Meg put the finishing touches on her bloodied hairline and stood back to admire her handiwork. She looked positively ghoulish.
She’d had trouble coming up with a costume idea for the Valentine’s Day party. Lucy insisted they use literary references since they’d already done the Hollywood thing for the disastrous party at Scott’s. Meg didn’t know any doomed literary couples, except for Romeo and Juliet, but Lucy declared them off limits because it was way too cliché. She was babysitting Nevah Abbate when the idea finally came to her. Fairy tales and nursery rhymes were literary. Somewhat.
She’d only had a week to design the costume, but she’d raided every thrift shop and craft store in the city until she found all the right materials. She found a book on dressmaking at the library, and carefully ripped out a section on fundamental sewing. She labored late into every evening, pricking her fingers with the needles until she figured out a clumsy stitch.
She would be Jill from the nursery rhyme, banged-up and bruised from her disastrous trip down the hill. She was wearing an old-fashioned baby doll dress and pinafore, torn and splattered with blood, and dotted her bare legs with bruises. She’d spent hours mixing makeup until she found a realistic shade. She’d had found a tiny toy pail, and spray painted it silver. She looked like an extra from some grisly George Romero movie.
Lucy walked down the staircase. Slowly, like she was an actress making a grand entrance. She was wearing a long velvet skirt and a bustier so tight it made her look like she had cleavage. Her hair was in that awkward growing-out stage, but she’d managed to tuck it all into a tiny French twist, thanks to a dozen hard-working bobby pins. Her face was pale, her lips dark. An antique silver choker was tight around her neck.
“You look beautiful,” Meg gushed. “But who are you supposed to be again?” She could have been a hundred different people; there was a never-ending supply of goth babes. With cleavage.
“Lenore,” Lucy answered. She nibbled on a chip, careful not to mess her lipstick. “From the Raven.” Her eyes were twinkling.
“And who will you be haunting tonight?”
Her smile was mysterious, but just as she was about to answer, the doorbell rang. It was Elena and Zach, loaded with provisions.
“Hey,” Zach said, pushing past her, into the apartment. He set the bags down on the counter and began to pull out case after case of beer. “Guess we’re still going through with this costume thing, huh?”
“Of course.” Lucy grabbed the fold of her skirt and did a deep curtsy for him. A sprig of hair came free. “What do you think?”
“Isn’t that a normal look for you?” Elena said as she took off her coat. Lucy glowered at her. Elena had committed two of Lucy’s costume cardinal sins. She was dressed as the completely cliché Juliet, and her costume was Claire Dane’s theatrical interpretation of Juliet-a white tank dress and gossamer angel wings rising above her tan shoulders. Zach wore a loud Hawaiian shirt.
“You look ghastly,” Elena told Meg. “But still so cute!”
“If you’re into the Lolita thing,” Lucy said.
“I spent two hours getting my blood perfect,” Meg took out the elaborate cardboard crown she had made. It was covered in glitter and fake gemstones but was broken and smeared with blood. She was so proud of it.
“Why did you make a crown?” Lucy asked. “I thought you were Jill from Jack and Jill.”
“Jack fell down and broke his crown,” she said, swatting her with her pail. “And Jill came tumbling after.”
Lucy started to laugh.
“It doesn’t mean crown, like, literally a crown,” she said when she stopped to breathe. “It’s the crown of his head. He fell and cracked his skull open.”
“Oh,” Meg said, feeling her cheeks redden. She hoped her blush wouldn’t show through her thick makeup. “I didn’t realize…”
“Lucy,” Elena hissed. “Don’t laugh at her.”
“Oh Meg, you’re just so ridiculous. Really.” She patted her on the shoulder and reached for a beer can. “Don’t worry, lots of guys love a bimbo.”
Meg tried to smile, but the fake blood had dried rather painfully on her cheek, so she could only manage to move one side of her face.
Lucy had promised only twenty partygoers, but that twenty multiplied into close to one hundred. People were jammed into every inch of the tiny apartment, falling over one another to get into the kitchen so they could empty her fridge of all the beer that Zach had brought. Meg recognized one out of every dozen people. Very few had bothered to wear costumes. A few girls from Rose had come, Loretta and some of the other drama class Debs, as well as the ever-present Flynn, and a handful of his tech school friends. Lucy stuck close to this crowd, eyeing the fresh blood with hungry eyes. She was prowling for a new love interest. Scott had been invited to the party, as a courtesy really, but to everyone’s surprise he showed up, the band in tow. He kept sending mournful looks toward Lucy and her cleavage.
