Enemies

That was a party house.

Full out. No exceptions. That was a total party house.

Every room was lit up. People were on the front yard. The door was constantly opening and closing. People were running in and out. Girls. Guys. All Homo sapiens with those red cups in hand. A person didn’t need to be a social outcast like myself to know what was in those cups. Beer. Booze. Alcohol. Liquor.

I checked my email again, and yep. This was not what I had signed up for. The rental ad read, BORING! STUDIOUS! QUIET! I clicked on it, and a person named ‘Char’ seemed only too eager for me, saying I was a ‘perfect fit’ and the rest had been history.

I mean, not totally.

There’d been the credit history, because mine wasn’t so great since I had helped with family stuff, and she’d not been so regular on getting back to me, but the end result was all that mattered. Right? Right. I was answering myself and I was right. It was right.

But no, looking at the house that matched the address and matched the pictures, that was so not right.

Same house. Different context. The pictures she sent me told me it was a demure house. Boring, like her ad said. White-trimmed shutters. Freshly painted red on the house. A freaking blue door. The door might’ve sold it, or it might’ve been the promise that I’d have my own entrance and exit. My own parking spot.

She said quiet, studious, boring! Boring. Hello. A party with red Solo cups and people milling in and out the door, and those weren’t even what I would consider normal party people. I was looking closer at them. I knew people from the higher echelon circles, and these people were definitely it.

That was not me. No way.

I had had a small scrape with someone from that world, and I walked away with a full body shiver.

Well. I was shivering again. A full body/full twitchy one.

I had two years left. Two freaking years. A thing happened and I had made the decision that life was short. I was going for what I truly loved, and apparently, what I truly loved took me almost five states away from my father and my stepmother.

I made my decision, applied, and when I was accepted a week later, even though I was late in the application process, I searched for a place to live while I was packing my car. The house was four blocks from college. I was changing my major from pre-law to marine biology, so I needed quiet, I needed studious, I needed boring because I knew what my next few years were going to be about. I would not have a life. That was okay with me. Fully. Totally.

It’s what I wanted.

I let out a sigh and pulled my keys from the car. This was it. Do or die.

Well, not die. Not actually. That was too—I was shivering again—morbid.

My phone rang.

Fishing it out of my purse, I saw it was my stepmom and hit decline. Gail would need to wait, but I knew she was worried since I drove the whole way. I hadn’t wanted to part with my car. My car meant independence, and I couldn’t afford to ship it across state lines, so I texted her back.

Me: Just got here. Safe and sound. House looks cozy and quaint.

Lies. I tossed it back in my purse, grabbed my bag, and had to take another moment to compose myself.

I hated meeting people. Like, truly hated it. I was what you’d call an introvert extrovert. I was chatty once I got to know someone, but let’s be honest here, because of a certain incident, I was very peopled-out.

Again. Noticing a theme here.

The less interaction with people, the better, which was why I was having a hard time making myself leave my car. I was safe here. I wasn’t safe out there. I was shot-putting myself out of my sanctuary zone, but I had to go and face this.

I also had to pee. Badly.

The twenty-ounce coffee from the last gas station had been a great idea…then. Not so much now.

My hair was a road-trip mess. I tried pulling it back into a ponytail, but I knew some of the strands refused to obey. They kept slipping out, and I probably smelled. More like definitely smelled. I’d been driving since five that morning, and it was now evening. I wanted to just get here, and my six-hour pit stop at a motel hadn’t been the most restful decision I’d ever made. But, alas, it was necessary. I’d been almost falling asleep behind the wheel, so I was forced to pull over. I was pretty sure the room next to me had been filming a porn—or auditioning for one—but I’d been so exhausted I’d even slept through that.

Until I woke up.

At five.

Because my body decided it was time to go, but now I was tired all over again.

With a backpack on, my purse hanging from the crook in my elbow, and a box in hand, I headed toward the house.

I was feeling a kindred spirit with Dirty Dancing’s Baby carrying that watermelon.

“Hey, man!”

A vehicle pulled up a few feet in front of me as I was trotting up the sidewalk. A circle of guys headed for the car.

I waited, breath held, thinking they’d look at me strange or say something that would draw attention to me.

They passed right by me. A few skimmed up and down, giving me the once-over, but for the most part, I was a ghost. Or mist. They went up to the car and pounded fists with the two guys who got out.

A couple girls went with them, darting past me, the same red cups in their hands. One of the girls almost ran into me. Her friend shrieked, pointing, and laughing at her other friend, “Look out!”

“Oh. Sorry.” I tried to be invisible, wanted to be, at least.

Then they were both off, still laughing and almost tripping over their own feet.

