WERE GIRLS SUPPOSED TO BE excited about wearing elegant gowns and attending balls?
Because I wasn't. This wasn't even a contrarian effort of mine—you know, to be unlike other girls—I was just tired. I had taken my Biophysics midterm in the afternoon, messaging Quen right up until we had to go into our separate exam rooms. The conversation was safe and study-centric, but even having him wish me luck was a small comfort.
Though, in actuality, he had a roundabout way of doing that.
Quen: I'd wish you luck, but that would be implying that you need it.
Krista: Maybe I do need it.
Krista: Biophys is one of my weaker subjects.
Quen: And by weaker, you mean you might get an A overall.
Quen: Instead of an A+.
Krista: . . .
Quen: Point proven.
Krista: Good luck to you, too.
Quen: Thanks, Krista.
I was pleased with how the test went. If I was honest, I expected as much because of the hours of work I had put into Biophysics this semester. It was the easiest one of my courses to revise because I paid that much attention to it. It was my favourite.
But now all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and watch the next episode of the Clone Wars until I fell asleep. Between that blissful comfort and me was a steep, thorny, arduous path called SciBall. I had to endure it before I could reach my dearly coveted destination.
As soon as I returned to the dormitory, Riley, Viv and I locked ourselves in my room. We blared our go-to girls' night playlist and started the process of getting ready. I applied a toned-down version of my work makeup with rote precision. Soft eyebrows, warm blush and a glossy lip.
Riley lent me a beautiful white dress to wear for the night. It had a plunging V-neckline that led seamlessly into two wide secure straps, with a body-hugging torso. The back of the dress plunged low on my spine in a similar fashion to the front. A slit offered the occasional flash of my left leg, while the ankle-length hem meant that I didn't ever have to worry about tripping over the dress.
Modern, elegant and, best of all, functional.
Riley wore a lacy, burgundy, A-line dress and Viv donned a neon pink, body-conforming two-piece that I was sure would screw with the photographers' camera with how reflective it was. After we'd strapped on our heels, the pair of them got down to the most important business of the night.
Viv retrieved the familiar green bottles from a paper shopping bag that clinked suspiciously when it moved. She intertwined her arm with Riley's, each holding one.
"Not too late to join us," Viv offered, challenging me with bright, eager eyes.
I smiled sweetly, "I know."
Riley and Viv shrugged at my obstinate commitment to sobriety, then tilted their bottles of soju up and drank.
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By the time Jamie was pulling his SUV into the carpark of the Halston Convention Centre, Riley was a complete, drunken mess.
"You all know she's a lightweight," Jamie said frustratedly. "Why would you let her get buzzed so early?"
Jamie was driving, Jake was sitting in the passenger seat and us girls crowded into the back seat. The Jays had opted not to drink at the dorm. SciBall boasted an open bar comprising watery vodka cruisers and tepid ciders, with some hard-hitting beverages available for purchase.
I wondered which option the twins would take—free but ineffective; effective but costly; or a healthy mix of both—but I didn't wonder that they would be completely hammered by the end of the night, at which point I would step in. I was the designated driver tonight, just like I would be tomorrow night.
"It's ball night!" Viv exclaimed loudly. She was a heavyweight, but even she wasn't impervious to a full bottle of soju chugged in less than a minute. I counted.
Her words fell out clumsily but emphatically, "Am I to deny a girl her right to get blackout drunk? That's oppressive."
Jamie looked at us in the reflection of the rearview mirror. His expression was a mixture of caution, disbelief and—when his eyes met Viv's stubborn stare—affection. He gave the scene in his backseat—a drunk Riley, a tipsy Viv and stone-cold sober me—one more passing glance and sighed.
He warned, "What's oppressive is the smell of vomit, which she'd better not do in my car."
As he and Viv continued arguing over who had responsibility for the contents of Riley's stomach—who was to blame for the alcohol that went in, and who was to blame for anything that came out—I turned to Riley and gently nudged her shoulder.
She lifted her head from the windowpane and fluttered her eyelids in an effort to lift them.
"Riley," I gently called, placing both of my palms on her flushed cheeks. "Riley. Look at me."
I steered her head to face mine as she finally focused on me and smiled. When I knew I had her attention, I began intently, "Adieu to disappointment and spleen..."
Her eyes widened a fraction. I saw a flicker of recognition in her honeyed irises, and she immediately responded, "What are men to rocks and mountains?"
Relief washed over me, followed by amusement as she took the tangent and continued down it.
"What are men? What are they? Huh?" she questioned combatively. "Nothing, that's what. Men suck. Even you two, Jays. Tremble before pebbles."
With pure confidence, Viv and I declared simultaneously, "She's fine."
Jake turned around in his seat to gawk at us.
"I'm sorry, what? How did you get that," he jerked his chin towards Riley, whose head lolled with its own weight as she stared out the window, "—from that?"
I didn't read much, but Pride & Prejudice was an exception. Regency romance wasn't Riley's favourite genre of literature, but it was the only thing I knew. It was one of the only literary things I could reliably conjure whenever I needed it, and Riley was well-read enough to deliver every time.