Meg tried to hide in a corner, but Lucy and Elena found her and dragged her toward the center of the room. Lucy held out two beer cans. Meg grimaced but took one, hoping it might quell her nervousness. It was an odd thing to go from social pariah to host of the year’s hottest party in just a few short months. Meg wanted everyone to get the hell out of her house and was also afraid that they would.
She downed it the beer in one quick minute. Lucy raised her eyebrows.
“Elena, be a doll? See if you can find us two more?” She put her empty can on top of Meg’s. “Steal them if you have to.”
Elena fluttered away. Meg noticed the lingering looks she received from a crowd of boys in the corner. She’d have no trouble talking them out of their beverages.
Lucy jumped up suddenly. “Scott just grabbed my ass,” she whispered, her face full of indignation. “Why doesn’t he realize it’s over?”
“Go remind him,” Meg snapped. She was annoyed with Lucy, her constant bitchiness, and her raging hormones. She winced as a girl, gesturing wildly, dumped half of her beer all over the couch. The party was a mistake. She should never have agreed to it.
She noticed a familiar figure hovering near her bookcase of movies. Happy to have a target to unleash her rage upon, she fought through the crowd to reach him.
On her way, she found an unattended beer can. She snatched it, popped it open and gulped it down. Flynn looked up as she approached him, and the blatant admiration on his face softened her resolve.
“That’s fantastic.” He reached out and poked at the ghastly wound on her temple. “What’d you use for the fake skin? Putty?”
“Cheesecloth.” She stepped away from his hand. “You’re cheating,” she told him, eyeing the yellow trench coat, patterned shirt, and skinny tie. “Lucy wanted the costumes to be literary.”
Flynn smiled his smug smile. “Blade Runner was based on a short story by Phillip K. Dick. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?”
“What? I don’t know.”
“That’s the name of the story,” he said. He looked down at her costume. “I like that you decided to go gory instead of sexy.” His hands gestured to her bloodied hairline, but his eyes lingered on the bodice of her dress. “Sort of.”
“You’re still cheating,” she insisted. “He wasn’t in a doomed love affair. Oh wait, he loved that replicant. Sean Ford.”
“He WAS a replicant. Haven’t you seen the director’s cut?”
“I hate science fiction,” she muttered, crossing her arms.
“Your DVD collection tells a different tale. The Fifth Element and Time Bandits?” He shook his head. “It’s like you’re trying to make me…” He laughed and looked off toward the kitchen, but he frowned at what he saw there. “Never mind. Look, here comes Lucy. I guess no one is paying attention to her.”
Meg chuckled, despite herself.
“Retract your claws, Cheetara,” she told him and was rewarded with a laugh. The laugh unsettled her. He looked decent in the Blade Runner costume; she thought as she walked away. But he was dressed as Harrison Ford. Meg had a soft spot in her heart for Harrison Ford, in any incarnation.
“You’re almost out of beer,” Lucy told her. “I can send Scott out to get more.”
“Maybe you should start winding things down,” Flynn said, fumbling with his tie. “There are way too many people here.”
“Don’t you dare!” Lucy was drunker than Meg had ever seen her, and that was saying something. “This party is only getting started. What do you think about him?” Lucy asked, pointing to a tall, dark-skinned boy in a mummy costume.
“His bandages look too fresh,” Meg slurred. “He should have tried to age them a bit, dunked them in lemon juice, let them dry in the sun.”
Lucy just giggled and stared at the mummy boy until someone else caught her eye.
“Well well well,” she said, in a raspy voice. “Looks like someone has discovered soap.”
He looked so different. Meg might have walked past him a thousand times without recognizing him. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was shorter, neater, and his clothes looked like they fit him. He seemed taller than she remembered, and, if possible, better looking, but his eyes were still the same, and so was his crooked, teasing smile.
“Is that Ian?” Meg asked Lucy, hoping for confirmation.
“I invited him,” Flynn said. “I hope that was OK.”
“Who’d have thought he’d clean up so nice?” Lucy mused.
