Fall Into Forever (2 page)

“I’m developing a serious case of frostbite. I think it could be fatal.” I let my teeth chatter for effect.

Cassidy puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake. “Don’t be so lame. It’ll be worth it once we get inside. Trust me.”

I hope she’s right. Although I’ve been to a few parties since I started at Pacific State University in the fall, they’re not really my thing anymore. But since I don’t have a lot of homework yet, I couldn’t use that as an excuse not to come with Cassidy.

The guy and girl at the sign-in table are wearing mullet wigs. “Welcome to the FA Eighties,” the dude shouts to the people next in line. “Name please.”

Two guys in PSU baseball caps and high school letterman jackets step forward. I can’t tell if they’re still in high school (which would be weird) or if it’s just part of their costume.

“What does FA mean?” one of them asks.

“Fucking Awesome Eighties,” the sign-in dude says without looking up from the pages. He makes a check mark next to their names. The girl hands them each a red plastic cup and they head inside.

The guys who live here are known for throwing outrageous themed parties. The one last month right before the break had a “religious” theme. I say that in quotes because, apart from the costumes—Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Moses, Buddha, druids, even a pope—it was far from saintly. At least you don’t have to come in costume, because I’m not really the cosplay type.

The opening guitar riff from “Back In Black” pierces the night air. Cassidy lets out a little squeal, puts her hands on her knees and starts to shake her butt.

“Oh my God!” My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “Are you crazy?” Is my roommate seriously starting to twerk? If so, I am sooo disowning her. She’s not even buzzed—this is the
normal
Cassidy. I glance around. People are staring, not quite sure what to make of her either.

“Come on,” she says, trying to get me to dance with her.

I hold up my palms. “No, no, and no. I think you’ve got your decades mixed up.”

Undeterred, Cassidy continues to dance, and sure enough, a few others join her. I step back and watch, shaking my head. Cassidy is one of those self-assured people who doesn’t think twice about doing something totally crazy that draws attention to herself. I guess that’s what makes her so fun, even if she mortifies the hell out of me sometimes.

A girl from my humanities class last quarter is right next to me, laughing. I can’t remember her name. Kako, maybe?

“Is that your roommate?” she asks.

“Yeah, she—”

Kako starts taking pictures with her phone and I lose my train of thought.

“Are you…going to post those?” I ask warily.

“What?” Kako yells, not taking her eyes off the phone display.

“Online. Are you going to post those pictures online.”

“What?” she repeats. “I can’t hear you.”

I look around and realize that others are doing the same thing. When Cassidy makes devil horns and sticks her tongue out at someone taking a picture, I know I’m overreacting. I just need to relax. Not everyone is as concerned about online privacy as I am.

“Never mind.”

After the song is over, Cassidy comes back, laughing and out of breath.

“Nice,” I tell her. “Very classy.”

“If you’d joined us, you’d be much warmer now. You need a drink, Ives. A serious one. As soon as we get inside, we’re going straight for the keg.”

They call this place the White House, because it’s, well, white, and it’s a mansion. Someone’s grandma lived here until she moved to a nursing home a few years ago. It’s basically like a frat house for the grandson and a bunch of PSU guys, without the rules or the social obligations.

Cassidy catches me checking the time again. “Would you just relax? Tate said he’d be out in a minute.”

“You sure he’s not dogging us? Maybe he doesn’t want to corrupt his sweet, innocent cousin.”

She makes a face at me. “I’m sweet, but hardly innocent.”

“Tell me about it.” I lean against the pillar and cross my arms. “You’d better not be texting me another XOX tonight. I spent way too long in the TV room the last time. I ended up watching a bad sci-fi movie on Netflix with those two guys who live on the third floor, and I really don’t feel like doing
that
again.”

“I told you earlier Will was coming over. It’s not like you didn’t have any warning.”

“Five minutes is ample warning?”

“Try thirty.”

“Ten. Maybe. And that’s being generous.”

