Undecided(42)

“Thanks for your help,” I tell him. “I can take it from here.” I step back as he comes through the window, pulling it closed.

“Get out,” he says to the Cat in the Hat.

“There you are!” comes a familiar voice. Crosbie looks pained and closes his eyes for a second, but when they reopen, he’s looking over my shoulder—at Clark Kent.

“We’re not supposed to be seen together,” Crosbie says. “We’re the same person, remember?”

“I thought you’d be happy to make an exception,” Kellan replies. “For Miss Maryland or Miss Louisiana?” Upon hearing their cue, the slightly tipsy beauty queens enter the room, doing their best formal waves and collapsing into each other as they giggle.

The Cat in the Hat and I share a look, then murmur our excuses as we leave the room.

“You doing okay, Nora?” Kellan asks.

“Just great,” I assure him.

Crosbie says something, but it’s drowned out in more laughter, and I’m moving too fast to make it out, even if I wanted to. It’s only nine-thirty when I get downstairs, so I grab another drink and make a half-hearted lap around the room, checking out the décor, the costumes, the couples. I see Max—The Walking Douche—and all of a sudden I just want to go home. Phil strolls by with Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, his hand squarely glued to her ass, and I sigh and set my drink on a table. Maybe the reason I was so good at this last year is because practice makes perfect—and I am now sorely out of practice.

I zip up my jacket and make my way to the front, wincing when a group of vampire football players rush by, knocking me into the wall. Their apologies are lost in the throbbing music and I rub my sore tailbone, turning to scowl at the doorknob that bruised me. And then I freeze, because I know this doorknob. I know this closet.

When Kellan first spoke to me that ill-fated May night, I’d been equal parts stunned, thrilled, and terrified. We were already drunk when we started talking, and two drinks later we were blitzed. The alcohol may have loosened my inhibitions but it had done nothing to calm my nerves, and as he’d led me through the house looking for an empty room, I’d rambled on inanely about every dull thing I could think of, from our unseasonably warm weather to the periodic table. I think we were both grateful when he found the closet, kissed me, and put an end to the impromptu science lesson.

Now I turn my head slightly to see what would have once been the house’s formal dining room, but is now just a room filled with couches and cheesy posters. Forty-five minutes after our less-than-memorable sex, I’d walked by here to see Kellan standing in the center of the room, a blonde girl on her knees in front, blowing him while his frat brothers cheered him on.

My face floods with heat and remembered humiliation and I shoulder my way through the crowd and out the front door, the icy air more than welcome. For all accounts and purposes, this is a great party. Lots of people, free booze, loud music—but the best part was when I was away from it all, drinking a single beer with a guy I shouldn’t even like.

But I do.





chapter eleven


I keep my head down and hurry along the sidewalk. I dart over to the next block to avoid the groups of people arriving for the party, encountering only a couple of hardcore kids approaching houses, most of which have gone dark. Street lamps and flickering jack-o-lanterns offer a little light, but I welcome the darkness. Rather, I welcome it until I hear footsteps thudding along behind me, coming too fast to be anything other than running. I risk a terrified look over my shoulder, prepared to sprint—and very grateful Thelma favored practical shoes—then come to an abrupt halt when I find Superman bearing down on me.

“Crosbie?” Seeing someone I know should encourage my heartbeat to slow to normal levels, but instead it keeps pounding. He’s still wearing his costume, but now he’s added sneakers and a heavy jacket, the red cape bunched up around his neck, like he got dressed too fast to think it through.

“Hey,” he says, stopping a few feet away. I don’t know if it’s because he’s breathing heavily, but he’s having a hard time meeting my eye, so for a second I just watch the white puffs of his breath dissipate in the air.

“What are you doing out here?” I think of the house, the beauty queens, the everything I’m not.

“You can’t walk home alone.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, leaving pieces sticking out every which way. “People do crazy things on Halloween.”

“I’m pretty sure all those people are at your house.”

He smiles briefly. “Maybe. Anyway. Come on.”

Even though it’s a thirty-minute round trip and he’ll be back at the party with plenty of time left for fun, I feel obligated to tell him to go home. “This isn’t necessary.”

“Let me do it anyway.” He’s got his hands crammed in his pockets and I realize he must be freezing in that costume. Hell—I’m freezing in mine, no spandex in sight.

We walk a block in silence. “How’d you do with your French paper?” he asks finally.

“Pretty good.” I’m surprised he remembers my classes. “These past couple of weeks have been hell, but I think I’m on top of everything. How about you? How’d midterms go?”

“I feel good about Bio and Art History, but Econ is kicking my ass.”