INSTALOVE

Chapter 7: Stray Weed

Chapter 7: Stray Weed

E L L I E

Have you ever had that nightmare where you show up to a party, only to realize you forgot to put on clothes? There you stand, fully naked, surrounded by the laughter and judgment of everyone in the universe who you've ever wanted to impress?

It's a pretty common dream—or so I've heard. I've never had it myself. My version is slightly less dramatic. Slightly more realistic. It involves showing up at a party, dressed in a cotton t-shirt and a pair of denim cut-off shorts, surrounded by twenty other students in skirts and dress pants and fancy, gold-buttoned blazers.

And oh yeah, there's one other key difference. My nightmare doesn't involve being asleep. It's happening to me right now, actually.

At this exact moment.

In real life.

Why do these things happen to me? I squeeze my eyes closed and reopen them, wishing by some miracle to make it all a bad dream. Everyone else in attendance must have psychic powers. I'm the only one here who didn't get the memo that the tonight's Welcome Dinner had a dress code. It definitely wasn't mentioned in the orientation packet that I re-read 75 times.

Maybe I should have realized when I saw the Program Director's residence where the party is being held. Definitely posh. Dr. Carlyle lives at the edge of campus in an ivy-covered brick house with a pair of miniature stone lions flanking the front entryway. It matches the stately grandeur of all the other buildings I've encountered here at Winthrop. Not that I've seen inside any of them. I came here straight from my dorm room, following the sound of chatting voices through a brick archway that led to the walled grounds out back.

The orientation packet described tonight's shindig as "a casual outdoor affair." That's why I'm dressed for a summer backyard barbecue. Instead, I walked into an elegant soirée, set amidst the program director's carefully landscaped grounds – a mix of graceful weeping willow trees, stone terraces, and well-tended flower beds.

And me? I stick out like a stray weed.

My instincts scream to turn and leave. No one here has made eye contact with me yet. I could probably slip back out through the garden gate without drawing too much attention to myself. No one would notice my disappearance. Or if they did, I doubt they'd care.

But no. I give my head a tiny shake. I can't... This is the only officially sanctioned event for the duration of the two-week program, my only chance to introduce myself and get some face time with the faculty.

In any case, it's nearly dusk, and the light is fading fast. No one will look at me too closely once night has fallen. Paper lanterns hang from tree branches, casting the scenery in a soft orange glow. More light emanates from lanterns at the far edge of the lawn, floating in what looks to be the director's private in-ground swimming pool.

Did I mention this place was posh?

Other students stand about in clusters, with plates and glasses balanced in their hands. I avoid all of them and make a beeline for the place I feel safest: the long buffet table, bedecked with silver platters of food.

I pick up a plate and take my time filling it. As long as I keep busy, it won't look weird that I'm not talking to anyone. Unfortunately, there's a limit to how many eggrolls and mini-quiches I can fit on my plate. I reach the end of the long table, but I linger beside the beverages, observing the rest of the partygoers from the fringes.

Everyone is waving. Everyone is hugging. Everyone knows each other. How am I the only outsider here?

Normally, my instinct would be to take out my phone and stare at it the whole time. Nothing like some desperately important fake-text-messages to hide the fact that no one wants to talk to you. But I can't even do that. I left my phone in my room, as commanded by Reese. I have my InSight Visor hanging from the cord around my neck, and I see several other kids here with their own glasses clipped to belt loops or poking out of bags... But nobody else is wearing them.