“Okay, fifteen.”

You can’t win with Cassidy. She hates losing an argument. “Whatever. The point is, you didn’t give me much time to make other plans.”

“He’s not here tonight, anyway. He went home for the weekend.” Something in her voice doesn’t sound quite right.

I frown. “Will went home? Why so soon?”

She pretends to be examining her nails, but I can totally tell she’s not. “We only Skyped once during the break.”

“Just once in four weeks? I figured you guys would be talking every day.” They were getting pretty damn serious toward the end of last quarter. Will even spent Thanksgiving with her family.

“Yeah, so did I. But every time I texted him, he said he was busy and didn’t have time to talk. It was really…weird. I think he might have hooked up with his old high school girlfriend.”

“Why do you think that?” I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned this before now. Maybe that’s why she insisted on coming to the party. She needs something to keep her mind off the fact that Will might be cheating on her.

She shrugs. “I wish you did some kind of social media, Ivy—then maybe I’d know if I was being paranoid or not. Over the break, I stalked him online and…”

Stalked?

I’m suddenly boiling hot with this scarf around my neck. I tug on it to make it looser. “What? So I can…stalk…him, too?”

“I want to know what you think. Maybe I’m being paranoid. I mean, he can be friends with an old girlfriend without wanting to hook up with her again, right? Maybe that’s all it is.”

“I suppose it’s possible…”

“But not probable,” she finishes for me. Her shoulders sag.

I don’t want to go all negative on her and agree, but I think she’s right. Why else would Will not want to talk to her during the break? Before I can reply, a string of obscenities erupts from inside the house, followed by a few loud grunts. Sounds like an argument has just gotten physical.

The two people at the sign-in table jump up in unison. “What the hell?” the guy says, stomping toward the door. “If it’s one of those high school kids, I’m going to be so fucking pissed.”

“They’re letting in local high school kids, but they make us wait outside? That is sooo lame.”

“Maybe it’s someone’s little brother and his friends,” Cassidy says. “Ryan visited me my freshman year and got so sick at a party that he puked on my neighbor’s bed and passed out in the men’s bathroom. The RA found him in the shower at six in the morning, wearing leopard-print underwear and nothing else.”

I laugh. “Poor Ryan. What kind of a big sister are you?”

“He was supposed to be staying in my friend Steve’s room, but he wandered off.”

The music stops. Now we can really hear the fight. I’m envisioning someone getting slammed up against the wall and furniture being knocked over.

We press our faces up to the glass next to the front door. It’s frosted and all we can see are a bunch of shapes. But the shapes are—

Cassidy and I jump out of the way just as two guys come crashing through the door and fall at our feet. Instantly, people from inside and outside the house crowd around us.

“Are you fucking crazy?” The guy on the bottom is trying to wriggle free. He’s the smaller of the two. Wiry, with long arms and legs, he flails against his opponent, but the guy on top is much stronger.

From this angle, I can’t see the stronger guy’s face, just his broad back and shoulders. His black T-shirt stretches tightly over tattoo-covered biceps. I wouldn’t be surprised if the shirt had a graphic on the front for an MMA gym, because this guy is definitely tough. None of the smaller guy’s punches seem to be having much of an effect on him.

Grabbing fistfuls of the skinny guy’s shirt, the stronger guy hauls him to his feet. Dark hair hangs over his forehead, obscuring his face. He reminds me of a wild animal, ready to rip out this guy’s throat. I seriously wouldn’t be surprised if he let out a growl right now.

“Oh my God,” a girl behind me whispers. “That’s Jon Priestly.”

“Which one?” her friend asks. “I’ve never actually seen him in person before.”

“The hot one, silly. The one beating up that other guy.”

Jon Priestly? I take a closer look. He’s obviously someone well known at PSU, but I’ve never seen or heard of him. Maybe he’s one of the football players. He definitely looks like one. Unlike the tiny college I transferred from, which was basically an extension of high school, playing at a Division One school like PSU is a big deal. Many of the players go on to play professionally.

