EIGHT
BLAKELY
T
WO HOURS AND three drinks later, I’m pretty f*****g drunk. Sarah’s damn near gone. We’re laughing and dancing to “Mad Hatter” by Melanie Martinez.
I get this spine-chilling feeling and stop dancing. I quickly look around, but I can’t focus on anything. My hair slaps me in the face, and I shove it back behind my ear the best I can. Only for it to fall back in my way.
“What?” She notices and stops dancing. “You going to get sick?”
“No. I …” My eyes stop on the table at the front of the ballroom. It sits high up on a platform, giving the ones seated there a clear view of the crowd. Two of them are now standing behind it, facing one another. Their hand movements let me know they’re deep in conversation. The one on the very end is typing away on a phone, making me wonder w
