Vesper (10 page)

I tilted my head back and laughed. "Are you kidding? I've gone to school with you since fifth grade. It's Emily."

Zach jerked back, scowling. "Not cool," he said. "Emily is-"

"Not Emily Cooke, dooms. Emily Webb. This is what I look like without the glasses. Take 'em off, I look hot. It's like magic."

Zach didn't seem to pay attention. Moments before he'd been whooping it up, but now he seemed immediately sobered. Muttering, "Not cool," under his breath once more, he grabbed the last can of beer from the twelve-pack on the counter and headed out into the hallway, one of the other guys following behind.

I jerked my thumb at Zach's retreating back and asked, "What's his problem?"

Dalton burst into a deep laugh. "He's drunk. Doesn't know how to handle someone out of his league like your fine self."

I wrinkled my nose at the stink of beer on his breath. But then I smelled something else. The musky, masculine, completely alluring cologne I'd caught scent of earlier in the cafeteria, coming from the new guy.

No—it wasn't the same smell, not exactly. It was close enough to make a weirdly awesome tingling sensation happen in my stomach, but it was different enough that I knew it wasn't what I'd smelled earlier. It felt off—

enough so that the still mysterious, unknown part of my brain whispered,
Not the one
even as it also whispered,
Keep him close.

And there was another smell. Something flowery and gross. That was when I remembered: Dalton McKinney, football star, was dating Nikki Tate, head cheerleader. A match made in high school cliché heaven.

Dalton hefted up a stack of twelve-packs and set them on the counter in front of me. He ripped the cardboard open, grabbed a beer for himself, and handed me one. "Screw those guys in the living room/' he said. "Let's party.

It's what Emily Cooke would have wanted."

The can was warm in my hand. Its silver-and-red label was familiar from commercials, but it was nothing I'd ever dared try before.

Or something Daytime Emily had never dared try. Cowering, fearful Daytime Emily, who never had any fun and who no one paid attention to.

But that was not who I was anymore.

Pulling back the tab on the beer, I hit myself in the face with a spurt of frothy spray. "We wouldn't want to let Emily Cooke down.” I licked the beer splatter off my lips, and then I tipped back the can and took my very first sip of beer. It was disgusting.

You know how beer smells? Sort of like cat pee by way of a heady, boozy stench? Combine that with a terrible bitter taste that lingers on the tongue, and a warm frothy bubbliness like a can of cola that's been left open in the sun for three weeks, and you can imagine maybe a fraction of the nastiness.

I could have just set the can aside—it's not like I had the need to prove myself to Dalton and his friends—but I wanted the thrill of doing something that, before this night, would have been totally forbidden to me. Drinking this was completely illegal. Totally immoral. If my dad knew I was out drinking, he'd probably break down into sobs and wonder how he failed me.

I guzzled the entire can without taking a breath, elated, feeling freer than even the night before. Slamming down the can, I crushed it with my hand as easily as Dalton had. The pots above my head quaked from the force of my smash.

The guys stared at me in awe for a second as the booze settled into my mostly empty stomach, making me feel half-queasy. Then they all laughed, and Dalton raised his hand high in the air. I looked at him in confusion, then got it—he wanted a high five. I slapped his hand with my own.

"Good one!" he shouted.

"Pass me another," I said.

He did and grabbed one for himself. At the count of three we downed the cans, slammed them on the counter, grabbed two more, and did it again.

After the fourth beer, my stomach definitely felt odd. My head felt strangely hollow and light, like it had filled with helium and was about to drift up toward the ceiling. I wobbled on my countertop perch. Everything was half-blurry and half much too clear, and every time someone spoke, it took me a moment to realize what was going on before snapping to attention and listening intently. Everything everyone said seemed the funniest thing I ever heard, and we all laughed uproariously.

Somehow I ended up scooted across the island, resting against Dalton's broad, muscular chest, just taking in his smell. His musk was so strangely familiar and reassuring, the lingering smell of his girl making me giggle to myself even as I caressed his arm. I was invading another girl's territory, and I loved every second of it. "Dalton!"

The voice was shrill, the echo of it in the kitchen a buzz in my ear.

Grimacing and sitting up, I saw a pair of shadowy figures in the doorway.

