Page 10 of Wild Card

My stepsister nodded weakly and turned over, pulling the covers over her head.

* * *

I tuckeda piece of rogue hair behind my ear and tried to stay calm. Running through the list in my mind, I shuffled forward in line. A massive three-story house loomed ahead of me. Bass boomed from its core, and plastic red cups were tilted up high in almost every direction I looked. Girls were giggling, wearing dresses so short I could see their ass cheeks, which looked cold.

Guys were joking, shoving, and smoking—discreetly of course. They had their opening game the next day, so I had no idea why anyone would even risk a contact high, but to each his own.

I could do this. I mean, I already was…so, yeah…it was going to be fine. Even if I was out of my element and had anxiety about being surrounded by so many people, journalism was a messy medium…at least that was what I kept telling myself over and over again while taking cleansing breaths every few steps.

“Pass or pay,” deadpanned a freckle-faced kid no older than eighteen as he held his hand out.

I held up the king of hearts I’d gotten from Taylor, hoping it would work as a pass.

His beady eyes scanned the words written in black ink along the back, then his head dipped in a nod while the guy next to him opened the door for me. A gush of air left my chest as I walked across the threshold.

I’d been to a few college parties over the years—I mean, it was a rite of passage—but they weren’t my scene. I’d have preferred to be working a shift at the bookstore, where stacks and rows of books worked as barriers against people getting too close to me. It also didn’t hurt to get lost in the cream-colored pages of an adventure or fantasy. I hated admitting it out loud or any time someone asked the cliché question about my hobbies, but reading was one, regardless of how lame it seemed to all the adventure seekers out there.

Looking around the party, I could feel the age-old insecurities flaring to life. My hair had always been too frizzy, my skin too blotchy, my body too wide. I was healthy and happy, but years and years of negative self-talk were a war waged and lost on the heart and a smear on the soul. Tonight, however, I was channeling someone else entirely. The mystery man in that room tonight would expect Taylor, but he’d get me.

Either he was just handing out cards carefree and didn’t really care who ended up in that room, or he had handpicked Taylor and I was fucked. I really was hoping he didn’t care as long as it was a willing female, one who would do enough skin-to-skin connection to grab the story before he could hit his home run.

“Damn, girl,” someone said to my left. I smiled, remembering what I had on tonight. I was wearing the black dress Taylor had told me to wear. The bodice hugged me tightly, slimming my waist, and the slit opened right at my thigh. It was short, way shorter than anything I had ever worn, but it made my reddish-brown hair look like a dark auburn under these lights and against my natural tan. Loose curls cascaded down my back while little braids lined each side of my head. My makeup was Hillary’s best work and completely perfect, with my lashes thick and black, my eyebrows tweezed and shaded, and lastly, my toes were currently wedged into sky-high black heels.

I was thanking my middle school best friend for making me learn how to walk in them, all so we could shine the brightest at our school dance. Then of course Jackie, my stepmother, had ensured I continued my education with every black-tie event my father was invited to.

“Card?” another young man asked from his perch in front of the stairwell leading down to the basement. Checkpoints—they had fucking checkpoints set up in the house, all catered to the game. This was insane.

I flashed my home run card to the fool.

“Lucky asshole,” he muttered, but it was hard to make it out completely over the booming bass. His eyes raked over my form, pausing at my chest, where my curls brushed against my breasts. I tried not to wince as a sheen of lust came over his features, tilting his lips in a seductive way. I’d never felt so exposed, like a film of oil was encasing me with every step.

Still, I smiled in response, looking up from beneath my lashes, playing the part, trying to allow this game to be fun instead of terrifying. Other people seemed to be having fun; I could do the same.

Ever so slowly, he moved to the side so I could pass.

I descended the stairs carefully, taking in the pictures on the walls as I went. They were framed photos of the Devils baseball team throughout the years. There was a bronze frame from what looked like the 1970s, and even one from what looked like the 50s. I assumed this house must have been the team house, a fraternity not officially associated with the school, which was probably why they had to be so secretive about this game of theirs. If the school found out, I was positive they would shut it down.Or would they?

The basement was layered with a thin blue carpet that was littered with dark stains and old odors. Twin pool tables took up the space to my right, posters of half-naked women adorned the walls, and a low, was-white-at-some-point couch perched off to the left with a coffee table sitting in front of it. Three girls and two guys filled the seats, all nursing cans of beer, and toward the back was a small kitchen, tucked away near an equally small laundry room.

My eyes greedily took in every detail as I made my way toward the back of the house. Every time I was sure I’d reached the place I was supposed to be, there would be someone telling me to keep going. The farther I went, the thicker the smoke was and the more inebriated everyone seemed to be.Interesting development.

Tiny hairs on my arms and neck rose as I began to sort through the information I had gathered thus far. This was a dangerously bad idea, and any girl who willingly came down here was definitely not making good life choices. I thought perhaps I should contact the school’s guidance counselors after I figured out who all was involved with this.

“The line is this way, baby girl.” Drew Seymour leered at me with red-rimmed eyes and a carnal smile. He was devastatingly handsome and someone I hadn’t thought knew I even existed. Maybe he still didn’t—it wasn’t like he’d said my name. He had just called me baby girl and was probably talking to my vagina for all I knew.

I veered to the left, following his directions, itching to scribble down a few notes about everything I was seeing.

“Tell me she’s a player tonight.” Someone bit their knuckle as I passed.

Player?

This was all kinds of messed up.

“Fuck me, whose card is she on?” I heard another yell as I walked through what felt like a maze of leering jocks, all watching to see who was walking in. Finally, I noticed two girls in front of me, both with seemingly more energetic attitudes than me. Their hands were raised above their heads, holding drinks as they gave each boy a free shimmy and shake as they passed.

Should I have been feeling the guys up too? If I didn’t, would it make me seem out of place?

Dang it.

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