Feuds Page 3

  A bunch of top hats soared over the rest of the crowd, tipping her off to the closest bar, which was right on her path toward Vera’s side of the party. Davis pushed her way toward the velvet-and-brocade-draped station, sidestepping a crowd of about a dozen partiers who were clustered in the middle of the dance floor.

  It wasn’t hard to spot Emilie in the center of the crowd. She swayed on top of a mirrored, rotating table just next to the bar, matching the pulsing rhythm of the music. Her eyes were closed, and her drink sloshed a little over its brim as she danced, her silver boa trailing behind her. She moved with the kind of confidence and fluid precision that even copious amounts of alcohol couldn’t strip from her. Her tiny body and boyish, muscular frame were perfect for ballet. Those were partly inherited and partly, of course, her parents’ engineering.

  Davis turned away and motioned to the bartender, trying to get his attention.

  “I’m fine,” someone shouted, bumping into her from behind. Davis whirled around to see a younger girl—Caitlyn, she thought—struggling to stand up straight. Her thin body looked overly gaunt in her tight white dress. Caitlyn’s red hair was sweaty and clung to her face. The girl didn’t look good; Davis felt her eyes widen in concern. Where were Caitlyn’s friends? Why weren’t they looking out for her? Davis reached for her arm, drawing her closer toward the bar where she’d be out of the way of the crowd.

  “You look like you could use some water,” she said, pouring her a glass from the pitcher at the edge of the bar. Caitlyn’s eyes were unfocused; Davis helped her bring the glass to her lips and smiled reassuringly when the girl met her eyes. “Feel better?” she asked. Caitlyn nodded a little, pushing her champagne glass away from her, in the direction of the bar top. Davis grabbed it before it could spill, and pulled up a bar stool with her free hand. “Sit,” she told her.

  “I’m fine,” Caitlyn said, but she settled herself onto the stool, leaning toward the counter as she sipped her water. Some of the color had begun to return to her cheeks.

  “You sure?” Davis asked. “Where are your friends? Want me to wait with you?”

  Caitlyn smiled, and her eyes looked a little more focused. “No, that’s okay,” she told Davis. “Thanks though. For the water. I think … I just didn’t eat enough today. I’ll stick to water now. I’m fine, really.” Davis nodded and smiled, then headed off in the direction of her own friends. For a second she wondered if she should have stayed at the bar with Caitlyn, but Caitlyn had dozens of friends at the party, and anyway she was just a little drunk, no big deal.

  She headed toward Vera’s spot, taking a large gulp of the champagne from Caitlyn’s glass. The bubbles instantly went to her head.

  “Come here often?” said a deep, unfamiliar voice.

  Davis turned around, taking in the handsome guy standing behind her. He was cuter than the other guys she knew, who were also very cute. He was perfect like all the rest, but something was different about him. Davis had never seen him before, and Davis knew a lot of the kids in Columbus. Other guys were carved out of stone, similar to the sculptures of Adonis and David that she and Vera had giggled over in ancient history years ago. This guy was a living, breathing Apollo: warm and vibrant.

  “Use lame pickup lines often?” she fired back, trying to regain her cool.

  To her surprise, the guy laughed. “Only with beautiful girls,” he returned. But his lips were turned up slightly in one corner.

  Davis flushed. Her palms were sweaty all of a sudden, and the hair on the back of her neck was tingling in the weird way it did when she was excited.

  “Do I know you?” she said, hoping her voice sounded controlled. Despite her nerves, the way he was looking at her gave her a strange sense of glowing from the inside out.

  “You do now,” he returned, placing his hand softly on the exposed part of her back, sending a finger of heat down her spine. “I’m Cole.”

  She pulled away. “And I’m looking for my friends,” she told him. She almost didn’t like how tingly this guy was making her feel.

  “Let me get you another drink, then,” he said, taking her nearly empty glass from her hand. She noticed her fingers trembling slightly. Was she really that nervous?