Another group of girls remained near the house, sipping on their drinks, held close up to their mouths. They literally had formed a circle, but they were watching the guys. It was obvious the party wasn’t a common occurrence to them. A few were hungry, watching. A few had slight panic in their eyes, like myself. And a few others looked irritated. They weren’t dressed as skimpy as the two giggling girls. They actually wore clothes. Jeans. Shirt. Sandals. Hair in a blow-out. The gigglers only had a bikini top on and a miniskirt, clearly intoxicated in their state of almost undress.

It was hot down in Texas, especially the end of August. It was scorching, even late at night, so the bikini tops made sense. But with a miniskirt? Not so much.

Me. I still had my long-sleeve shirt on.

Driving from South Dakota, it was warm up there, as well, but it just wasn’t the same. Still. Long sleeves were my comfort zone.

I moved past the female circle jerk, and like the others, they barely noticed me. The panic-stricken girls watched me, almost with envy. I didn’t know why and kept my eyes downcast. Pausing at the door, I wasn’t sure if I should ring the bell or knock, or just go in?

The door swung open toward me.

“Oomph!” I managed to swing backwards, out of the way, just as two more guys hotfooted it out of there. One was big and brawny and had a golden tan. He glanced back at me as he passed, his eyes cold, but neither of them stopped. The other one, I didn’t even see. He jetted around his friends, out of sight, and my decision about ringing the bell or knocking was made for me.

I walked right in.

“Where’d Wyatt go?”

A girl with gazelle-length legs, Greek goddess hair, and the most porcelain complexion I’d ever seen was coming toward me. She was talking to someone behind her, and as her friend stepped to the side, she saw me and grabbed the Greek Gazelle. “Watch out!”

Too late.

The Greek Gazelle stepped forward…and on me. Well, more specifically, on my foot.

She stiffened and swung around. I was right there. Her arms smacked my box out of my arms and her body collided with me.

We both went down.

She screamed.

I oomphed again.

And cringed, hearing something snap.

Then the door opened behind me. I was lying prone now, and looking up at the same time the golden tan guy with cold eyes gazed down at me. He stared, his lip curled up in a smirk, and he drawled, “Always falling at my feet, Mia.”

His eyes were on me, no emotion showing, but the Gazelle snapped, “Shut it, Wyatt. Help me up.”

He did so, swooping quickly down to me. I almost thought he was going to help me up first, but he reached over me instead, grabbed her hand and simply lifted her up.

It was like he was lifting up a puppy or something, one-handed, by the back of its neck. But instead of a cute, cuddly neck, he was holding a slender arm, and instead of a cute puppy, the Gazelle was frothing at the mouth. If she could kill me with a look, I would’ve already died, been raised up, and ordered to bury myself again. It was that bad.

“Excuse you?!” she snapped as the guy set her on her feet, then threw his arm around her shoulders. She almost didn’t notice. “This is a private party.”

“Um.” Her friend was biting her lip. She was eyeing my box that was now scattered all over the immediate real estate surrounding us as everything in there had spilled out.

Fuck.

Shit.

FUCK!

Okay.

Deep breath.

I was calm again, and I was reaching for the contents in the box.

The biting-lip friend knelt down, grabbing one of the picture frames. She lifted it up, pausing before handing it over. “Your mom?”

I swiped it from her, then hurried to grab the rest.

This was so embarrassing.

I’d literally been here less than two minutes and I’d already been knocked on my ass and snapped at by one of the mean girls. My worst nightmare come to life. Well, technically, I lived through my worst nightmare, hence the entire reason I was down here in the hella hot Texas heat, but you get my drift.

This. Not fun.

I didn’t answer the question, though this girl seemed nicer. She spoke in a soft voice, her hair a little darker blonde than mine and laying in huge ringlets around her face. And she was almost as pretty as the mean Greek Gazelle. Cornflower eyes, a smattering of freckles over her cheeks, and a heart-shaped chin. She wasn’t as tall as Gazelle, but as a guy stepped around the golden couple, he knelt down and helped grab the rest of my stuff from the floor. “Here, babe.”

He handed my transfer papers and my high school yearbook to the nice girl.

Don’t ask me why I had the diploma in that box. Random things had been grabbed and stuffed in a rush. And I’d only grabbed the box because I felt holding a backpack in front of me would’ve been a bit much, but seriously. I needed a shield between me and these people.

The girl sighed, handing over my stuff and then resting her palms on her legs. “You’re Dusty, aren’t you?”

My mom had a cousin named Dustin. He got in a lot of trouble, the kind that drank, crashed, and just kept on partying. The kind that got a tailgating ticket from a cop, because the cop was the one being tailgated.

Anyway, his kind of trouble got him dead young in life. He and my mom had had a special connection. They got into trouble together some of those times, and when I popped out of her, she said I had his gray eyes and I kept his dirty blond hair, so I became Dusty. Not Dustin. Dusty Gray. She always said I looked like him, too, though I was on the slender side and he’d not been. He’d been big, muscular, but those gray eyes were distinct. We had a kindred spirit. And he’d been handsome. My mom said I’d been pretty, long eyelashes, full lips, rosy cheeks, but since I never got a lot of male attention growing up, I was inclined to believe it’d been her love blinding her. She was a good mom. The best mom.

