Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute(36)

I ignore a tiny wobble of rule-breaking anxiety and follow.

The corridor is dark, dashes of moonlight jumping through the infrequent windows. I can’t hear anything but the standard, ghostly howl that deserted woodland locations do so well. We creep and crab-walk through the halls, coming to a dorm near the back of the building, where Raj gives a soft, rhythmic knock like we’re sneaking into a speakeasy. The door creaks open to reveal a slice of warm light and Thomas’s thin, freckled face. “What’s that knock for?”

“It’s code,” Raj says.

“Code.” Thomas snorts like a very cut-glass-sounding horse. “Hey, happy birthday, Rory.”

“Erm,” Aurora says.

“Hi, Celine.” He grins at me.

I wince and attempt a wave. Then the door opens fully and…

For a second, my jaw drops and my heart rises. This is…this is so cute I might die. There’s a purple HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner strung up on the wonky curtain pole, blankets and pillows piled on the floor, pink and purple paper butterfly confetti everywhere. One of the beds is covered in cans of Coke and Sprite and packets of popcorn, and on the desk, there is a single can of gin and tonic beside a Tupperware box. Brad is perched on the second bed in blue, button-up pajamas and a beaming smile. He did this. Because I asked him to.

“Oh my God,” Aurora says, her voice a whisper. “Is this for me?”

Correction: I meant that Brad did this for Aurora, obviously. Well, good. She looks so happy, I raise my phone and take a picture—which, yeah, Celine, what a great idea: document your rule-breaking with photographic evidence. I honestly can’t stand myself sometimes.

But she’s really pretty when she smiles, so I take another one and then I take one of the whole bedroom for good measure.

“Is that alcohol?” Sophie demands.

“For legal reasons,” Brad says, “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

Raj says, “I had no idea Aurora’s birthday was an issue of legal contention,” and Aurora giggles.

Then Brad blurts out for absolutely no reason, “This was Celine’s idea, by the way.”

What? Why isn’t he taking credit? I glare at him, suspicious. He smiles sunnily back. Aurora’s nose turns fire-engine red and her eyes get very big and—

“Celine.”

—she holds out her arms and emotes all over me. I bear it heroically and try not to panic about liking her so much after less than a week of acquaintance.

The truth is, I realize, as we all curl up on the floor and the snacks are shared out, that I like almost everyone in this room too much. And by the way they talk to me and hand me the Vanilla Coke when I ask and so on and so forth, I think they…maybe…like me too?

It’s strange, because for me, building friendships usually takes a few months. And a great deal of exertion. And maybe a cappuccino or five to keep my energy up, and also, the people I befriend have to be okay with the fact that I am excessively sarcastic and frequently mean, which most people are not okay with at all.

So this whole situation? Way too easy.

“Celine,” Bradley says from beside me. “It’s a party. Stop glaring at the wallpaper.”

I try not to jump—when did he get off the bed?—and take a sip of my Coke. Everyone else is focused on Aurora. No one’s watching us. “This is…really great,” I whisper. “You did…good. Th-thanks.”

He leans in closer. He smells like the Dove soap my mum bought in bulk on sale last month. “What was that?”

I scowl. “What?”

“What you just said. It sounded like…th…thaaaa…”

“Thanks,” I snap, knowing very well I am the most ridiculous person on planet Earth. There’s nothing wrong with thanking him! He did exactly what I asked—more than, really—and he did it well, and I’m grateful, and I have no idea why acknowledging all that out loud feels like a slippery slope into a dark and dangerous forest, but I am not Little Red Riding Hood and he’s no wolf. I’m not scared of him. So I lift my chin and repeat in a calm, mature manner, “Thank you very much, Bradley. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

He squints at me. “Where’s that G and T? Have you had it? You have, haven’t you?”

I flick him in the ribs and stick out my tongue without hesitation. This is coming back to me like a dance I can’t forget, but there’s too many spins and I can’t tell if I’m giddy or nauseous.

“Yeah, mate, how’d you get your hands on booze?” Raj interjects, grabbing the can off the desk. “And what’s— Are these cupcakes?” He’s peering into the Tupperware.

“Lay off,” Thomas says, snagging the box, “they’re for Aurora.”

“There’s six. What’s she going to do, scoff them all down and laugh at our pain?”

“My dad made them,” Brad says. “They’re gluten-free.”

Aurora sucks in a delighted breath and snatches the box faster than a seagull stealing a chip.

Meanwhile, I’m eyeing Brad incredulously. “Don’t tell me your dad brought the G and T too.” I won’t believe it. I think I’ve mentioned before that Trevor is a Good Man. He’s very like Bradley in that way: annoying.

“No,” Brad admits. “I got Dad to make the cupcakes and told him Giselle would pick them up. Met her at the edge of the woods earlier. She brought everything else.”