Squinting, I made out Zach. Standing next to him was a conservatively dressed, pretty girl with long red hair.

Nikki Tate. Dalton's girlfriend.

Nikki gaped at us, her lips opening and closing as though she wasn't sure what to say. Beside her, Zach muttered, "Sorry, Nikki."

"Hey," Dalton slurred. I resumed stroking his arm. Nikki's nostrils flared.

"Dalton," she said again, her voice quiet now, though I could hear a quavering behind her practiced, calm tone. "Put down your beer. I'm taking you home."

Dalton gazed at her, his jaw slack. He blinked. "Huh? Why would I do that? I'm
thirstay"

"Put it down," Nikki repeated, her tone going shrill at the end. She raised her hand and clenched it into a fist, as though miming gripping the beer can.

She jerked her hand down.

As if in response, the half-full can dropped from Dalton's hand against the counter, so forcefully it was as though Nikki had indeed yanked it from his grip. Beer spilled as it landed, and I felt the warm liquid seeping into the back of my jeans. With a yelp, I leaped down from the counter and away from Dalton.

Without another word, Nikki grabbed Dalton by the arm and tugged him toward the kitchen door. He protested, his words slurred and unintelligible.

Zach stood in the doorway, glaring at me. I felt the eyes of the other guys in the kitchen on me as well, and I could make out a few girls in the hallway watching.

Seemed they wanted a show. Well, they were going to get one. I chased after Dalton and grabbed him by the waistband of his jeans. He stopped, pulled free of Nikki, and turned to face me.

"Sorry your girl had to ruin our fun," I said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Leave her at home next time."

With that, I stood on my tiptoes, stuck out my tongue, and licked the side of his face. To my amusement, he let out a titter.

For a long moment, Nikki stood still, her eyes narrowed. Quavering and red-faced, she pulled Dalton past Zach and into the hallway.

Everyone stood silently, watching me. My head woozy, my vision blurred, and feeling like I was about to fall over at any moment, I looked them all in the eye and smiled.

"What's everyone staring at?" I said, my voice as thick as if I was talking through a mouth full of cotton. "Let's party!"

Clutching a twelve-pack in one hand and an open beer in the other, I shoved my way into the hallway. My destination: the front room. Those people needed to stop crying about Emily Cooke and start having fun.

Stumbling, I pushed past a girl with black hair, muttering, "Watch it."

The girl gripped me by my upper arm and spun me to face her. I dropped the twelve-pack, and it landed against the wood floor with a metallic thump.

"Let go," I snapped. Then, blinking rapidly to clear the blur from my eyes, I realized there were
three
of the girl who'd grabbed me. I was seeing in triplicate. I laughed.

"What's so funny?" the black-haired girl on the right said. "You think getting all up on Nikki's boyfriend is hilarious?"

"I don't know what you're trying to prove, Emily Webb," the black-haired girl in the middle said, "but you better stay away from him."

The black-haired girl on the left stood silent and back away from the others, her eyes down.

I blinked again. They were still a trio.

"Whoa," I slurred. "There really are three of you."

That's when I recognized them. The ABC triplets: Amy, Brittany, and Casey Delgado. They used to all have identically cut, incredibly long, shiny black hair that hung to their butts, but apparently they'd all cut their hair in three different styles for the new school year.

The triplet in the middle—Amy, the one with the mole on her nose that could easily be confused with a black nose stud, whose hair hung manelike and wild over her shoulders—scowled at me. She stepped forward and shoved me in the shoulder.

"You hear us?" she said. "Don't mess with Nikki or you're going to have to mess with us."

Oh, no, she did
not
just shove me.

Wobbling slightly, I got in Amy's face. "Or you'll do what?" I snarled. "You think you can hurt me? Aren't you afraid you'll break a nail?"

Amy's nostrils flared. She was about to say something else when someone started shouting behind us.

I turned to see the front door wide open, Nikki and Dalton standing chest to chest on the porch and waving their arms. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but Dalton was the one shouting. He raised a hand, and for a moment it appeared that notoriously kind Dalton McKinney was going to smack a girl half his size. Instead he stormed off down the porch steps. Nikki chased after him.

