Tease(41)

Brielle is the only one who gets it, the only one who knows that Emma’s a slut and shouldn’t be talking to anyone else’s boyfriend, much less hooking up with them. I look back over to where I was standing with her and the other girls before, but I don’t see her. No matter what I do, I’m always on the wrong side of the room tonight.

I still haven’t been able to say anything back to Dylan, and he sighs really loudly and goes, “I’m gonna get another beer, okay?”

I open my mouth, but he’s already gone.

And then Brielle is there, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the bathroom. Everything is moving too fast, I can’t keep track of anyone. She locks the door behind us and laughs at my shocked expression.

“You know this is a party, right?” she asks, turning to the mirror and yanking up the sweetheart neckline of her dress. She hops up and down, shifting her boobs higher, and purses her lips at her reflection.

I lean a hip against the sink counter, avoiding my own gaze, my own boring black dress. “I just don’t understand why Emma had to come,” I say, hating the pout in my voice but unable to smother it.

“God, I know,” Brielle says. She’s leaning in close to the mirror now, doing something to her mascara. “She totally needs to leave. I’m pretty much ready to bail myself. Marcus is actually kind of a dweeb. I dunno. I guess he’s hot. I just don’t think I’m in the mood.” She leans back again, puffs out her chest in the mirror, then lets her breath out in a whoosh and kind of deflates, crossing her arms with a sigh. She looks sad and worried.

I start to reach out to her, faltering halfway, so my hands are kind of floating between us. “He seems really nice, but you know, if you’re worried about . . . I mean, it’s not like you guys have to be alone, I can totally—”

“Uch, God, shut up, Sara,” she says, snapping back to her normal self. “Don’t go all life coach on me, okay?”

I pull my hands back, so now we’re both standing with our arms crossed, me facing her but not able to quite look her in the eye, and her glaring back at me.

“I didn’t mean . . . ,” I say, but I can’t finish. I don’t know what I didn’t mean. She told me all that stuff about swim camp, but I guess it wasn’t supposed to change anything. I kind of thought it changed everything. But I’m still the one who doesn’t understand.

Suddenly I feel so angry at Brielle I could scream. I mean, I had sex with Dylan so she’d be nicer to me, so we’d have something in common, finally. So she’d, like, respect me. Instead, it turns out she had a whole different experience, and I’m still alone, I still don’t have anyone to tell me what to do now.

Wait. Oh my God. I slept with Dylan so Brielle would be nice to me? What?

“Honey, don’t look like that,” Brielle says, and suddenly she’s pulling me into a hug. “I’m totally fine, don’t worry about me. Marcus is just all smart and stuff, it’s kind of a drag.”

She’s holding my shoulders so my face is smooshed into her long hair. It’s perfectly straight tonight, soft and smelling like flowers, but I can’t breathe. Maybe if we ever hugged this wouldn’t feel so awkward. It’s a relief when she breaks free, almost pushing me away, giving her dress one more little adjustment.

“C’mon,” she says. “That skank is slutting up the whole place. I’m sure everyone could use a break from her aura of skankitude.”

“Her slutmosphere,” I say, trying to get into the spirit.

“Ha! Yeah. Her whorbit.” Brielle grabs her sparkly clutch from the counter and clacks across the tiles, throwing open the door. An Usher song throbs from somebody’s fancy iPod speakers in the kitchenette.

Out of the bathroom, I immediately realize two things: One, this party is completely out of control. We’ll be lucky if the hotel doesn’t kick us out within the hour. I don’t even recognize a bunch of the people here, and I’ll be shocked if they leave in time for Dylan and me to have any romantic . . . whatever. Even though I was worried about being alone with him before, now I’m kind of sad that it probably won’t happen, that the special romantic room has been taken over by this party.

And the second thing is—I don’t see Dylan.

A lot of the guys here came straight from the dance, so they’re still wearing nice button-down shirts and stuff. I made Dylan wear a tie, so it’d be more believable to my mom that we were going to the dance, but he took it off when we got to the hotel. Still, he has on a nice red shirt, and he’s tall, and all night it hasn’t been hard to spot him. I mean, we’re in a freaking hotel room. It’s a suite and everything, but it’s not that big.

So I hurry farther into the room, out where I can see the whole kitchenette . . . not here. Or maybe in the big bedroom . . . not there either, and gross, Noelle and Jacob are making out on the bed. Ugh. So, okay, there’s a smaller bedroom on the other side . . . more people making out, gross again.

I hurry back to the master bedroom and grab my shoes, just so I have them, careful to not look at the bed, and rush back into the main part of the suite. Think, think. I stopped drinking a while ago but I’m still all dizzy and wired, and it feels like I’m just standing there forever, until finally—the balcony. Duh. Dylan doesn’t smoke, but lots of people have been going out there all night and he must’ve gone with one of them.