  “I’ll be over there,” she called to him, indicating the corner where Vera and a bunch of her other friends were seated, shoving into the crowd without bothering to check whether he’d heard her. She knew guys like that couldn’t be trusted anyway. They could have anyone—and usually, they did.

  “Hey!” Vera jumped up when she noticed Davis, giving her air kisses on both cheeks. “Come sit,” Vera commanded, pulling her over Oscar’s lap to the other side of the white divan. Vera let out a piercing squeal at the sound of her favorite song.

  “What can I say?” Oscar smiled, nodding toward Vera. “She’s a real treasure.”

  “What’s that phrase?” Vera tried to joke. “When love touches—”

  “‘At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet,’” Oscar broke in. “Everyone except you, I guess. Use your compendium, and then you won’t have to worry about screwing up basic clichés when you drink.”

  Vera just tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and laughed, and so Davis laughed along with her. She wondered whether Oscar’s little jabs ever bothered Vera. They didn’t seem to, but they bothered her; she didn’t like to see anyone putting Vera down.

  Davis had never said as much to Vera, because she knew Vera was happy, but Oscar reminded her of father’s smarmy campaign planner, Frank, in a weird way. Maybe it was how he clenched his jaw when he was annoyed, or the way he interrupted Vera, or even the way he was always dispensing advice as though he knew best, no matter what the topic.

  But even when Oscar did things Davis would never put up with herself, Vera stuck by him. They had grown up on separate floors of the same building, and were the children of two of the wealthiest, most powerful families in Columbus. They were the perfect match: Vera was unparalleled on the cello, and Oscar had scored higher on his intellectual aptitude test that year than anyone had in Columbus in three decades.

  Maybe Vera loved him, maybe she didn’t. She’d never said as much—and Oscar certainly never had—but Davis figured they had to love each other. But whenever Davis asked Vera what it was like—being in love like that, being sure you’d found the one—Vera laughed her off. “It’s not like those lame old movies you hoard,” she would say. “Dangerous Love or whatever,” which was actually L’Amour en Temps de Péril, an epic love story about a couple separated when the first wildfires tore through Europe—not that Vera could ever remember the name of it despite the million times Davis reminded her. “We fit. That’s all.”

  Davis never even bothered asking about the sex. She knew Vera would make fun of her for making it into such a big deal—and for still being a virgin. All their other friends swapped and exchanged on a regular basis. Anytime Vera did offer up any details, it was a half-joking reference to the awesome abs-and-thighs workout she was getting all the time.

  Davis had made out with plenty of guys—that was just how it was; it was what everyone did—but she’d never actually slept with anyone. There was something stopping her from going all the way, and she wished she knew what it was. She just couldn’t help the feeling that if she lost her virginity, she would lose something else, too.

  “What took you so long?” Vera said, pouting.

  “Ver, it was my dad’s broadcast tonight,” Davis said, rolling her eyes. “He went up against Parson Abel in a debate about segregation. This was his last big speech before elections.”

  “Oh no!” Vera clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening. “I forgot. I’m so sorry!” Vera had been forgetting a lot of things lately. Davis told herself it was just a natural result of the Olympiads and the Classics, the arts competition that was looming. The stress of extra practices had been taking a toll on all of them. Still, Vera had always been a thoughtful friend. She knew it wasn’t personal, but tonight’s slip hurt a little. />
  “Everyone knows your dad’s going to win. Don’t stress, okay?” Vera said, clutching Davis’s hand in hers. She offered Davis a reassuring smile. “The whole thing is pretty much a joke. It’s not like anyone else in the campaign has a chance.”

  “Um, except the current CPM,” Oscar interjected. “Stop being naïve. Parson Abel’s got a lot of support. I know a few people who wouldn’t mind him staying in office for another term.” A shiver of panic worked its way through Davis’s chest. If her dad lost … his career would be ruined. She didn’t want to think about what it would mean for them, or for the future of Columbus.

