Page 1 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

Chapter 1: A Party to Remember (Unfortunately)

1, 2, 3, 4—breathe.

I told my brain that, but evidently my lungs had other plans.

The numbers were supposed to help. A simple grounding exercise to center myself: count, regulate, breathe. My heart hammered, my fingers shook, and my head felt like it had been placed into a malfunctioning blender and set to puree.

And if that wasn't enough? I was standing inside Ethan's mansion.

Ethan. A demon.The demon.Most insufferable, arrogant golden-boy wanna-be in the history of Paramount High. Someone needed to create an award for "Most Likely to Flirt With His Own Reflection" and Ethan would take that prize in a landslide. Everything about his existence seemed engineered around being infuriatingly charismatic, effortlessly cool, and just so repulsively flawless my guts churned with it.

I hated all demons. Maybe because no matter how much time passes, I still couldn't unsee that golden glow in their eyes.

Now, I was trapped inside a demon's house.

And this was all Joy's and Shun's fault. My so-called best friends dragged me into this nightmare, insisting that I wasn't "living my fullest life." Yeah, right, as if this was my fullest life—just standing in a room full of creatures, drowning in flashing lights, cigarette smoke, and the overwhelming scentof expensive perfume that was probably charmed to brainwash unsuspecting introverts like me.

The mansion was terrific—vaulted ceilings, chandeliers dripping with enchanted crystals, and a grand staircase that seemed to exist purely for dramatic entrances. Everything screamed old money and bad decisions. The walls were lined with gothic portraits, their eyes following me in that creepy, possibly-haunted way.

The party was even worse.

The dance floor was a maze of twisting bodies—icky hovering witches, vampires in unnatural fluid motions, and werewolves that had completely forgotten the use of personal space. Trolls were arm-wrestling near the bar and shaking the floor with every twitch. Someplace out of earshot, some siren was singing, weaving enough spell on her voice that even I, in an overpowering urge to die in some quiet place other than this one, could feel the pull.

And then there was me: Clark, the resident nerd, standing at the edge of chaos, clutching a tumbler full of water like it was the only thing standing between me and a very ugly end.

I could feel the stares. Not malicious ones, but the kind that came with recognition. The oh, look, it’s the guy who corrected a teacher’s rune diagram in front of the entire class stares. The “wasn’t he the one who wrote a five-page essay on ancient spell structures even though the assignment was only three pages” stares.

Yeah. I was that guy.

And of course, Joy and Shun were nowhere to be found.

Shun had disappeared with her date—a guy who had the personality of a wet sponge but the face of someone clearly sculpted by a vain elven goddess. Max, a jock on Ethan’s team.

Joy had gone off with her date too—Mia—because unlike me, they actually had functioning social skills. Sometimes I wonder how we even became friends.

But then I remember—every detail. The enthusiastic girl who first spoke to me back in middle school: Joy. And the girl Joy tried to scoop off her feet, misreading the vibe entirely, who somehow still became our friend.

And so here I was. Alone. Trying not to pass out from the sensory overload.

I pressed my back against the marble wall, my breathing uneven.

1, 2, 3, 4—breathe.

It still wasn't working.

I needed out.

Pushing past the cluster of sirens—who barely gave me a second glance, of course—I made for the big double doors that stood open onto the balcony. A drunken minotaur almost trod on me, and one of the vampires whispered something about my delectable-smelling blood, which was just what I wanted to hear.

Outside, the night air slapped coolly against me like a benediction.

I stumbled toward the railing, taking deep, gasping breaths. The gardens below spread out in neat, symmetrical perfection, the hedges trimmed into intricate patterns that probably lookedimpressive if you weren't trying to recover from imminent suffocation by party.

For a moment, it was just me and the stars.

Then—

"Oh good. He lives."

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