Page 13 of The Initial Insult

But the way she says it isn’t a compliment. It comes out the same way I said neat to the sophomores with the clock. She’d been tacitly ignoring whatever weird flirtation was going on between me and her cousin, but now I’ve got her attention.

“You look . . .” I don’t know what she looks like, or if it’s even supposed to be a costume. She’s got on all black, and her hoodie is pulled up loosely around her face, shadowing her eyes.

“Like death,” Ribbit says. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s on purpose or not, but Tress looks like death.”

Tress sighs then, eyes going back to the crowd. “You need anything?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah,” I say, dropping my voice, too.

“Okay.” She swigs from a red Solo cup, still not looking at me. “Through the kitchen, there’s a door down to the cellar. Five minutes. I’ll meet you.”

I nod, then look back at Ribbit. He smiles immediately, like he’s a character in a video game that is programmed for one thing only. “Get me a drink?” I ask.

I only have to ask once.

Chapter 9

Tress

Ribbit comes back with two beers and hands one off to Felicity, who takes it with a smile and then disappears—obviously not the reaction he was hoping for.

“What did you expect?” I ask him, as he stares into his own cup. “You really thought she was going to hang out with you?”

He shrugs and takes a swig, seeming to forget that he’s not going to drink tonight . . . and that it’s my job to keep him from doing it.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe? It’s not impossible, right? I mean, she was totally talking to me for a second there.”

“Yep, one second.” I scan the crowd again, looking to see if anyone noticed Felicity slipping out to the kitchen. I’m checking for Hugh, especially. He keeps an eye on her most of the time, and I need him distracted.

Beside me, Ribbit tilts his beer back all the way, drowning his sorrows. There’s a small gathering at the front door, a lot of cleavage and sequins clustered around Gretchen as her voice rises, a high panicked noise above the general party talk.

“He should be right there, I mean right there,” she’s saying, tears ruining her Cleopatra makeup. “I told him to stay in the car because of last time, and William Wilson always stays. He would stay if he was on fire. But I left my window down, and I . . .”

Ribbit is on his way over to help as soon as he sees the tears, and I shake my head. Not so much at him being a total pushover, but because a missing dog—again—is not quite the distraction I’m looking for. I need more.

Suddenly, midsentence, Gretchen pukes.

Everyone around her spreads outward, along with the spatters of Gretchen’s dinner. Except for, of course, Ribbit, who only crosses the distance between them more quickly and immediately begins cleaning up Gretchen.

“Lightweight.” David Evans is half laughing, half trying to control his own gag reflex when he says it. Next to him, Hugh is shaking his head.

“Gretchen wasn’t drinking,” he says. And that’s when David loses his own battle, pushing Hugh aside as he dashes for the door. He’s not quick enough, and everyone tries to make a path as David comes charging, puke spraying through his fingers.

And that is a distraction.

Everyone in the kitchen is spilling out, curious about the yelling. I go against the traffic, forcing my way through with elbows until I find Felicity, pink and purple and jingly and gorgeous, waiting for me by the door to the cellar.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Gretchen just puked. And David,” I add, opening the door and motioning for her to go ahead of me.

“Are they okay?” she asks, but she’s not worried enough to go check for herself, or actually offer any assistance. It’s more important that she get high. She pauses for a second, hands in front of her as she feels for the banister. “Tress? I can’t see.”

“Sorry,” I tell her, flicking my phone on. We go forward by its pale light, Felicity carefully picking her way. I wait for her to get a few steps below me, then turn, and flick the hook-and-eye lock on the basement door. It’s shiny against everything else. Bright and new. Because I put it there an hour ago.

“Tress?” she calls again, her voice higher and a little panicked since I turned my back and took the light with me.

“Sorry,” I say again, and follow behind her, holding the light above her head so she can see.