  “Whatever.” Vera dismissed Oscar’s comment with a wave of her hand. “Davis, you have nothing to worry about. And I’ll be at the next campaign event with bells and whistles. Literally.” She smiled at Davis and patted her on the shoulder. Davis laughed. She would totally not be surprised if this were true. She felt better—way better. Vera might have forgotten, but nothing in her doubted that Vera cared. “Here,” Vera said, unwrapping the braided leather cord she always wore over one wrist. “Take my lucky cuff. It loves you. As I do. It will bring you luck, too.” Davis laughed; now Vera was just being silly, but she took the cuff and gave her friend a kiss on the cheek, allowing her to fasten the cord around her own wrist.

  A new game of spins was just starting. Max reached forward to spin the bottle. If her turn landed on Max, she might have to bolt. Max had been obsessed with her since kindergarten, and he had a tongue like a Saint Bernard. Thankfully, it landed on Lana Douglass.

  Then Davis felt a slight pressure on her arm, and the mystery guy was back, sliding in next to her with a new glass of champagne. She felt her heart speed up—she was weirdly excited he’d returned. She took the glass—another drink wouldn’t hurt. With the new metabolizers, she could have up to four without feeling it the next day.

  She brought her champagne flute to her lips, trying not to notice the feeling of his skin against hers, but it was impossible to ignore. He sat next to her on the divan, and his thigh was pressed against hers. As he leaned forward, his tanned, muscular forearms brushed against her waist.

  “I’d love to join in. If that’s okay with you, of course,” he said, addressing Davis in a low voice.

  “Whatever you want,” she said, once again trying to play it cool. “No need to run it by me.” Her heart hammered in her chest and her palms felt cold; she was shocked and relieved that her voice didn’t betray the intensity of her reaction to him.

  He nodded, smiling as though she’d said something funny.

  “Who is that?” Vera whispered.

  “No one,” Davis said, hoping that the new guy wouldn’t guess that they were talking about him.

  The new guy reached across them for the bottle, his arm brushing against Davis’s, sending a line of fire trailing up her shoulder.

  “What’s up, man? It’s my turn.” This from Harrison, a guy from her history class.

  “It’s cool,” the new guy said. “I only plan on going once.”

  Davis could tell his presence was affecting everyone. Even Vera seemed to have forgotten herself. She leaned into Oscar but kept her eyes trained on Mystery Guy.

  The bottle spun. He spun it fast and hard, so hard that it wobbled from its place on the crystal tabletop and skittered across the table. As it came to a halt, he grabbed its neck and pointed it—directly at her. Davis’s cheeks heated up.

  “Looks like it found who it wanted,” he said so softly that only she could hear. He grabbed her hands and tugged her to her feet.

  “What are you doing?” She was trying to laugh it off as she said it, but something about the confident way he moved was making her nervous. His hands were still clasping hers, and he was yanking her away from the lounge chairs and the group toward the dim corridor that led back inside the building.

  “It’s no fun if people can’t see,” she protested. That was the whole point of spins—being watched. Putting on a show.

  He glanced at her questioningly. “It’s more fun,” he said. But he took a few steps back toward the crowd anyway, leading her like a dancer might. When they were close enough, he hooked his arms behind her waist and pulled her toward him. For half a second, Davis felt the stares of all her friends on them. But then she noticed his heart beating against her chest. And his hands lightly grazing her bare back. And then his lips pressed against hers softly, his tongue finding its way into her mouth …

  A chorus of laughter brought Davis back to reality. She pulled away and opened her eyes to find herself facing the lens of a video camera. She stumbled backward a little, extending one hand palm facing out to cover the lens. She’d never been a fan of being caught on video; her friends loved it, but she always managed to look awkward on film.

  The guy held on to her waist, almost as if he’d guessed in advance that he’d have to steady her. Then sensation began to filter back, and Davis could feel her feet again. Davis blinked a few times, wanting more. She glanced Vera’s way and was surprised to see her friend looking concerned. But in the space of a second, Vera smiled her familiar, dazzling grin.

