Chapter10
1897 Words
By the second Friday of the semester, I had forgotten about the party.
Chloe had not.
At nine twelve, someone began pounding on the apartment door hard enough to shake the frame.
Mason looked up from the floor.
Moose barked.
Oliver paused the movie.
Adrian’s eyes lifted from his book.
I remained at the dining table surrounded by notes.
The pounding came again.
“Evangeline Harper,” Chloe shouted from the hallway. “Open this door before I involve campus security.”
I closed my eyes. “No.”
The door opened.
Chloe walked in carrying a duffel bag.
I stared at Mason. “You let her in?”
“She scares me.”
“Good instinct,” Chloe said.
She dropped the bag beside my chair.
It hit the floor with a heavy thud.
“What is that?”
“Your future.”
“My future has zippers?”
“And sequins.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m studying.”
“You studied last Friday.”
“I worked last Friday.”
“And then studied.”
“That was responsible.”
“That was tragic.”
She pulled the chemistry notes from my hand.
“Hey.”
“You missed the first Friday party.”
“I had a shift.”
“You also declined three invitations this week.”
“I had assignments.”
“You have assignments every week.”
“That’s how college works.”
Chloe planted both hands on the table. “You are going out tonight.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I have lab notes.”
“They’ll be here tomorrow.”
“I have reading.”
“The books cannot file a missing-person report.”
“I’m tired.”
“You are nineteen.”
“That does not make me immune to exhaustion.”
“No, but it does mean I refuse to let you spend two consecutive Fridays studying under fluorescent lighting.”
She looked around the apartment. “Also, you live with three hockey players and somehow still have no social life. That should be statistically impossible.”
Oliver spoke without looking away from the television. “She spends most of her time avoiding us.”
“I do not.”
Mason nodded. “You do.”
“I eat breakfast with you.”
“You correct my cooking.”
“Because you keep creating smoke.”
“That’s quality time.”
Chloe grabbed my wrist and pulled me upright. “Bedroom.”
I resisted.
She was tiny.
She should not have been that strong.
“Chloe.”
“Move.”
“I hate parties.”
“You have never been to a real one.”
“I’ve been to parties.”
“Sheet cake does not count.”
Mason looked at me. “What happened with sheet cake?”
“Nothing.”
“Her graduation party had sheet cake,” Chloe said.
“Sheet cake counts.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Mason nodded. “My cousin had sheet cake at his wedding.”
Oliver looked at him. “That does not help her argument.”
Chloe dragged me toward the bedroom.
Moose followed.
“No,” she told him.
Moose sat in the hallway.
His ears drooped.
Mason gasped. “You hurt him.”
“He cannot help with wardrobe.”
“He has opinions.”
“I don’t want anyone’s opinions.”
Chloe pushed me into the bedroom and opened the duffel bag.
Clothes spilled across my bed.
Black leather. Red satin. Silver sequins.
A dress made mostly of straps and optimism.
I stared. “I think half of these violate building codes.”
“They violate modesty.”
“That too.”
She held up a black dress.
There appeared to be less fabric than hanger.
“No.”
“You haven’t tried it.”
“I can see through the middle.”
“That’s intentional.”
“I have organs.”
“Everyone knows.”
“I prefer mystery.”
She tossed it aside and pulled out a red top.
It was cropped.
Very cropped.
“No.”
“It would look incredible with your hair.”
“It would look cold.”
“The party is indoors.”
“The walk is not.”
“You own a coat.”
“I own dignity.”
“Debatable.”
She held up another dress.
I stared at it. “Where is the back?”
“Optional.”
“Chloe.”
“Fine.”
She began sorting through the pile.
“No.”
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
“That one is legally a scarf.”
Eventually, she produced a dark green top with a low neckline and long sleeves.
It was fitted.
Too fitted.
But it covered most of the necessary geography.
“With jeans,” she said.
I eyed it suspiciously. “My jeans.”
“Yes.”
“My normal jeans.”
“Yes.”
“No heels.”
“Boots.”
“My boots.”
“We’ll discuss it.”
“There is no discussion.”
She threw the shirt at me. “Try it.”
I caught it against my chest. “You are deeply controlling.”
“You need structure.”
“I have a planner.”
“You need fun.”
“I have romance novels.”
She looked toward my shelf. “Those men are fictional.”
“That is part of their appeal.”
From the living room, Mason shouted, “I SUPPORT BOOK BOYFRIENDS.”
Adrian said something too quiet to hear.
Chloe grinned. “Your Hot Hockey Vampire disagrees.”
“He is not mine.”
“Sure.”
