ʷᵃᵛᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵒˡᵒʳ / ᵇⁱˡˡⁱᵉ ᵉⁱˡⁱˢʰ

chapter four

Billie's car was matte black and absolutely stunning. I wondered how she'd gotten it. A job? Or a gift from her parents? My guess was the latter. Not that I could really judge her for that--my car had been given to me, as well.

We drove to the party at eight something. Billie had rolled the windows down, and there was a Frank Ocean song playing on the radio. It smelled like rain.

Neither of us said much during the drive. I focused instead on the passing scenery, which consisted of massive beachfront mansions and scraggly shrubbery. The sky was darkening overhead, and in the distance, storm clouds hung low over the ocean, swollen with rain yet to be released.

When we arrived at the house where the party was taking place, it was already bursting with people. Girls in halter tops and mini skirts were chattering on the porch, a group of boys were sipping beers by the garage, and a whole bunch of cars were pulling into the driveway.

Billie parked, rolled up the windows, and glanced over at me.

"How did you even get invited to this?" she asked.

I shrugged. "This guy at the supermarket invited me."

She laughed, like I had made a joke. I hated it when people did that--laughed at random times. 

We got out of the car and walked inside the house. It was huge, a modern-style place with sleek floors and white walls. The lights had been dimmed and there were flashing LEDs coloring the whole place purple, blue and red.

Billie disappeared into the throngs of people, leaving me alone in the middle of the kitchen. I walked over to the island counter, where there were dozens of bottles of booze clustered around. I picked up a thing of tequila and poured some into a shot glass.

Throat and eyes burning, I left the kitchen after two shots of tequila. I reminded myself of the reason I was there--which I'd forgotten for a while, and upon recalling it, realized taking two shots probably wasn't a very good idea--and began scouring the rooms for what I was looking for.

It was in what appeared to be the dining room that I found it. Two guys, in the corner, leaned up against the wall. They put their hands together in what looked like a handshake, but I knew better.

I waited until one of the guys pocketed whatever had just been given to him through the "handshake" exchange and then approached the other guy. Up close, I realized he was the guy who had invited me to the party in the first place.

"Hi," I said, having to practically shout over the music blaring from practically everywhere in the house. The guy looked at me, and recognition shot through his face. He grinned.

"Hey. You're from the supermarket, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Hugh. This is my house. I would've told you my name earlier, but you basically sprinted away from me."

I laughed in spite of myself. "Sorry. I was in a hurry. And, I'm Camille."

"Camille. Cool."

I wondered why this kid, who clearly had money--or, at least, his family did--was working as a cashier at the supermarket. I'd never known any wealthy kid like him to do such a thing. The guys from back home spent their free time drinking beer and golfing or fishing.

I could already tell I liked Hugh. And he hadn't even sold me any drugs yet.

*

Somehow I found myself in Hugh's bedroom. But, like, not in the way you're thinking. Because yes, we all know you were thinking that.