  “I think I need another drink,” Davis said, moving away from the group before anyone could stop her. Only at the bar could she catch her breath.

  “Can I tell you something?” He was next to her then. She was afraid to look at him in case she lost her composure altogether. She didn’t know how he managed to shake her up the way he did. It wasn’t all bad, feeling disarmed.

  “What?” She tried to sound confident, careless.

  Instead of answering, he took her hands in his for the second time that night and tugged her back toward the hallway, which was empty because no one wanted to leave a party this good, this wild. And then he was cradling her head in his palms and tipping her face up toward his, and Davis found herself wrapping her arms around his waist and touching his back under his shirt with her fingers. It was as if her body already knew how to do all of it without needing any commands from her brain. The only other time she’d ever felt that way was while she was dancing.

  This time the kiss was slower, more passionate, and more intense. Her whole body reacted at once: her heartbeat flooded her veins until it felt like it was hammering against every part of her. Her head was empty. She couldn’t think. It was like her body had choreographed a dance with his, something they were experts at even though neither of them knew what would come next.

  She felt his hands in her hair, then touching the skin on her back, just above her waistband. He crushed her silk dress in his palms as he pulled her hips toward his. But his mouth stayed on hers the whole time, anchoring her to that spot until she no longer cared who he was or why he was there but just wanted the moment to keep going on forever. No one had ever done that to her. No one had ever made her feel so out of control.

  Out of control. She was out of control.

  “Stop,” she said, placing her hands on his chest to push him away. They were both breathing hard; Davis had the weirdest sensation she was dreaming.

  “Why?” he asked softly, stepping back ever so slightly. “Aren’t you having fun, Davis?”

  She stepped out of reach, shaking her head, unable to answer. “I have to go.”

  She needed Vera. Vera would make her feel better, would laugh off this boy’s weird intensity and make her feel normal again.

  It was only after she’d pushed back into the crowd, back toward the party, into the geometry of moving and swaying bodies, that she thought to wonder how he knew her name.

  4

  COLE

  Heat coursed through his body. Music pounded in his ears.

  The kiss wasn’t what Cole had thought it would be. It was way, way better. He’d heard more times than he could remember that Prior girls were cold. But that kiss had left him reeling, his head thick and foggy like he’d had too much to drink, and he could feel a sharp wetness on his lips where the nerves were still reacting. It was so good, he’d forgotten why he’d gone in for it
in the first place. He’d forgotten to take a photo, as Parson had instructed him to do, to prove he’d been successful. The kiss had caught him off guard, and he’d completely blown it.

  Parson was going to be furious.

  It was his one shot. There wouldn’t be another kiss like that.

  Cole took off in the direction Davis had gone, following an intricate maze of red-lit paths and makeshift bars around the roof. There were people everywhere. Cole pushed past a girl in a slinky blue dress who was swaying to the indie-pop the DJ was shuffling. She grazed his bicep with her fingers as he went by, but when he met her eyes, her gaze was directed somewhere else. The place was so crowded that Cole had to fight back an instinct to shoulder people off. There was a sort of organized chaos about the whole thing: the movements of the crowds seemed choreographed in a graceful imitation of revelry. He took a right turn toward the entrance he remembered accessing when he first came in, ignoring a tray of hors d’oeuvres a woman in a puffy feathered skirt and an elaborate mask was passing around. She smiled at him.

  No. Not at him, he realized—at the mirror just behind him. He turned and caught a glimpse of his face, where a slight hint of red, likely invisible to everyone else, emerged from beneath the makeup he’d layered on to hide his scratch from the fights. He unbuttoned the top button of the shirt Parson had given him, the nicest piece of clothing he owned. The tightness around his neck reminded him of a noose. He wasn’t used to feeling nervous, but the combined rush of the kiss plus the claustrophobia of the party and the fear of getting caught had started to mess with him. He could feel a line of sweat trickling down his forehead.