Let's Go To The Party
1057 Words
Nova's
I stared at the massive, oversized rugby jersey sitting on the end of my hostel bed. It was thick, soft, and smelled faintly of cedarwood and masculine soap. I had found it hanging on my shower door after I finally stopped crying and turned off the water. There was no name on it, just the number 7 stitched in faded gold thread on the sleeve.
"I'm telling you, it’s a sign from the universe," Maya said, her eyes glued to her phone screen. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her thumbs flying.
"A sign that some random jock dropped his laundry? I doubt it," I muttered, brushing out my damp curls. My scalp still felt tight from the scrubbing, and my skin was scrubbed raw.
"Well, speaking of jocks, the school’s anonymous forum is literally radioactive right now," Maya said. A sharp, unexpected giggle escaped her lips.
I froze, my hairbrush pausing mid-air. "Maya. Please tell me you aren't laughing at my public execution."
"Oh, come on, Nova! You have to admit, Jax’s comment is hilarious," Maya laughed harder, turning the screen toward me. "Look, someone posted the video of Chloe dumping the tomato soup on you with the caption 'Campbell's New Chunky Mascot.' But look at what Jax replied!"
I leaned in, my stomach twisting as I read the screen. The post already had over five hundred likes. The comments underneath were ruthless:
* Looks like she finally got a balanced meal.
* Does the soup make her look bigger or is it just the angles?
* Chloe did her a favor, she needed a wash anyway.
But right underneath the nastiest comment, Jax's anonymous burner account had replied: 'At least the soup has some substance. Chloe’s brain cells are still searching for each other in that hollow skull.'
Despite the burning humiliation in my chest, a small, involuntary laugh slipped out of my mouth. "Okay. Jax is a savage. But the rest of those comments are deeply tragic."
"They're just pathetic trolls," Maya said, tossing her phone onto the mattress. "But you know what the best revenge is? Showing up, looking gorgeous, and reminding them that you don't break that easily."
I snorted, turning back to the mirror. "If you're suggesting I go to class tomorrow looking like a supermodel, save your breath. My current emotional state is 'identity protection program.'"
"I'm not talking about class tomorrow," Maya said, a dangerous, mischievous glint appearing in her eyes. "I'm talking about tonight. There’s a massive party happening at the elite block. The Sigma house."
My jaw dropped. "The Sigma house? As in, the rich-kids-only, trust-fund-baby fortress on the south side of campus? Maya, we aren't even allowed to breathe the air over there."
"Normally, yes," Maya smirked, sliding off her bed and walking over to her closet. "But tonight is the annual Mid-Term Blowout. It’s a general invitation. Literally everyone on campus got the blast text. Even the 'charity cases' like us."
I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yeah, right. I can already picture the headline if I walk through that door. 'Soup Girl Attempts to Socialize, Gets Flung Out into the Shrubbery.' No thank you. I have some pride left, and I intend to keep it inside this room."
"Oh, come on, Nova! Don't be a party pooper," Maya groaned, pulling out a tight, emerald-green off-the-shoulder dress from her wardrobe. "We can sneak in, grab some of their ridiculously expensive liquor, stand in the corner, and leave before Chloe even notices we're there. It’s the perfect crime."
"Chloe is going to be there, Maya," I said plainly, pointing a finger at her. "She lives there. It’s her natural habitat. If she sees me, she’ll probably try to douse me in clam chowder this time to complete the seafood platter."
"She won't see you. The place is going to be packed. Hundreds of people," Maya insisted, stepping closer and giving me her best puppy-dog eyes. "Are you really going to let her scare you into hiding in our room like a hermit? That means she wins."
"She already won, Maya. She made me into a meme before fifth period," I sighed, dropping my head into my hands.
"She only wins if you stay down," Maya said, her voice softening into something genuinely encouraging. "Plus... I heard from one of the track guys that the entire rugby team is mandatory-attending tonight. The coach is letting them have a free night before the big game this weekend."
Instantly, my head snapped up. My heart did a pathetic, treacherous little flutter. "The whole team?"
"Every single one," Maya smiled knowingly, leaning against the bedpost. "Including Captain America himself. Ashton King."
I swallowed hard, my mind immediately flashing back to the cafeteria. I remembered the cold, indifferent stare he had given me while I was dripping in orange broth. He hadn't helped. He hadn't even blinked. He was just as guilty as Chloe, hiding behind his stupid varsity status.
And yet, a dark, toxic part of my brain desperately wanted to see him. I wanted to see if he would look me in the eye when I wasn't covered in food. I wanted to see if that blank mask of his would crack.
"He doesn't even go to these kinds of rowdy parties usually," I murmured, mostly to myself.
"Exactly!" Maya clapped her hands together, sensing my resolve weakening. "Which means tonight is a special occasion. We sneak in, we blend into the crowd, we look fabulous, and we remind everyone that Nova Vance doesn't hide in a corner and cry."
I looked from Maya’s excited face to the golden number 7 on the soft rugby jersey resting on my bed. A sudden wave of reckless defiance washed over me. The sadness from the afternoon mutated back into that fierce, sarcastic anger. They wanted to laugh at me? Fine. Let them laugh to my face tonight.
"Fine," I said, a slow, sharp smile spreading across my lips. "We’re going."
"Yes!" Maya squealed, throwing her arms around me.
"But under one condition," I added, pulling away and pointing at the oversized jersey. "I’m wearing a jacket over whatever dress you pick out for me. And if anyone throws soup, I'm throwing hands."
"Deal," Maya laughed, pulling me toward the wardrobe. "Now let's get you ready to crash.
- Writer
