Five Steps | Chaelisa

Chapter 6

Roseanne's POV

As soon as I step inside, the hallway is plastered with people I've never seen before, and I can feel my hands clam up.

The urge to bolt is strong, but I remind myself, Stick to the plan. Get a drink.

Pretend like I belong.

Find Suzy. Then... hope that she's alone too and looking for a familiar face to hang with. I mean, it's been a day. She can't have made that many friends yet, right?

I keep my eyes peeled as I squeeze through the crowd, taking note of the bathroom in case I need a second alone. I find my way into the kitchen and grab a red Solo cup off the stack. I hold it against the ice dispenser attached to the fridge and peek back at the drink selections: a keg of beer, a half-empty six-pack of Mike's Hard, three handles of Fireball, and some cans of Coke, so it takes me a minute to realize no ice is coming out.

"That's busted," a big sweaty boy says, coming up beside me with a cup filled with a brown liquid that's probably not soda. "Here. You gotta..." He rips the freezer door open with his free hand, and I jump out of the way as he pulls an actual hatchet out of the back. I watch with horror as he hacks away at the ice, his drink sloshing out of his cup and all over my arm before I can dodge it.

Yep. Definitely not soda.

"Uh, thanks," I say as he bare-hands a chunk of ice and drops it into my cup. He grunts, throws the hatchet once more to the back of the freezer, and then lumbers away like nothing happened. I make my way over to the "bar" and pour myself a can of Coke. No one needs to know there's nothing else in it. Probably not the best moment for my first drink.

I head through the other doorway out of the kitchen, where a plastic beer pong table is set up in what should probably be a dining room. I always heard Suzy was a killer pong player, so this seems like the best place to keep an eye out for her while also blending in. I find an open spot against the wall and try to pretend like I'm riveted by the four guys tossing a couple of balls back and forth into the cups. It actually hurts to see them doing it, when they could be using them for what they're really meant for. The beautiful game.

I glance over at the boy standing next to me, and his face is familiar.

"Hi," I say, looking into the blue eyes of Jason Shober. It's weird that I've never said a word to him, but here, so far from home, surrounded by strangers, his presence manages to calm my nerves a bit.

"Hey. I'm Jason," he introduces himself like I didn't sit in front of him for four years of homeroom.

I'm about to say "I know," but I swallow it. "Roseanne," I say instead, feeling like I just took a blow to the gut.

And then it gets worse.

As I turn my head back to the game, there's a blur of white coming right at me. I could duck.

I could put my hand up and block it.

But I do absolutely none of those things. Fifteen sets of eyeballs watch a Ping- Pong ball bounce directly off the center of my forehead and drop into my Coke.

"Sorry," a guy shouts from across the table.

My face immediately fills with heat, and I know it must be redder than the cup I'm holding. The room explodes with cheers and claps as a boy in an unbuttoned polo shirt takes my drink and chugs the whole thing, then spits the ball out onto the floor, barely missing my beaded sandals.

"Is this just Coke?" He scrunches his face up at me, and I go into full panic mode.

"What? No. It's—" He burps, handing me the cup back before I can come up with something. I don't look at him or anyone else around me. I just make a beeline for the bathroom that I passed earlier.