Page 104 of Riot House
Inside, rainbows follow me from room to room, dancing all over the walls; the Swarovski crystals on the dress catch and reflect the light, scattering bursts of color in every direction as Pres pulls me through the crowded entryway. Every single student at Wolf Hall looks like they’re here, dressed in all kinds of weird and wonderful costumes. I curse myself for being so short as I strain to see over the tops of people’s heads. I quickly come to the realization that it just isn’t going to happen, so I focus on making sure I don’t get stepped on, as people jump around, dancing to the blaring music. I see Rashida sitting by the fire, talking to a guy I don’t recognize. She frowns when she sees me, squinting, then she finally recognizes me and waves, pointing at her hair, giving me a thumbs up.
I’ve never been in the kitchen before. It’s huge, of course, with a giant marble island in its center, overcrowded with bottles of liquor and bowls full of food. Not the chips and salsa kind of food you’d expect at most house parties. No, there are crab cakes and vol-au-vents, deviled eggs and fancy looking pastries. Has to be Dashiell’s handiwork; I know for a fact that Wren wouldn’t have ordered that shit, and I don’t think vol-au-vents are Pax’s M.O. either.
“You want a drink? I’m gonna grab a beer,” Pres shouts over her shoulder.
I give her a bland nod. A moment later, I have a bottle of Corona in my hand, the glass cold and slick with condensation, and I’m being dragged further into the melee. It isn’t long before Pres clutches my hand, squealing. “There he is! Oh my god, I wish I’d worn something sexy. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
Across the room, Pax stands at the bottom of the stairs, laughing raucously at something a girl in a skintight black cat suit has just said. She’s wearing little black ears, and has whiskers drawn onto her cheeks, her cute button nose painted black. “God damn it. Fucking Beetlejuice?” Pres moans, pulling at her black and white pajama pants. “Seriously. I am such a fucking idiot.”
“You’re better off steering clear of that one anyway,” I mumble into my beer.
“God, don’t you start,” she gripes. “You’re beginning to sound just like Carina. Oh hey, look! There she is!Carina!”
No fucking way. NowayPres has just spotted Carina. But when I look over to the far side of the room, my friend’s standing by one of Wren’s paintings, dressed in a purple tutu and a frilly bodice with a tiny little top hat balanced on her head. There are playing cards tucked into the ribbon on the hat, and bright green feathers.
“Wow. Her costume’s fucking cool. She’s the mad hatter. Come on, let’s go say hey.”
I tug my hand out of Pres’s grip, taking a step back. “No, I—”
Too late.
Carina looks up and sees me, and her face turns the color of ash. Worse still, the guy she was talking to turns around, and low and behold…
It’s Wren.
He isn’t in costume. He’s wearing his usual black uniform—black t-shirt and worn black jeans. Absolutely zero effort on his part to join in on the costume competition, then. His eyes widen when he sees me, standing next to Presley. He breaks away from the conversation he was having with Carina, entering the crowd, pushing his way toward me. Blind panic scrambles my brain. “Uh, excuse me. I need to find a restroom.”
“Elodie, wait and I’ll come with you!” Pres shouts after me. I’m not listening to her, though, and I’m sure as fuck not waiting. I feel like I’m stuck on a merry-go-round as I bully my way through the press of bodies. My heart won’t stop slamming. It takes forever to find a bathroom on the first floor, but thankfully when I do there isn’t a line. I dive inside and lock the door behind me, leaning up against the wood, trying to catch my breath.
Ten seconds later, there’s a knock on the door. “Elodie. It’s me. Let me in.”
Of course he was going to find me. I had hoped it might take him longer than this, though. I need some time to think. I prepared a slew of questions I was going to ask him but I’m groping at thin air now. The only thing chasing through my head is disbelief. Carina came to the fucking party. She swore she wasn’t going to, and yet there she was, dressed up to the nines, having what looked like a very friendly conversation with the guy currently rapping on the bathroom door.
“Go away, Wren.”
“Not happening. Let me in. I need to talk to you.”
“Just give me a minute!”
“Elodie, this is fucking stupid. Open the door.”
“Go back to the party, Wren. I’ll come and find you when I’m ready.”
God, please just go away. Please just go away. Please just go away.
Silence, on the other side of the door. Blowing out a shaky breath, I step toward the mirror, studying my reflection in its surface. Who was I kidding, coming here? Thinking I could just waltz right up to him and demand answers? My heart just about shattered into a million pieces when I set eyes on him, for crying out loud, and now I’m—
The door to the restroom opens quickly, and Wren hurries inside, closing it behind him. I stare at him, mouth hanging open, unable to form words.
“I’m sorry I did that.” He winces, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. He sheepishly holds up a quarter in his other hand. “You don’t need to be a master lockpicker to open up those locks. Just a coin.”
“You shouldn’t be in here,” I hiss. “What if I’d been using the fucking toilet?”
“You came in here to hide from me, Little E. It was pretty obvious.”
I want to hit him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. But the expression on his face is so tortured that I stop dead in my tracks. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes, his skin extra pale, his hair extra wild. He looks like he’s about to come unhinged. “Elodie, I just want to talk to you. Can you stay calm for fifteen fucking minutes?”
“You had every opportunity to talk to me in the gazebo, Wren. You chose to walk away. Do you know how suspicious that looks?”