I changed in the bathroom rather than give her the satisfaction of supervising.
The top fit.
Unfortunately.
It clung to every curve I normally buried under sweaters and made my chest look like it had developed an independent personality.
I stepped into the bedroom.
Chloe’s mouth fell open.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Evie.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“You’re breathing now.”
“Barely.”
“You look gorgeous.”
I looked in the mirror.
The woman staring back at me did not look like someone who spent Friday nights highlighting chemistry notes.
She looked older.
Confident.
Dangerous, if dangerous people wore chunky glasses and socks with tiny pumpkins on them.
“I’m wearing jeans,” I said.
“Agreed.”
“And a jacket.”
“Until we arrive.”
“I’m keeping it on.”
“We’ll see.”
I sighed. “I need to shower.”
Chloe checked her phone. “It’s already past nine.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are we talking a regular shower or an everything shower?”
A strange choking sound came from the hallway.
We both turned.
Mason stood outside the open bedroom door holding a bag of popcorn.
His expression suggested he had overheard classified information.
“A what shower now?”
Chloe blinked. “An everything shower.”
Mason looked at me, then at Chloe, then toward the living room.
“I have so many questions.”
I pushed my glasses higher. “I’m wearing jeans and absolutely not washing my hair right now, so a regular shower.”
Mason’s confusion deepened. “That answered nothing.”
Oliver appeared behind him. “It answered both questions.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“Yes, it did.”
“What is an everything shower?”
Oliver shrugged. “I assume it includes everything.”
“That makes it worse.”
Chloe crossed her arms. “It’s exactly what it sounds like.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hair washing. Deep conditioner. Shaving. Exfoliating. Skincare.”
Mason raised one hand. “Stop.”
“You asked.”
“I regret it.”
“You interrupted us.”
“I came to ask if you wanted popcorn.”
He looked at me. “So there are different categories?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Time management.”
“How long does the everything one take?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
I pointed toward the living room. “Go away.”
Mason ignored me. “Is there a medium shower?”
Chloe laughed.
Oliver considered the question. “That would likely be a regular shower with one optional task.”
Mason looked at him. “You know too much.”
“I used context clues.”
Adrian appeared at the end of the hallway.
He took in Mason’s distress, Oliver’s calm, Chloe’s amusement, and me holding the green shirt against my body.
“What happened?”
Mason turned toward him. “Did you know there are different kinds of showers?”
Adrian looked at me, then Chloe, then Mason.
“I know better than to involve myself.”
“I DON’T.”
“That is apparent.”
Chloe leaned against the doorframe. “Regular shower versus everything shower.”
Adrian’s expression remained blank. “Self-explanatory.”
Oliver nodded. “Thank you.”
Mason looked betrayed. “How am I the only person confused?”
“Because you asked follow-up questions,” I said.
“I still have follow-up questions.”
“You are not getting answers.”
“What if this becomes relevant later?”
“It won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Adrian looked at Mason. “In what possible situation would Evangeline’s shower classification become relevant to you?”
Mason opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Looked horrified.
“Never.”
“Correct.”
Chloe laughed so hard she had to brace herself against the wall.
My own laughter escaped before I could stop it.
The entire week had been exhaustion.
Classes. Work. Coffee. Notes. Deadlines.
But suddenly, I was standing in a crowded hallway wearing an uncomfortably tight shirt while Mason experienced a crisis over personal hygiene terminology.
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
Adrian looked at me.
For one second, the irritation disappeared from his face.
Something softer took its place.
His mouth almost curved.
Then his gaze dropped to the green shirt I was wearing, and his expression sharpened.
“What is that?”
“A shirt,” Chloe said.
“It appears structurally unsound.”
“It has sleeves.”
“That does not improve it.”
I looked down. “It covers more than most of what she brought.”
Adrian’s eyes moved toward the bed. Clothes were scattered across it, and the dress made mostly of straps lay near his pillow.
His gaze stopped.
“No.”
Chloe brightened. “You agree with me about the black one?”
“No one is wearing that.”
“It’s not yours,” I said.
“I am aware.”
“Then you don’t get a vote.”
His jaw tightened.
Chloe looked between us slowly, with far too much interest. Mason noticed, and a grin spread across his face. Oliver noticed Mason noticing and quietly stepped backward.
I pointed toward the bathroom. “I’m taking a regular shower.”
Mason immediately raised a hand. “No further questions.”
“Good.”
I closed the bathroom door.
Through it, I heard Chloe say, “He’s worse in person.”
Adrian’s voice followed. “I can still hear you.”
“I know.”
- Writer
