181 Days of Madeline Jesty

Chapter 1: Party on a Monday

When Stephanie Isles, or Steph—my schoolmate and close friend—invited me to her eighteenth birthday party on a Monday, I was intrigued and curious to join. Who the fuck would schedule a party on a Monday? Only Steph.

She was one of the rare ones who had a longer life—forty-nine years according to her hourglass, which I found out when I sipped beer during one of our sleepovers—and that alone made me think she was fitting to be my lifetime partner. But I was clam jammed before I could even reveal my intentions when she told me she's into one of the guys we met in a mixer.

I tried liking guys too, and my effort to join mixers was proof, but no man had ever caught my attention. At least in the latest mixers I attended, I mean. They were bland and spoiled and noisy. Thank God I was enrolled in an all-girls Catholic school so I didn't need to endure being with hormonal high school boys.

There was one I slightly liked, the one whom I gave my virginity to during our junior-senior promenade, but it didn't last long after me knowing he had four years left. I didn't want to spend several years with someone who was only going to be taken away so soon, so I declined his invitations and avoided him at all cost until he lost interest. We ended sourly—I mean, what did I expect—but we were able to go back as acquaintances after several months. Maybe I'd cut this newly established relationship soon too, so I wouldn't need to be reminded that he only had a few years to live.

However, in Steph's party, there were handsome, well-built ones. College students, probably. I thought I could at least play with an experienced, pretty college boy tonight. After all, I didn't intend to drink alcohol and get a glimpse of everybody else's death date. Party, get laid, and laugh about it the next day, which was Tuesday—a school day. That's the agenda.

"Hey there," one of the good-looking guys started. "You alone?"

His all-black outfit, with two buttons of his polo purposefully undone, and his brushed-back hair screamed sexperience. But something useful I learned from Mom was to never pre-assess a person's sexual performance based on how they talked and what they wore.

I looked left and right before answering, "Do I look like I'm with somebody?"

He smirked and sipped from his glass. "I just thought a pretty young lady like you shouldn't be alone."

"Cliché," I said out loud. I thought I'd give him a chance, but his flirting attempt failed to get a score. "You seem like, no offense, a typical bad-boy wannabe."

"Bad boy?" He laughed in disbelief. "I'm a good guy. But I could be a bad boy in bed if you want."

"Okay, Michael, that's enough. Stop hitting on my friend," Steph, with a glass of tequila in one hand, interrupted out of nowhere. "And you, Maddie, for goddamn's sake, find a better guy!"

"I was already ending the conversation when you came," I defended myself.

"So, Maddie, huh?" Michael leaned forward, leaving a few inches between us. The smell of his strong perfume entered my nostrils, and it made me want to puke. "How about let's get to know each other in the—"

"There's no getting-to-know happening elsewhere. It happens here. In front of me." Steph pushed Michael away from me, so now she was standing in between me and Michael. That made me smile. I had a love-and-hate relationship with her overprotective attitude. "Michael, this is Maddie, my best friend. Maddie, this is Michael, my uncle."

Seeing my confusion as my brows furrowed, she added, "We're the same age. Our family's just . . . too big, you know? Remember when I told you I already had granddaughters?"