of throwback to the seventies.
“When life was laid back,”
my uncle has said on more than one occasion.
Her brows pinch together. “Are you a virgin, Maddelena Martin?”
My face heats up. “So what if I am?”
What’s the big deal? I’m sure lots of people are virgins. Besides, the only boy I want to give myself to is the son of the man who killed my parents. It kind of takes the romance out of everything. Plus, apparently he’s a kinky slut.
“I’m blown away.” Gina scrunches her hair and walks in a circle. “I mean shit, shit, shit. This is serious.”
Tonight she’s wearing a black bustier attached to a tutu. It’s lacy and hooks in the front, with long black bow ties under her breasts. Black leggings and her ankle boots complete the outfit. Her eyes are lined in black again, and her hair is everywhere, but flawlessly placed. She looks gorgeous, but something feels off.
I wish I could be so daring. She’s got me in a red sheath dress. My legs are bare, and I’m wearing red strappy heels. I’m an inch taller, but Gina and I wear the same size clothes and shoes. This outfit is bolder than I’ve ever been. I long for my ballet flats.
“Okay, I get it,” I say, crossing my arms, covering my cleavage. “You’re shocked. Whatever. Let’s go to this party already.”
She grabs my arms and looks directly in my eyes. Hers are twinkling with surprise, shock, and maybe disgust. “Shit,” she says again, this time smiling.
“Wh-when did you do it?” I ask, glancing down at her tutu.
“I was fourteen.” Her voice trembles slightly.
I look up. “I-I…” A part of me wants to tell her about my tattoos. How I got my first when I was fourteen, and what each of them means. That I get them because on the anniversary of the day my parents died the pain is too strong, and I can’t breathe until a needle is piercing my skin a thousand times a minute. I want to tell her that I can’t visit their graves, that I see a therapist the same as she does. I get the feeling she would understand. But at the last second I chicken out. “I think that’s fantastic,” I add quietly.
She laughs, her face filled to brimming with genuine joy. “If you could see your face. Someday you’ll tell me what you actually meant to say.”
I nod, relieved. “Yeah, someday.”
She grabs a tissue and blows her nose, then picks up her purse. “I’ve got to hit the ladies. Meet by the elevators in two?”
I’m about to agree, but decide against it. “Are you sure you’re up for going tonight?”
“Are you effing kidding me right now?” She plants a hand on her hip and pops a knee.
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.” I glance at my hands, nervous. “If you aren’t feeling well.”
“Elevator. Two minutes. Bring your party face.”
Maddie
onight’s party is by invitation only. The card in Gina’s hand is fancy, printed on thick paper, and embossed. Gina is taking me as her plus one. It’s being held at another fraternity. I forget the name. She got the invite from some guy in her Biology class.
The party theme? Heaven or Hell.
I should’ve known that
fancy dress
meant
ostentatious
.
When we arrive, a guy takes our invite and directs us to a sitting room. All the guys are in suits and ties, except the pledges; they’re wearing black pants and black bow ties. No shirts. And they’re carrying around silver trays of sparkling cider.
“This party is lame.” Gina is leaning back in a plush love seat, and I’m sitting next to her. She rests her head on her hand and closes her eyes.
“Total snooze,” I agree.
The décor in the sitting room is luxurious. The furniture is black leather. The carpet is white, and the curtains are black and white. Greenery—plants, shrubs, and trees—are spread throughout the room, and paintings—Van Gogh, Klimt, and an artist I don’t know—are hanging on the walls. A black grand piano is off to one side, and a guy in a tux is playing
“When life was laid back,”
my uncle has said on more than one occasion.
Her brows pinch together. “Are you a virgin, Maddelena Martin?”
My face heats up. “So what if I am?”
What’s the big deal? I’m sure lots of people are virgins. Besides, the only boy I want to give myself to is the son of the man who killed my parents. It kind of takes the romance out of everything. Plus, apparently he’s a kinky slut.
“I’m blown away.” Gina scrunches her hair and walks in a circle. “I mean shit, shit, shit. This is serious.”
Tonight she’s wearing a black bustier attached to a tutu. It’s lacy and hooks in the front, with long black bow ties under her breasts. Black leggings and her ankle boots complete the outfit. Her eyes are lined in black again, and her hair is everywhere, but flawlessly placed. She looks gorgeous, but something feels off.
I wish I could be so daring. She’s got me in a red sheath dress. My legs are bare, and I’m wearing red strappy heels. I’m an inch taller, but Gina and I wear the same size clothes and shoes. This outfit is bolder than I’ve ever been. I long for my ballet flats.
“Okay, I get it,” I say, crossing my arms, covering my cleavage. “You’re shocked. Whatever. Let’s go to this party already.”
She grabs my arms and looks directly in my eyes. Hers are twinkling with surprise, shock, and maybe disgust. “Shit,” she says again, this time smiling.
“Wh-when did you do it?” I ask, glancing down at her tutu.
“I was fourteen.” Her voice trembles slightly.
I look up. “I-I…” A part of me wants to tell her about my tattoos. How I got my first when I was fourteen, and what each of them means. That I get them because on the anniversary of the day my parents died the pain is too strong, and I can’t breathe until a needle is piercing my skin a thousand times a minute. I want to tell her that I can’t visit their graves, that I see a therapist the same as she does. I get the feeling she would understand. But at the last second I chicken out. “I think that’s fantastic,” I add quietly.
She laughs, her face filled to brimming with genuine joy. “If you could see your face. Someday you’ll tell me what you actually meant to say.”
I nod, relieved. “Yeah, someday.”
She grabs a tissue and blows her nose, then picks up her purse. “I’ve got to hit the ladies. Meet by the elevators in two?”
I’m about to agree, but decide against it. “Are you sure you’re up for going tonight?”
“Are you effing kidding me right now?” She plants a hand on her hip and pops a knee.
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.” I glance at my hands, nervous. “If you aren’t feeling well.”
“Elevator. Two minutes. Bring your party face.”
Maddie
onight’s party is by invitation only. The card in Gina’s hand is fancy, printed on thick paper, and embossed. Gina is taking me as her plus one. It’s being held at another fraternity. I forget the name. She got the invite from some guy in her Biology class.
The party theme? Heaven or Hell.
I should’ve known that
fancy dress
meant
ostentatious
.
When we arrive, a guy takes our invite and directs us to a sitting room. All the guys are in suits and ties, except the pledges; they’re wearing black pants and black bow ties. No shirts. And they’re carrying around silver trays of sparkling cider.
“This party is lame.” Gina is leaning back in a plush love seat, and I’m sitting next to her. She rests her head on her hand and closes her eyes.
“Total snooze,” I agree.
The décor in the sitting room is luxurious. The furniture is black leather. The carpet is white, and the curtains are black and white. Greenery—plants, shrubs, and trees—are spread throughout the room, and paintings—Van Gogh, Klimt, and an artist I don’t know—are hanging on the walls. A black grand piano is off to one side, and a guy in a tux is playing
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