They followed Nathaniel inside, and the past came rushing back around Tiny as loud and vivid as the party itself.
The vaulted ceiling of the two-story main foyer towered above them. Tiny hadn’t been there in a long time, not since the four of them used to hang out. The wall to her right was made of exposed brick, stretching so Everest-like above her head that there were, like, clouds obscuring the top. Right in the middle was a real working fireplace—a total rarity in a New York City apartment (Tiny’s family kept stacks of books in their nonworking one)—and over the mantel hung a series of Picasso paintings that looked suspiciously like real paint—not like the framed prints her parents brought home from museum gift shops. Through the crowd, toward the back of the large open room, a wrought-iron spiral staircase curved seductively, like a beckoning finger, upstairs.
“It’s like the fucking MoMA in here,” Lu muttered under her breath.
To their left, the wall was made entirely of white custom bookcases, stacked with huge glossy art books and strategically placed decorative stoneware. In the center of the bookcases was a swinging door, and when someone barreled through it, Tiny could just make out a kitchen table cluttered with a rainbow of liquor bottles.
The giant foyer was packed with upperclassmen. It looked the way parties did in movies—except the music didn’t stop abruptly, and it didn’t feel like she and Lu were walking in slo-mo or anything. No one even noticed Tiny as she stood by the kitchen door, pulling at her crop top, staring nervously into the madness. A handwritten sign with the words IT’S THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT AND I FEEL FINE scrawled in red Sharpie was taped to the wall above the couch. A couple of kids were wearing pith helmets, and one had a parachute. Down the hall, someone was wearing a snorkel. Because a snorkel is the first thing you reach for in case of an emergency.
There was no sign of Josh.
“Lu . . . ,” Tiny whispered.
“Don’t worry,” Lu said before she could even hear the rest. She linked a reassuring arm through Tiny’s, and smiled grimly. “We’ll be fine.”
Outside the living room window, lightning flashed bright across the sky.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three—
Thunder rumbled ominously.
“Nathaniel!” Lu cried like a war general. “Onward to the drinks!”
“You’re still very bossy,” Nathaniel said. Tiny snorted. Lu frowned. Nathaniel pulled the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands. “They’re in the kitchen,” he said. Tiny noticed the tips of his ears were red. “This way.”
Lu unlinked her arm from Tiny’s and followed Nathaniel through the swinging door, but Tiny paused. Her heartbeat sped up. She wanted to tell Lu to stop, that she just wanted to go home. She felt awkward in Lu’s crop top and cut-offs, and what if she really did see Josh? It’s not like she was actually going to talk to him. She was beginning to think this whole night was a terrible mistake. She should have just stayed home.
But she forced herself to push through the kitchen door behind them.
She hated herself for being so nervous, for losing herself so completely in the wanting that she wasn’t even sure what it was she wanted.
Lu immediately marched up to the bar table and began pouring some kind of mixture of vodka and lemonade, while Nathaniel hovered by the wall between the door and the table. Tiny watched as people milled around the edges of the kitchen in small clusters, brushing up against the chrome refrigerator, the marble countertops, the shelves of expensive-looking copper pots and pans. It looked like the kind of kitchen that was more for show than for actually cooking in. All of the appliances looked spotless. Like a movie set.
She reminded herself that she wanted this. She had needed to go out tonight; she had agreed to it. If she’d stayed at home, she would have melted into that puddle of water on the floor, and no one would ever have seen her again.
“Here.” Lu broke into her thoughts by shoving a red cup in her face. Tiny was still feeling woozy from the courage shots they took before they’d left her apartment, but when it came to Lu, she had to pick her battles.
So, she drank. She drank and drank because she didn’t know what else she should do. Then she grabbed Lu’s cup and drank that down too. She didn’t taste a thing.
Lu’s mouth hung open.
“Whoa,” she said. “There was a lot of vodka in there.” She eyed Tiny carefully. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Tiny said, her smile bright and her speech only slightly slurred.
“Do you want some water?”
“Yes,” Tiny said. “I love water.”
“Ooookay.”
The tap was running. A new red plastic cup was shoved into her hands. The water was cold and tasted slightly like lemonade.
“Sorry,” said Lu. “There were no clean ones left.”
Tiny shook her head. “It’s okay. It’s fine.” The room tilted on its side, then righted itself. She blinked. She was going to be brave tonight. She was.
“Ready?” Without waiting for a response, Lu turned and pushed her way back through the swinging kitchen door.
Tiny sighed. She wondered where she would be without Lu and her what ifs, but sometimes that also came along with some impossible expectations.
She turned to follow—everything swaying sort of imperceptibly—but as she did, the swinging door smacked into her from the other side.
“Ow,” said Tiny. “Hey!”
“Oh shit,” a voice said at the same time. “I’m so sorry. I—”
Tiny looked up and then realized she was staring, her mouth open, at Josh. His black, black hair, his dark brown eyes. Those broody eyebrows. His mouth that turned up slightly on one side, maybe judging you, maybe smiling at some secret joke—it was impossible to say. It was the first time he had ever looked directly at her.
“Hey,” she said. She was doing it! She was talking to him. It was like riding a bike for the first time without training wheels, exhilarating and terrifying and—
“Uh, hi.” He scratched his stubble. He had stubble. “Are you okay? Did I hit you hard?”
“I’m okay,” Tiny said, venturing a smile. “Possibly concussed, but . . .”
Josh frowned. “How many fingers?”
“Four.”
“Nailed it. You’re fine.”
He patted her on the shoulder and then started to walk away.
“Oh, um!” Tiny basically shouted at him. “What did you think of lit mag today?”
Josh squinted at her. “You’re in Calamity?”
“Uh,” she said, waiting for him to recognize her. The pause grew unbearable. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, well, listen, you should write something good for us. The quality of submissions is really going downhill lately. Today was brutal.”
Tiny felt a jolt rip through her.
“I thought you liked today’s poem? You said—you said it felt emotionally, um, authentic.”
“Hm? Oh no. I just had to jump in with something otherwise Jordan Brewster would never have shut up.” He looked right at her again, and smiled.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Tiny,” Tiny said hoarsely.
“Right. Well, seriously, Tiny. Write something good. Save us all.”
Just like that, he was gone, and Tiny was left standing there. It was like someone had ripped the beautiful hardwood floor right out from under her and she was falling through the gaping abyss, down, down, down, beneath the ground into the dark under-depths of the city.
Her one chance to finally get over her first kiss. Crushed.
There was a door on the other side of the kitchen. Leading away from Josh, away from Lu and Nathaniel, away from the rest of the party. She didn’t care where it went. She just had to get out of there.
She pushed through it and took the stairs on the other side two at a time, her face burning.