BROKEN GLASS. TOM KAULITZ

xxii . olivia quinn

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

I OPEN MY LOCKER AND STARE at the bottle of Jack resting on the top shelf. It feels like it's been there forever, and every time I retrieve my books I'm always a little surprised no one's noticed the attractive, almost demure square bottle full of pale amber liquid, half-hidden by the black label with boastful white lettering I've never read beyond the name.

All I need to know is how hard it messes you up, and Jack Daniels has a tendency to do that like nothing else. I was a vodka girl before, because it was easier to hide in school and didn't make me as sick, but Genevieve obviously wanted to see me fall on my face when she gave me that paper bag in the chapel.

And today I am going to make her a very happy girl.

I reach for the bottle at the same time a low rumble of sound travels through the hallway the way a ripple crosses a pond before hitting the bank and going back in on itself. I feel this disturbance — this strange interruption of peace — in the pit of my stomach when I think I hear a name.

I forget about the bottle and follow the undercurrent of sound. The people i pass look at me like they know something, but how can they know anything? It's too early in the morning to know anything.

An invisible thread leads me down the hall and around the corner where a group of people are clustered around a sobbing girl.

I get closer. It's Genevieve. She's the one crying. She's consoled by Chris, who stands at her right side, and Tom is at her left, looking out of place and awkward.

And I walk right past them, but Chris calls me back, "Priscilla."

I backtrack slowly and face them, not just the three of them, but three plus an audience, because I don't deserve less. I clench my hands into fists, digging my nails in, and wait for one or all of them to speak. Genevieve stops crying long enough to raise her head from Chris's shoulder, and get ready for it, Priscilla, because this is it.

The party starts at eight, but I show up early so Chris and I can have sex. We go to his bedroom. He kisses me and I kiss him back and then, I don't know, I kind of seize up. He flops back on his bed.

"You should loosen the fuck up every once in a while; the world wouldn't stop. No one would die." We come downstairs looking like two people who've spent the last thirty minutes having sex. Chris gets to work on the tunes and I wind my way through the house and spot Jaden in the kitchen kissing Bianca Davis. I clear my throat.

"Priscilla," Jaden says nervously. He runs a hand over his shaggy blonde hair and holds out a bottle of vodka and a shot glass. "Uh —shot?"

Bianca flees from the room. I take the bottle and the glass and move to the kitchen counter, pour a shot and knock it back. Then another.

Jaden watches. Hesitates. "You're not going to tell Liv, are you?"

I leave him there. When I step into the foyer the music is going proper, really loud. The party has begun. Fifty minutes later too much vodka is gone.

"There you are!" Chris yells. I turn really slowly and after a second the rest of the room turns with me. "I've been looking for you. Let's go outside."