The Gloaming Girls

EPISODE ONE (PART 2/6)

That night, Nevin calls me.

It's about a party.

Emory took up station at her desk some time ago, headset over her ears, and she doesn't look up as I sigh heavily into the receiver. "Since when do you want to go to parties?"

"I don't want to," Nevin says, voice tiny and crackling in my ear. "I have to go, so you have to go too."

I roll my eyes. "That doesn't make any sense. Why do you have to go?"

Nevin sighs. "RA stuff. Are you in or not?"

"I work tomorrow," I say. "Early."

He sighs again, a long and drawn out sound that is very Nevin. "It'll be quick. Please."

It's unusual for Nevin to be this pushy, and besides that, I'm eager to get out of this room and back onto the familiar parts of campus. "Sure."

"Thank god." He sounds relieved.

I think about inviting Emory for about two seconds, and then I shrug the idea off.

"What's dress code?" I ask.

"I don't know," Nevin says. "Party?"

"You're useless. Am I wearing a dress or something more casual?"

"It's an orientation party," Nevin says. "So whatever that means."

"Casual, then," I say. "Wait—is this a party for a bunch of first years?"

"No," Nevin says, then, a little sheepishly, adds, "maybe."

I roll my eyes, the evening already stretching out in front of me: rowdy kids, excited to finally get their grabby hands on a sliver of independence, everyone pretending they're of legal age to drink, even though most of them aren't twenty yet. A year ago, I was one of them. That feels like a long time ago.

Nevin tells me where to meet him, and then hangs up.

I glance at Emory. Her face is utterly impassive, and it's impossible to tell if she even heard that I was on the phone at all.

I try to do all of my pre-party thinking in my head so that Emory doesn't hear me trying on four different outfit combinations before I land on something I like, and then once I've thought the outfit through, I try it on, hate it, and try four different combinations anyway.

If Emory notices, she doesn't let on.

I land on a simplified version of my first idea: black jeans, a low-backed top that my older sister once said looked 'swanky', and low heeled boots. I know that it doesn't really matter what I wear, because I'm going with Nevin, and he's going to be wearing that same stupid purple sweater and ripped jeans combo that he's been wearing out for three years, but there's always the off chance that I'll run into someone I want to impress.

At quarter to eight, I meet Nevin on the dais on the north edge of the campus greenspace. It's a bit odd to have all of the university within walking distance from my living space, since last year my commute was just under an hour by train, but I'm finding that I sort of like it. The energy is different after-hours, especially tonight.

The first night.

Carthwright is a sprawling metropolis full to brimming with magic, but the university campus is especially saturated with it. It was designed to show off, and if you're looking for it, you can tell. Absurdities have been slipped in around every corner: a spell casting arena in the middle of the greenspace, our library that floats fifty feet in the air, coffee shops sequestered into unassuming corners where lattes can be ordered with a shot of charisma or three pumps of calm (that's how I like mine), or the atrium designed to contain all four seasons simultaneously depending where you stand.