She threw the hoops back onto the desk. She didn’t need jewelry anyway.
“Cady, I’m ready when you are,” Andrea called from the common room. Somewhere during Ranjoo’s fashion intervention with Cady, Andrea had caught wind of their evening plans, and Ranjoo had reluctantly extended an invitation.
Cady opened her bedroom door to find Andrea looking like a girl who had broken into her mother’s makeup case. She had put on face powder a shade too light, giving her fair skin a ghostly pallor; her eyelids were covered in sparkly lilac shadow, and she was wearing oddly dark lipstick. The ends of her pin-straight hair had been curled under. She wore black slacks and ballet flats, and a purple scoop-necked shirt with a purple ribbon choker and amethyst earrings.
“You look cute!” Cady said at slightly too high a pitch.
Andrea scrunched her eyes into a wince. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! But maybe save the necklace for another night? The shirt’s neckline is so pretty by itself.”
“But it matches the shirt. And my earrings, do you see?”
“Oh, nice.” Cady pressed her lips together to keep her mouth shut.
Andrea smiled. “I’ll get my coat.”
As they walked down Mount Auburn Street, Cady had to rock forward on her toes to avoid getting her heels stuck in the brick sidewalk, and Andrea took the opportunity to explain how damaging high heels are to orthopedic health. “You really don’t want to have bunion surgery before you’re forty. Anyway, do you know which building’s the Phoenix?” Andrea asked.
“No, but we’ll find it.” The Phoenix was a final club, one of the twelve all-male party houses on campus. Some were nicer than others, but most were gorgeous homes staffed and maintained by alumni where members could hang out during the day and host parties at night. The majority of the final clubs were located along Mount Auburn, but none of the clubhouses were marked. Cady had tried texting and calling Ranjoo, but she wasn’t answering. They passed two barred windows, and although the curtains were drawn, she could hear the faint thumping of music. The only sign was for a used record store called In Your Ear, but beside it was a grand door, blood-red in color and crowned with ornate molding—the market for vinyl couldn’t be that good, she thought. Cady climbed the front steps, her eyes drawn to the small brass knocker set high on the lacquered door. Her hunch was correct, the knocker was in the form of a golden phoenix. “This has to be it.”
Andrea remained on the sidewalk, reluctant. “What do we do to get in?”
“I guess knock.” Cady said it with nonchalance, but she shared Andrea’s apprehension. Still, after the day she had had, Cady knew one thing and one thing only: She needed a drink. She knocked on the door and waited. Nothing. She tried again, harder this time. Cady had heard that girls could get into a final club more easily if they opened their jacket at the door, but she wasn’t playing that game. It was demeaning, and worse, it was cold.
A few moments passed before the door was opened halfway by a young man blocking the entrance with his body. He was wearing Wayfarer sunglasses and a white button-down stained with some sort of liquid. “You on the list?”
“Um, I’m not sure …”
He cut her off. “Who do you know inside?”
“Ranjoo, our roommate—”
“Girls don’t count. You have to be invited by a member. Final club rules.”
“Okay, sorry, never mind,” Andrea interjected, eager to admit defeat.
Cady couldn’t remember the boy’s name Ranjoo had mentioned, but she had a backup. “Nikos Nikolaides invited me. Tell him Cady Archer is here.”
The Wayfarer pulled out his phone and shut the door in their faces.
Cady deflated but stayed put. Andrea bounced on her toes. “C’mon, let’s just go.”
Just then, the door swung wide open, and now a tall boy with curly blond hair was smiling down at them. “I’m sorry, ladies, I hear Rob’s being an asshole again. Come right in. There’s always room for a redhead.” Cady hated comments like that, but she supposed she was getting her way. This is normal, feel normal, be normal, she commanded herself. They went inside.
They followed the two boys up red-carpeted stairs to a dimly lit landing that formed the head of two side staircases and the foot of a grander, center staircase up to the second floor, where the real party was taking place. Cady could barely see what the room looked like for all the bodies crammed inside, mostly girls, but it looked big. Resigned to their admittance with the same apathy with which he had met them, the Wayfarer offered to take their coats and disappeared. An enormous gold-framed mirror over the mantelpiece reflected the crowd of heads bobbing like apples in the stairway. Cady met her own wide-eyed gaze like a stranger’s. She was wearing too much eye makeup.
“So.” The blond guy from the door placed his hand on her bare shoulder and leaned close to speak over the music. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Vodka cranberry?” It was what Liz had brought to prom in a Gatorade bottle, and it was the only hard drink Cady had ever had.
“Sure thing.” He looked to Andrea, who shot Cady a desperate glance.
“She wants the same.”
“Two vodka cranberries. Be right back.”
Cady watched him sidle through the crowd. Guys slapped him five and a couple of girls kissed him on the cheek, but he moved quickly through. To get me a drink, Cady thought, with an inward smile. Maybe she should forgive him for the creepy redhead comment.
