Page 66 of How to Be Remy Cameron

“I heard he used to go to our school,” Lucy tells me. “Seven years ago.”

“Seven?”

Lucy nods and hiccups, then adjusts the hem of her garnet-colored skirt. Joslyn is a freshman at Georgia Tech,the college of Jules Littleton, so my expectations were fairly-low.

I entertain myself with all the sick costumes. Chloe is Dorothy Gale fromthe Wizard of Oz, except she’s wearing this cool, blue gingham button-down instead of a dress. Her dark-cherry Doc Martens are brushed with a layer of glitter.

Next to her, Jayden’s Glinda the Good Witch—fuchsia hair and a lopsided glitter crown. His bubblegum-pink T-shirt reads: “Fairytale Nightmare.” He manages to pull it off in this chic-masculine way, not that he’s out of place in this group. A girl dressed as Legolas fromThe Lord of the Ringsis two feet from him. A line of college-aged guys wears flirty nurse costumes with skirts far too short against their hairy legs. None of the soon-to-be-frat bros here would give Jayden any trouble about his outfit. All the jocks at Maplewood love him. Once, I overheard a few of the football players after practice:

“Jayden’s a beast.”

“I mean, yeah, he’s a cheerleader and wears really out-there clothes sometimes, but it’s all for fun. Dude’s not serious about it.”

“Plus, he’s into girls!”

“Dudesandgirls, bro. That’s what bisexual means.”

“I know what bisexual means! Anyway, he’s still a legend. He’s not dainty and shit. And he can belch the alphabet when the occasion calls for it.”

For the record: There’s never an occasion for that. Ever. Period.

“I’m surprised you came,” Lucy says over the rapid-fire beat of a hip-hop song.

I give her a halfhearted shrug. “I can be social.”

“Yes, you can. But you don’t party.”

“I party. I party so freakin’ hard, Lucia.”

“You do not.”

“I do too!”

“What are you, Willow’s age? ‘I do too’? You sound whiny.”

“And you sound jealous that I’m having more fun than you and I’msober.”

Lucy snorts, then takes a long swallow of her tepid beer.

It’s a fact: Overcrowded parties like this aren’t exactly my scene. I mean, I’ve been to a few, mostly because of Lucy. It took a while for me to shed my freshman skin and become comfortable around alcohol and loud music and people dry-humping in public. I’m more of a small-group-cramming-into-a-booth-at-IHOP guy. But I’d rather be here than spending Halloween night at one of Darcy Jamison’s Holy Teen Night events. Not that she’dinvite me.

“You coming tonight has nothing to do with my boyfriend’s best friend, right?” Lucy asks with a smirk that should not be worn by anyone’s best friend.

“Nothing at all.”

“I saw you walk in with him.”

“Total coincidence.” Jesus, even my lie falls flat.

“You two looked cozy.”

“The weather’s nice tonight.”

“What?”

I pointedly look away from her suspicious glare. From the kitchen, there’s a clear view into the Cowen’s living room. In the middle of a lush gold sofa is Silver. He’s dressed as the Mad Hatter—not the sadistic Tim Burton adaptation, the pure Disney version. Sorority girls try to flirt with him. Quiet and curled in on himself, he ignores them. He’s so out of place—like me, but more noticeable. Part of me wants to walk over to him. Maybe talk. The problem is Silver’s only ever spoken six times to me. Four of those were “door” when he was trying to sneak away for his daily smoke break, and I just happened to be in the way.

Lucy clears her throat. I guess our conversation isn’t over.

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