How the Cold Hearts Beat [HS]

Chapter Two

By the time all the lights had gone out in the apartment, I had finished packing my mother’s lunch, eating a quick snack, and brushing my teeth. I paused to look out of the window of my room, noticing the how still and calm the night is. Then, as the door to the other bedroom closed, I started to get ready.

Parties had always been very sexual, in my experience. It was the truth. At the end of the day—literally—people wanted to get together and find excuses to kiss or touch each other. That was one of the reasons why I avoided them. Kissing should be saved for someone special, and not for a random guy—or girl—you meet at your friend’s party.

In my case, the party was Savitka’s. Savitka and I used to very close freshman year, and especially in middle school, but then she started drifting. We never really talked until senior year. Her parents were both doctors, and she lived in this enormous house with acres of forested privacy around it. It was beautiful, and I always used to be over when we were younger. I haven’t been there in three years, and I actually couldn’t say “no” to her or Lana’s pestering about wanting me to join them. After all, this would be my last high school party ever—not that I went to that many.

Taking Lana’s advice, I showed some cleavage. The shirt I was wearing had no straps or sleeves, and I almost thought it too slutty. I put it on quickly before I could change my mind. I also put on a pair of dark, almost black, skinny jeans that were tight but comfortable to move around in.

Lana had also requested dark, thick eyeliner and the darkest mascara I could find, which was my mom’s dark brown one that she sometimes—but not often—wore to work. I had no practice in it, but I tried. I didn’t wing it out because I knew I would have failed miserably. I didn’t have any obvious blemishes that I absolutely had to conceal.

The last thing on Lana’s request list was shoes. She somehow knew I would try and settle for the pair of converse I’ve had since sophomore year. She hated those shoes. She told me to wear something “cute,” which I assumed meant something dressier than sneakers. I put on a pair of black flats with a tiny white bow at the tips and hoped this would be “cute” enough for her.

I waited until 11:30 to tip-toe out of my room, carrying a little purse with my phone, keys, ID, and some money. I adjusted the pillows on my bed so that it would look like I was sleeping under the covers, but it didn’t look convincing. I prayed my mom would be sleeping soundly tonight.

I locked the apartment door behind me. I lived on the fourth floor, so I rode the elevator quietly down. I felt too dressy, but I knew Lana would tell me that I needed to look dressier anyways.

I walked down the lobby and out into the street. There was no wind. The streetlights flooded the road with their warm, yellow glow. The only sound was that of the cicadas up in the trees, screeching peacefully.

I texted Lana that I was outside and sat on one of the benches to wait for her. She didn’t take long, arriving quickly in her jeep. I got into the passenger’s seat.

“How do I look?” she asked me. I smiled; of course, that would be the first thing she would ask as soon as I got in.

“Gorgeous,” I told her, because it was the truth. Her hair, which was almost black now, was swept up into an elaborate bun with braids running around the side. Her eye shadow was gold and glittering, and her lips were plump and pink and glossy. She had swept blush perfectly across her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said, relief coating her voice.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“No, about agreeing to come to the party,” she said.

I smiled. “Only for you, Laney,” I said, and Lana giggled.

“You know I hate that name,” she said.

I laughed. “Yeah, I know. Now drive, before anyone wakes up and finds out I’m gone.” And she did, pressing hard on the gas pedal as we sped down the street—keeping the limit, of course.