ERIN
A security guardpeers down at his list and barks, “Name?”
Behind us, our senior classmates are lined up, waiting to be admitted. Outside the Theobald mansion, rows of sports cars fill the street.
“Mia Moldova,” she says confidently. “And Erin Acacia.”
“Erin’s not on the list,” he replies with a deadpan expression, crossing his arms. “No name, no entry.”
“Shit.” Mia scowls and puts her phone to her ear. “I’ll call Ol to fix this.”
“It’s okay,” I say, cringing as the guard’s glare deepens. “We can go.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Mia says firmly, then curses into her phone. “No answer. The little shit!”
Maybe this is a sign I shouldn’t go to parties. We’ve fallen at the first hurdle. I should never have come. I don’t belong here. Staying home is safe. Comfortable. Easy.
A figure appears like a knight in shining armor out of nowhere. “What’s going on?”
I take a second to realize it’s Nate. He’s wearing a white shirt, the top few buttons undone, and a pair of pressed chinos.
“We have a gatecrasher.” The guard points at me. “She’s not on the list.”
My cheeks flush scarlet.
“It’s okay, Jay,” Nate says, flashing me a smile that shows off his cute dimples. “Erin’s with me.”
I am?
The guard echoes my own thoughts aloud. “She is?”
“Yep,” Nate says. “Right, Erin?”
Mia nudges me in the ribs and gives me a ‘speak the fuck up’ look.
“Y-yes,” I stammer. “I am.”
The guard shrugs and waves us past.
“Ignore him,” Nate says, squeezing my shoulder in reassurance and making my skin tingle. “Ol’s security loves throwing their weight around, but they’re harmless.”
“I’m going to kill Oliver,” Mia huffs as we climb the stone steps to the gigantic oak door. “Erin’s my best friend. I asked him to put her on the list.”
“In his defense, I’ve never been to any of his parties before,” I point out.
“So?” she fumes. “He should know better.”
“I’ll deliver the message that you’re not happy with him,” Nate jokes. “Again.”
I snicker. While I hear about their relationship drama from Mia, Nate must get the other side of the story from Oliver. As much as I love her, the girl is high maintenance.
“Thanks for…” I begin, daring to look at Nate before we enter.
My sentence trails off when a loud chorus of cheers bursts out. A group of football players chants Nate’s name as soon as they see him. “Holt, Holt, Holt!”
“You better go,” I say.
“I’ll find you later,” he says, catching my eye and winking. “Maybe you can save me a dance?”