“Get the fuck out of here,” the guy named Jon is saying.

“But it’s not my fault. Brick said—”

“I don’t want to hear your lame-ass excuse, Chris. You’re done.” He points toward the road. “Out.”

I have no idea what this Chris guy did, but since he’s the weaker of the two, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. I’ve seen anger like this before and believe me, it’s not fun being on the receiving end. In fact, it’s terrifying. I clasp my hands together to keep them from trembling. I’m so close to what’s going on it’s like I’m a part of the action with the anger directed at me.

My head throbs as bits and pieces of another fight flash in my head.

No. Don’t go there. You can’t.

I rub my temple, aware that I need to shut it down quickly, otherwise I’ll end up with a debilitating migraine—one that could last for days. Not good at the beginning of the new quarter. The medication I take does help, but I only have one or two pills left.

“Ivy, are you okay?” Cassidy whispers, her eyes wide. She’s looking at me like I’m the one who just got beaten up. My face must be ash white.

“I’m fine,” I mutter. With the crowd pressing in around us, it’s not like I can easily turn around and leave, anyway. I continue watching, even though I don’t want to. When you mix alcohol and male egos together, the resulting cocktail is often a bloody and violent fight.

Chris adjusts his baseball cap, angling it backward. “God, you are so fucking uptight, Priestly. I said I’d get it.”

“You’re too late. Your promises don’t mean shit anymore.” Jon’s tone is knife-edge sharp. I wouldn’t want to cross him.

“That’s not true,” Chris is saying. “I—”

Jon jabs a finger at him like a weapon. Chris jumps backward, just out of reach. Scratch what I said about him looking weak. The guy is small, but he’s wiry and quick. The fight isn’t as one-sided as I thought.

“You owe a bunch of money,” Jon says. “And the fact that you didn’t pay when you said you would has caused a lot of problems. Problems that someone like you couldn’t begin to understand.”

“Seriously? You need to relax. It’s not like you can go to the Bahamas on three hundred bucks. Besides, I never said I wasn’t going to pay. I said I was good for it and I am. But it’s going to have to wait till next week, when my dad puts money into my—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jon holds up his hands. “You’re using your daddy’s money to buy weed? Does he know he’s funding your extra-curricular activities?” He’s looking at Chris like I look at someone who’s hawked up a loogie on the sidewalk.

Cassidy and I exchange glances. So this fight is about weed. Jon sells it and Chris buys it. Neither of us smokes weed, but we’ve both tried it—a fact I learned about her on the second day we met, along with a bunch of other details that usually take weeks for strangers to share with each other. Like the number of guys she’s slept with (five). She’s lactose intolerant and gets diarrhea if she eats dairy. Also, her mother made her get one of those under-the-skin birth control implants right before she left for college because, in her mom’s words, “College is one big sex-fest.” We had a good laugh about that.

“Who cares where I get the cash? Am I right?” With a cocky expression, Chris looks around at everyone, flapping his arms like a football player trying to incite the crowd for the next play. I can’t tell if anyone is agreeing with him or not. He turns back to Jon. “I said I’d pay and I will. Money is money.”

Jon shakes his head, his eyes flashing with anger. His whole body is tense and flexed, his hands balled into fists. A few black leather bracelets are stacked around one wrist. Either that, or it’s one long cord that he’s wrapped around and around. I tear my gaze away. I have a thing for guys who wear man-jewelry, but I definitely don’t want to be jonesing for this one.

“You’re even more pathetic than I thought,” Jon says through clenched teeth.

“You need to chill. What’s one more week? The bitch is loaded.”

Jon’s punch is lightning fast. It hits the guy in the face and knocks him into the porch column next to me. I try to jump away, but the sea of people is as solid as a brick wall. Blood splatters, making a fan pattern on my cute white jacket. A few people in the crowd scream, including me.