The endlessly depressing dirge from the entertainment room finally shut off, and a group of the pretty people burst out to see what was up. Mikey Harris was in the lead, Spencer by his side, his head only coming up to Mikey's chest. He was so tiny, that kid.

My stomach roiled and anger at Amy Delgado burned in my chest, but all of that was forgotten when I smelled it. The scent.
His
scent.

Some distant voice spoke in my brain: Find this
smell. He's the one.

And I saw him—the new guy, right behind Mikey and Spencer, crouched against the wall near the front door as though he was trying to hide in plain sight. But he couldn't hide from me. He might as well have had a glowing spotlight on him, looking so very hot in his tight black shirt with his dark hair mussed and gelled, his sharp brow furrowed. Forgetting all about the raging Latina triplets behind me, I took a sip from my beer and lurched down the hallway.

"Hey!" Mikey Harris called as I came toward him. "What's going on out here? I thought I made it clear that this party was sober. Who brought beer?"

A girl behind Mikey sniffed and brushed a tear from her eye. "That is
so
disrespectful to Emily."

"This whore was getting drunk and throwing herself at Dalton McKinney,"

one of the triplets called behind me.

"Yeah, she was all over him right in front of Nikki," another said.

I ignored them all. I didn't care what was going on, I just had to find the source of the musk, had to nuzzle the guy it belonged to. Patrick was all I could see through my foggy eyes. I tripped over my own feet and banged into the stairs, but I immediately righted myself and kept on walking.

Mikey stepped in front of me, blocking my way. I tried to move around him, but he stepped into my path.

"Hey, who are you? Why were you messing with Dalton?"

I grunted. "Me? He was the one drinking. I just joined in. Seemed more fun than your little pity party in there." I gestured with my beer hand toward the open double doors leading to his TV room. Brown-yellow* booze sloshed out of the can and onto Mikey's shirt.

"That doesn't sound like Dalton," Mikey said, so intent on grilling me that he didn't notice the new stain on his polo.

"It's true, man," a male voice said behind me. I spun around, a little too fast, and had to bounce off of the wall to keep my balance. The lights were way too bright in the foyer. Why did they make the lights so damn bright?

Zach stood there. I could barely make out a couple of the other football players peeking out of the kitchen doors, sheepish.

"Sorry, Mikey," Zach said. "It was Dalton's idea. We were just trying to loosen up. I know this was supposed to be to remember Emily Cooke and all, but we're all nerves after what happened ..."

Quietly Mikey said, "Spence, go make sure that Dalton's not trying to drive, will ya?"

"Yeah," Spencer said, then turned to run off.

"And you," he said to me. "You come with anyone?"

I ignored his question and tried to shove past. He didn't budge.

"Move," I slurred. "I'm on a mission."

"You're drunk and I'm not letting you drive."

I tried to get past him again. "Thanks for the PSA," I said. "But I'm busy.

Move."

This time, Mikey stepped forward, setting me off balance. I reached out to grab the banister. My beer slipped out of my hands, smacking against the hardwood floor and spilling.

"Seriously," he said. "I don't know who you are, but maybe we can call someone or—"

Rage burned inside me, an inferno in my gut. Lip raised into a sneer, I stood on my tiptoes and got in Mikey's face. "I go to your school," I said, jabbing a finger into his chest. "My name is Emily Webb. And you need to get out of my frickin' way!"

I was angry again, more angry than I'd ever been before. With a cry, I shoved Mikey in his chest.

And he flew.

Pin wheeling his arms like a cartoon character, Mikey tumbled backward from the force of my shove. He smacked against a guy behind him, and both of them fell against a bench near the front door.

Ignoring the outraged cries of the other party guests, I marched to where I'd seen Patrick, but the musky, perfect scent had faded. It was somewhere outside now, and there was no one by the wall near the front door.

Patrick had left.

"Good going, jerk," I slurred at Mikey where he lay stunned, sprawled half against the bench and half on the floor. "You made me lose him."

I stormed through the people who weren't quick enough to get out of my way, then stomped out into the night. The fat guy with the shaved head was still out there, and he tried to grab me.

"Lay off," I snapped, yanking my arm free from his stubby fingers.