“Yeah. Hi.”

The gorgeous guy next to her stood up, helping her up with a gentle hand behind her elbow. I was assuming these two were together, but unlike the golden couple, who were still standing, still glaring (her) and staring (him), both were giving me friendly vibes.

I added, “Char rented out her room to me. We talked and everything.”

“Fucking hell!” The Gazelle threw her arms up, stalking off. “Fucking Char!”

I winced, literally.

Her golden bookend stayed, and his eyes grew a tad bit more interested, but he still only smirked. “Dude.” Then he left, tipping his chin up to the other guy.

“I’m Savannah.” Nice Girl was holding her hand out, tucking a ringlet behind her ears.

The guy gave me a lazy smile. “Noel.”

They even had beautiful names. Of course.

I was dust. Literally.

“Hi.” I tightened my grip on my box, now glancing around.

We were standing in the entryway that was between two rooms. One was a living room, a huge sixty-inch television hung up on the wall. Two couches in front of it. It looked almost like a theater room, and on the other end was another television. More couches. A few gamer chairs pulled up in front of the couches, and right then, a huge roar from somewhere close ripped through the air.

“TOUCHDOWN, REEEEEEEEEEEEEVES!”

Four guys surged to their feet, fists in the air, drinks raised high, their heads tipped back from the howls. A few girls shrieked, clapping along with them. A couple others were slower, looking over from where they’d been talking.

Both televisions were on the same game. They were watching the local pro football team, the Kings, and if anyone was anyone, which everyone was someone, then they knew who they were cheering for.

“Yes!” A guy pumped his fist in the air, spraying his drink.

He didn’t care. The buddies he slapped hands with didn’t care.

One girl who got most of it sprayed on her, however, did care.

No one cared about that either.

“Fucking Stone Reeves. He is the man!”

Stone Reeves.

Yes. Even I knew who he was. I picked Texas C&B because it was known for its marine biology program, but it was also known to house the newly rising in popularity pro football team, and we were smack in the beginning of that season.

I’d walked right into a football party.

Eyeing Savannah, I asked, “You guys do these parties often?” My box was slipping, so I transferred it to my hip and hiked it up.

Before she could answer, Noel dipped his head to her ear, saying something. She nodded, smiling, and pulled away. “Later.”

He gave me a polite smile before heading over to one of the couches. The guys heralded him as if he’d been declared missing with posters and a local search and rescue. I thought it was all a bit much, but no one else blinked an eye. I was in the minority.

“I’ll show you your room, yeah?”

Savannah ducked her head down, indicating past the two living rooms and into what looked like the kitchen. I followed, holding my box still on my hip. I wanted to have a hand free. You never knew when you’d have to push another Mean Girl aside so she didn’t trample you.

A few more people were in the kitchen. The dining room adjacent. An attached patio from there.

She led the way past the people standing by the sink. One was a shorter girl with sleek brown hair, bright brown eyes, and a wide smile. She saw Savannah, the smile remained, then her eyes tracked to me, to the box, to my backpack, and the smile dimmed. Dramatically. It was damn near gone as Savannah walked past her, reaching out, a hand tapping the girl’s arm in hello. The girl had been talking to another guy, another meathead-type. He had on khaki shorts, a polo shirt, and a beer in hand. He reached forward, touching the girl’s waist, but she stiffened. And hissing, she stormed past us, those frosty eyes on me. She almost clipped me at the shoulder, but I was ready. Free hand and all. It was a good thing she swung out of the way at the last minute, or I would’ve shoved her right into her guy.

Savannah turned toward what looked like the garage door.

My room was in the garage? For real?

She motioned to me, her smile now forced and pasted on. “Down here.”

Down here was a door that went to the basement, and once we were down there, it was a lot quieter. I almost sagged in relief.

She noticed, her eyes crinkling. “Not one for parties?”

“Not one for people who don’t want me here.”

Had I… Oh shit. I had.

I clamped that free hand—see, I knew there was a practical use for it—over my mouth. I was blaming the lack of sleep and sheer will that had me driving across five states in two days. “I’m sorry,” I said with my hand still over my mouth, so it was awkwardly moving with my lips. “I didn’t mean that.”

She snorted, turning to the right. “Why not? I would’ve said worse.” She motioned ahead. “Come on. I’ll show you your room.”

She went through what looked like a section of the basement that had been turned into an apartment. There was a kitchenette area. A medium-sized fridge. A tiny sink. A tiny oven that my grandma might’ve used in the ’30s. There were two tables. One was decked out with a red plaid plastic tablecloth, and another that was simply a brown round table. A few chairs around each. She motioned to a room attached to the kitchen, to the left of the stairs. “That’s Lisa’s room.” Her eyes flicked upwards. “The one we just passed by.”

