The one-lane dirt road surrounded by thick redwoods flared out for several feet before a private road branched off to the left. Two cars were parked before the turn-off—a Range Rover and another SUV. Dim light spilled out from the open car doors, illuminating a few people standing around the vehicles. Other lights peeked through the branches of trees beyond. The house clearly sat at some distance.
“Is that the driveway? Because there’s no more room to park down here. Jeez, why would someone live this far out?” Charity looked through the rear window of the Porsche. They’d traveled a half-hour to Scott’s Valley, a place generally known for wealth, only for GPS to guide them off the two-lane road onto this