Andrea tapped her on the shoulder. “Let’s find Ranjoo.”
On the second floor, the room throbbed with a hip-hop bass beat and a mass of grinding bodies, the windows had fogged up with the heat of them. A grand antique wooden table with clawed feet shook as four girls danced close together on top of it. Cady led Andrea through the crowd of dancers to the quieter half of the room, where a few couples were snuggled on an enormous leather couch in front of a fireplace and three people were crammed into a single armchair. They passed a group of girls squealing high-pitched greetings to one another, and Andrea nearly got smacked by a tipsy blonde as she swung her skinny arms around another man’s neck in either affection or inebriation.
Cady heard someone call her name. She looked around just in time to receive Ranjoo’s wobbly embrace.
“Hey girl! You made it!” Ranjoo spilled a little of her drink on Cady’s shoulder as she hugged her. Cady could guess by her volume and her wobble that she was several drinks deep and had likely pregamed. Ranjoo swung her unfocused gaze toward their roommate. “And Andrea, coo-ool,” she added. “You never come out with us.”
“You never invite me,” Andrea said sharply.
But Ranjoo had turned to say hello to a guy passing by, and Cady felt relieved that she had missed Andrea’s edge. Until Ranjoo turned back and her smile was hard and her eyes had regained their acuity. “Nice choker.”
Andrea crossed her arms but had no retort.
“You guys need drinks! Hold on.” Ranjoo walked away before Cady had a chance to stop her.
Beside her, Andrea was quickly unfastening her necklace. The sight broke Cady’s heart.
“Oh, don’t listen to her, Andrea, it looks fine.”
She shook her head, lips pressed tightly together, and dropped the choker into her purse. “She’s such a bitch. I don’t know why you want her to like you so bad.”
Cady grimaced; nothing got by Andrea. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that. She’s just drunk.”
Andrea heaved a big sigh. “I’m going to go home.”
“What? No, stay! We just got here.” Cady actually wanted her company.
“You should stay. I have to study, I hate the taste of alcohol, and let’s face it, this is not my scene. I’ll see you back at the room.” Andrea hugged her goodbye and wedged through the crowd toward the stairs.
An elbow tapped her back and she turned to s
ee the blond guy had returned with a red Solo cup in each hand and a third in his teeth. She took one from him so he could talk. “Two vodka cranberries. Where’s your friend?”
“She had to go.”
He grinned. “Darn.”
Cady smiled back but felt a little guilty for it. She took a sip of her drink, wincing as the vodka hit her palate—the drink was strong.
“Is it okay?”
“Perfect.” Cady squinted through the burn. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“My bad. I’m Teddy.”
“Cadence, but everyone calls me Cady.”
“You a freshman?”
She nodded. “This is my first time at a final club.”
“All right! Well, you’ve chosen wisely. The Phoenix is the best one. We throw the biggest parties, but not like those cokeheads at the Spee—unless you’re into that, then I can find someone for you.” He must have seen Cady’s eyes bug out. “I’m kidding. I’m genuinely not into that shit. My only weakness is skirts.”
“Skirts?” Cady laughed at him.
“Women,” he explained. “Sorry, I’m on a noir kick. Raymond Chandler is my favorite.”
“Seriously? Mine too!” Eric had turned her on to the genre; he had every Hammett and Chandler novel on his bookshelf at home, and his indoctrination of Cady had begun, appropriately, with Chandler’s The Little Sister when she was eleven years old. “But I don’t think you’re hardboiled enough to pull off the lingo.”
Teddy laughed and slung an arm around her. “We’ve got a funny one!”
Cady leaned into him and took another sip of her drink. The burn was getting softer already.
Teddy didn’t leave her side for the next hour. He suggested they move to the smaller room where the bar was so they could actually hear each other. Their conversation was mostly small talk, sharing their personal stats—hometown, residence, concentration—and Cady was a little bored but flattered by the attention. She was happy for the distraction; a little underage drinking and talking to a boy at a party, it was nice to feel like a carefree college student for a change.
Then something Teddy said cut through her buzz: “My older brother’s at Wharton now. He was Harvard ’17—”
“Your brother went to Harvard too?” The words escaped her mouth before she could check herself.
“Yeah, is that weird or something?”
“No.” Cady paused, it wasn’t a commonality, not anymore. “Your family is very impressive.”
“They say most Harvard students are firsts or onlys. So I like to think I beat the odds as the overachieving baby of the family. Do you have any siblings?”
She shook her head.
“See? You’re an only child! The theory is true.”
Cady fought a lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure what drink she was on, Teddy really kept them coming, but she felt like she was losing her poker face. She needed a break from the family talk. “I love this song. Do you want to dance?”
“For sure.”