Oh.

Lovely.

We’d braid each other’s hair and exchange best friend beads, that much I was sure of.

Then Savannah was continuing on, going through the kitchen and into another room. It wasn’t separated by a door, just a half-wall partition, and this room was obviously a game room. An old pool table. A foosball table. Even a bar tucked in the corner.

She kept straight, continuing on to a door on the other side of the room.

Dread lined my insides and she opened the door and stepped inside.

There was no more house to go.

I couldn’t be in that room. It was literally right next to a party room. There was a bar, for fuck’s sake.

But I stepped to the doorway and peeked in.

The room was bare. A bed in the corner. An empty nightstand.

“Come in.”

I did, and she shut the door.

A desk was built into the wall behind the door with shelves above that. A dresser was beside it.

Another door was attached on the far end of the room. I assumed it was the closet.

It wasn’t.

She opened it and stepped through. “Okay. So. I know this room sucks. I do. Char left and everyone shifted rooms. You got stuck with this one. And I’d like to say we never use that room, but we do. And I know I didn’t answer your question above, but we do. Often. We’re big into football.” She seemed to hesitate, biting her lip, before rushing on. “But here’s the upside of this room.”

She stepped out of the way, pointing ahead. “You get your own bathroom.” She knocked on the door to her left. “This is the furnace room/water heater room/your closet.” She swept it open and there was a hanging rod put up. A lovely closet. Sort of.

“But…” She shut that door, and there was one last one (I was hoping) behind her. She opened it and I was looking up at a set of stairs. “You have your own entrance and exit as promised, and just beyond that door, down the fence line, is a parking spot that’s all yours. Nicole, one of the roommates you didn’t meet, her uncle owns this house. We’ve been living here every year since after our first semester freshman year. And Char leaving, it struck a chord. She never told us she wasn’t coming back until she called last night.”

“Last night?”

Was that my voice? That high-pitched squeak?

She nodded, her eyes heavy. “Yeah. And she informed us she got us a new roommate, a Dusty (we shouldn’t make fun of her name because she seems lovely), and we were supposed to forward all her bills. Seems she decided to spend a semester abroad with a boyfriend none of us knew about.”

I gulped. “I applied to come here two weeks ago.”

She grimaced. “When’d you meet Char?”

Oh. Lovely. Again, so sarcastic here.

“I didn’t. I answered an ad.”

Her eyes bulged out. “An ad?” Her voice was squeaking like mine.

I nodded. This wasn’t good. This so wasn’t good.

“I didn’t know I was walking into this.”

Savannah clasped her arms over herself, hugging the ends of her elbows. “Us either. And Lisa and Mia’s reactions, Char was the closest to them. They’re not mad at you. They don’t know you. They’re mad at Char. You get it.”

I did. I placed my box down, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Look. I don’t know anyone else here. I’m transferring into my junior year. I get that you guys don’t want me here, but I’m here. I’m good for the rent and I already paid Char for the first month’s rent.”

Her mouth clamped shut and her cheeks got red.

Oh no.

“Tell me she forwarded that to you guys?”

“She didn’t. No.”

No. Nope. I couldn’t speak. “So I paid…”

I trailed off at her look, again.

“Char never sent us money. She lied to you. My guess, she kept the money.”

Oh, now I was mad at Char, too.

I groaned. It was just my luck. Fuck’s sake. Again.

“Um.” Savannah edged toward the door. “So, yeah. You’ll have to pay again. And I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll get your key, too.” She paused, looking down. “Sorry about Char being a bitch, and a thief.”

Sorry. Right. That wasn’t super helpful for this month’s rent.

Another roar sounded from above, and we could hear them yelling out, “INTERCEPTION! YES!”

She gave me an uneasy grin, pointing upwards. “Feel free to come and hang out. We’ve got lots of pizza and beer.”

Then she beat it. I was fairly certain I saw her kicking up dust behind her, pun so not intended there. She couldn’t get out of here fast enough. And to a degree, I got it. I understood it. I felt for her, but she left, shutting that door, and I let out the biggest sigh in my life. Or the second longest sigh in my life. But I guess it was better than tears.

Here I was. At a school I’ve never toured. In a house I’ve never seen. Living with people I’ve never met. In a state that I never thought I’d even visit.

Fuuuuuck.

My phone beeped at that moment.

Gail: You should look up Stone since you’re there. I saw his mother in the supermarket, told her you were in the same city now. She didn’t seem too keen, but I bet Stone would love to hear from you.

And, oh yeah.

Did I mention that I knew Stone Reeves? Personally.

No? Well, it didn’t matter.

I hated him even more than I hated Char at this moment.