"Literature is Riley's personal sobriety test," I explained. "If she can complete a well-known quote with no slurred speech, she's generally sober enough to get through the night. If not, she probably would need to go home."
"But best don't let her drink any more," Viv suggested. The Jays and I nodded in agreement.
Jake asked, "Do you two have tests of your own?"
"Yup," I smirked. "Viv's is organic chemistry—"
"—Kris' is modern physics."
Jake's eyes widened in surprise. He couldn't determine whether to be derisive, impressed, or confused. In the end, he just exhaled a sigh—strong enough to make the hair that fell across his forehead flutter—and turned back around in his seat.
"Nerds," he muttered.
"Utter nerds," Jamie agreed.
Viv scoffed. "As if we're not the hottest nerds you've ever seen."
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"Walk straight and try to act sober, okay?" Jake told Riley.
Riley was the outsider tonight for two reasons. Firstly, she was a Humanities major. As a quartet of IT Management, Pharmacy and Pre-Med majors, the Jays, Viv and I had many, many acquaintances attending SciBall. Riley would probably be confined to our small group for the night.
Secondly, she was wasted. There was a lot riding on whether she could hold it together enough to get through the ticket check, bag check and finally the coat check to reach the venue. The ball organisers had splurged for an open bar—which, considering the steep price on tickets, was only fair—but intoxicated persons at the door would certainly be turned away. It's what I would do.
"Mm. Okay," she said drowsily. Jake was doing his best to discreetly keep her propped up with his arm. "I'll try."
Viv had smartly come up with using the sandwich technique to smuggle her in. If a sober person—me—led the group and a sober couple—Viv and Jamie, who weren't doing the traditional date thing, but still linked arms to dispel suspicion from Jake and Riley—brought up the rear, it would hopefully make security's perception of our group's overall sobriety higher.
I wasn't sure it would work, but at least we tried it. Besides, Viv got better marks than me in the Psychology course we did freshman year, so I followed along.
The ticket check passed smoothly. We stepped into the foyer and made our way down the hallway to the photography backdrop. Every group had to be photographed before they went in. I came around to the other side of Riley and wrapped my hand around her waist to keep her steady as we posed for a handful of photos.
As I was smiling at the photographer, I heard a high-pitched voice call my name.
"Krista Ming!"
It came from a group of five girls whom I'd never seen before. I wondered if I'd met them in a tutorial or recitation class in a past course, but then I reasoned that my memory wasn't that bad. From their use of my full name and the giddy, starstruck look to their eyes, I wagered they were fans.
One of them complimented, "You look so hot!"
"I love your dress!" said another.
Jake and I locked eyes as we silently communicated. He kept jerking his eyes towards the ladies as if to tell me to go over to them, while I kept shaking my head in an obvious expression of my aversion to further socialising. Then he looked down at Riley, who was staring absently at the floor, and back at me emphatically.
Deal with them, so we can deal with her.
A silent sigh escaped me as I stepped closer to the girls and gave each of them a hug.
"You all look fabulous tonight!" I said truthfully. They were all stunning. "How are you all doing?"
It occurred to me halfway through taking individual selfies with the girls that nothing obliged me to greet them and entertain them. But at that point, it was too late to extricate myself, because then some of them would have photos with me and some wouldn't, which wasn't fair.
"Can we get a group photo with the photographer?" one of them asked.
"Hey, I'm sorry about this," a girl who hadn't yet taken a selfie with me—and didn't seem to want to—apologised. "We should let her get back to her friends."
I looked at Jamie, Jake, Riley and Viv, who were sitting down on a couch. It certainly looked like they were waiting for me to catch up, but I knew half of the motivation behind their reprieve was for Drunk Riley's sake. They were giving her a break.
"No, it's alright," I waved her well-meaning concern away. "We have the entire night. Should we get some photos together?"
"Yes, please!" the group chorused.
Then we jumped in the short line for the photographer, clicked our way through at least twenty photos in which they rotated chances to be in the middle—which, apparently, was the most flattering angle to the camera—and bid our sugary farewells.
When I reached the couch where my friends were sitting, I almost wanted to collapse down next to them. Those sorts of interactions really drained my social battery. I was sure each of those girls were wonderful, but how was I supposed to learn of any of it, if all they wanted was a selfie to post on their Instagram stories?
Smiling and laughing at the click of my fans' fingers made me feel fake, and yet I couldn't shake the obligation that compelled me to do it anyway. The admiration that made others recognise me when I scrubbed up was the same admiration my livelihood relied on.
Small-talking strangers, pretending I was friends with people I would never see again, and perpetually smiling were the bitter skin of the fruits of my fame. I'd swallow it down with the sweetest spoils.
Viv deposited her purse and the Jays their suit jackets into the checkroom. They each received a small cardboard tag with their checking number on it, and the five of us finally entered the ballroom.
"I made it!" Riley proudly announced. "Now, let's party!"
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A / N :
I intended this book to spark conversation about a variety of different topics. Family, fame, social media. It's not supposed to be cut-and-dry.
Do you guys relate to Krista?
Or do you disagree with her? Agree with Quentin?
I think I can relate to all my characters, because they're all coming from their own unique point of view.
See you in the next chapter,
Aimee x