Ian was standing in the dimmest, darkest corner of the living room, talking to some blonde girl in a black hoodie. He was leaning against the wall, both arms behind his back, and had one foot crossed in front of the other. As if he sensed them staring, he turned his head, caught Meg’s eye, and smiled.
That smile did things to her.
Ian leaped from the wall and bounced toward them. The blonde girl pouted at his back.
Perhaps it was the beer or the stuffy air, but Meg felt suddenly lightheaded. She reached out for something to steady herself on and found Flynn’s arm. It felt surprisingly solid underneath the coat.
“Are you the DJs?” he asked, rubbing his hands together. “I have a request. Do you have Big Country by Big Country from the album Big Country?”
“What rock have you been hiding under?” Lucy asked him.
“I haven’t been hiding. Why, did you miss me?”
Lucy snorted. “Hardly. The air was much fresher without you around.” She grabbed folds of her skirt and glided away. Ian watched her, laughing.
“Delightful as always,” Ian said, nudging his friend. “Eh, Colin?”
“Colin?” Meg turned to Flynn, looked down, and realized she was still holding his arm. She pulled her hand away like she’d been scalded.
“Flynn is my last name,” he explained.
“I haven’t seen you in a while.” Meg turned her back on Flynn. She wanted to focus fully on Ian. “Where were you?”
“Working. No, don’t ask me where. It’s all very hush-hush. If I told you, you’d have to kill me. That sort of thing.” He put his fingers to his temples and pretended to sway from side to side. “This is an excellent party, Meg. I think I might be drunk. It’s been ages since I’ve been drunk.”
“I’m so glad you came.” Meg knew she was smiling like an idiot, but she didn’t care. “It’s nice to see you.”
“It’s nice to be seen. Hi,” Ian said, giggling.
“Hi,” she echoed, staring up at him. Her head was fuzzy too. She felt like she was floating. He leaned into her, and lightly grasped the lacy hem of her baby doll dress. His fingers brushed against her thigh as he lifted up the flimsy material. Goose pimples rippled up and down her skin.
“Nice,” he said, rolling the material between his fingers. “You’re very cute in this. Isn’t she, Colin?”
He let the skirt drop and leaned closer. They were just inches apart, so close he could have leaned down and kissed Meg if that’s what he wanted. That’s what Meg wanted. She wondered if she were sober enough to jump up and attack him. Her vision was a bit blurry. She might stomp on his toes, or her kiss might land on his chin, or she might just lose her balance altogether and topple over.
“Hey man.” Flynn seemed to materialize out of thin air. She’d forgotten all about him. “What made you come?”
“I couldn’t miss Meg’s party. And I’d hate to miss a chance at getting insulted by Lucy.”
Meg looked over Ian’s shoulder and saw Lucy frowning at them.
“I see she’s holding court in the kitchen. Should I chance it?”
“You’ve always been the brave one,” Flynn said.
Ian reached out and clasped his friend by the shoulder, before walking off. He melted into the crowd so expertly it was like he disappeared.
“Hey, Meg?” Flynn looked at her over the rim of his red cup. “I’d like…”
“It’s ok,” she cut him off. She felt strangely magnanimous. Happy. She’d even forgiven Lucy for being such a snarky bitch earlier. Was this what being drunk felt like? Or was the wonderfully woozy feeling all due to Ian? “We haven’t always gotten along. But I think we should start over. Try to be friends.” If she started dating Ian, she was going to have to learn to get along with Flynn. Or Colin. Whatever his name was. She’d be the bigger person and forgive him for all his nasty little comments.
Flynn grabbed the empty beer can out of her hand and frowned as he shook it.
“How many of these have you had?”
“Mmm?” The place on her thigh that Ian had grazed with his fingertips felt white-hot, almost achy. She saw the top of his golden-brown head ebbing through the crowd. He was in the kitchen, talking to the blonde girl again. She’d unzipped the jacket a bit, and Meg could see her small, pinched face.
“Meg? What’s wrong?” Flynn seemed very far away, a disembodied voice from a television she’d forgotten to turn off. He’d grabbed her hand somehow, and she clung to it like it was a small tether keeping her upright.
Ian was talking to one of the girls from Jefferson, the smallest one, the one with the meanest eyes.
“She’s here. She’s in my house.”