Dawson is- most people who don't know him would say- as straight as they come. And senior year away from home promises to be a big year for him: no parents in sight, a whole new set of friends, he just seems to have it all. Not to mention that all t...
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WHAT'S LAMER THAN a boarding-school Halloween party? A Halloween party organized by a bunch of old boarding-school teachers.
The rules? No alcohol allowed and only clothes considered appropriate by the school dress code, which is the closest thing that Wharton High has to the gospel.
Well, at least there won't be any sexy kitten costumes this year, Dawson thinks as he reluctantly wears his fake vampire fangs.
Everyone is already at the party but him. Mad Hatter Milo and Pulp Fiction Maisie-Rae left over an hour ago and he's still debating whether he should go or just stay in his room and rewatch one of his favorite movies.
Cal already texted him twice and he remembers promising Milo he'd help him with her. Sometimes, he really fucking hates how much he cares about keeping his promises.
Eventually, he opts to go to the party and hurries out of the room. As predicted, the rest of the school is deserted. The hallways are silent and the doors are all locked but one.
Hamilton's.
Dawson does not stop to pry inside. He's already quite late to the party to the point where it stopped being fashionable. Hence, he keeps marching towards the gym like he's on a mission to save the school from the lamest Halloween party in the history of ever.
"You're here," Calliope exclaims the moment he makes his entrance in the room. She looks drunk.
Abe is baked. Maisie-Rae is drinking blue punch and she's laughing about something Tom Bigsby whispered in her ear. Milo does not look quite as amused.
"I didn't know there would be alcohol at this party," Dawson murmurs to Milo, who shakes his head in reply.
"There isn't."
Before Dawson can get a chance to argue, he's dragged to the drinks station by Cal. She jumps, squeals and twirls in her tulle skirt like a little girl whose parents didn't control her sugar intake.
She covers his eyes from behind. Her hands smell like peach. "Pick a color," she says. "Blue or pink?"
"Pink," he utters although his mind is screaming Blue blue blue blue!
Cal hurries to pour him a glass full of pink punch. "Good choice, Evans."
"Didn't know there was a right answer," he jokes, avidly drinking from the cup.
"Well, the others had the blue one," she chortles, jerking her head towards the rest of the group.
"You don't look scary," she adds after a few seconds in order to draw his attention back to her. "You couldn't look scary if you tried."
Dawson takes a larger sip from the cup, spilling a few drops on the side of his lips. He walks back to Milo trying his best to keep an impassive face.