When Cady stood up, a brief wave of dizziness washed over her, but Teddy led her by the hand, and she focused on his broad back and the blue check on his white shirt. The dance floor was crowded already, and Teddy took her to the center of it. He was a fun dancer, if not the most rhythmically skilled; despite the hip-hop beat, he spun her around like a ballroom dancer and made her laugh. She was still feeling a little imbalanced, but his strong hand on the small of her back kept her steady.
The music was loud, and Cady’s head was already pounding when a girl squealed too close to her ear. But Teddy kept her moving, and he held her hips as his silly dance moves gave way to a more intense grind that Cady wasn’t into. She would break from his grasp every few moments to give him a hint. But the last time she tried to put a little space between them, Teddy yanked her back and slid his hands over her stomach and up her rib cage, grazing her breasts.
Watch it.
She jerked away, at the warning or his touch, she wasn’t sure, but she had definitely heard a woman’s voice clearly. She looked around her to see who might’ve spoken, if she’d bumped anyone, but everyone seemed to be focused on the music or their dance partners. But on another level, she knew already—the voice belonged to no one. It was a voice in her head, a new one, and it sounded like a threat.
Teddy spun her back around to face him. “You okay?” he asked, with his hands on her shoulders.
Listen to me.
Cady forced herself to smile and nod at Teddy, but a sobering chill went through her. These voices, auditory hallucinations, weren’t something she could dull with alcohol or hide from in a crowd. They were something inside her, and they had multiplied: a man, music, now a woman. She was terrified, but she couldn’t give in to it. She made herself focus on Teddy; he was real, he would keep her grounded and safe from her own mind.
His kiss took her by surprise. It was wet and strong, his teeth pressed on her lips, his tongue thrust inside her unsuspecting mouth, before he eased his grip on her and ended the kiss softer than it began, with a few sweeter kisses on her lower lip, as if it had been romantic from the start. Cady recoiled, but his heavy-lidded eyes were fixed on her mouth. “You’re good at that,” he said.
Cady felt a flash of guilt that the feeling wasn’t mutual and spun her back to him to avoid the prospect of more sloppy kisses.
He ain’t gonna stop when you ask him to. Boys like him think everything theirs for the taking.
Don’t listen, she commanded herself. It was just an awkward moment, a harmless miscalculation on his part. Be nice. Be normal.
Get out of there.
Still, Cady cringed as Teddy’s fingers stroked her hair aside, and when she felt his mouth on the back of her neck. His other hand slipped up her waist, this time under her shirt.
Before it’s too late.
Cady pulled out of his arms.
“What’s up?” Teddy asked with a guileless expression.
“I’m tired.” She wanted to get home in case the voices got worse, even though the prospect of dealing with it alone scared her, she didn’t want to have an episode in a public place.
“Sure, let’s go.”
He’s not so bad, Cady reassured herself, as they shuffled through the crowd. People get sloppy on the dance floor, they had been hanging out all night, she could see how he got the wrong idea. She hoped his feelings wouldn’t be hurt when she bailed.
“You want another drink?”
“No, thanks, I think I ought to head home.”
“One for the road?”
“Seriously, I don’t think I could take another. You’d have to carry me home.”
Teddy slipped his arms around her waist and slid his hands down her backside. “You don’t feel too heavy.” He leaned in close, his eyes dreamy and his breath smelling of liquor.
Cady didn’t want to embarrass him, but the voice had made her uneasy. Before it’s too late. When his lips were an inch from hers, she whispered, “Where’s my coat?”
She had intended to say it in a flirty, lighthearted way but she must have missed the mark; his affect turned suddenly icy. “Rob put it upstairs, I’ll show you.”
Teddy led her by the hand past the bar to a skinny door that hid a narrow servant’s staircase. As if the vodka cranberries weren’t enough, the stairs were completely dark; she took a tentative step.
No. Don’t go in there. Turn back. The voice was even louder here.
But Teddy tugged her hand, and Cady obeyed. She couldn’t trust a strange voice in her head. Still, it was awfully dark. She dragged her one free hand along the wall to feel for a railing, but there was none. Her toe missed a step and she fell on her shin.
She heard Teddy’s voice in the dark say, “I got you.”
Don’t trust him. Don’t go with him.
She had a bad feeling, but s
he wasn’t clear who it was coming from, the voice or Teddy. She wanted to be nice, cool, normal, anything but paranoid. Cady felt Teddy’s hand pulling under her arm—but he was helping her, she told herself, it was okay, chill out.
When they emerged upstairs, it looked more like the mansion that it was, with oriental rugs, lovely old lamps, and plush furniture. He took her down a hall and opened a door to an elegant, if minimally furnished, bedroom.
“I’m sorry, but, I don’t see my coat?” She didn’t know why she was apologizing, maybe because it was awkward. But then, if it was only awkward, why did she feel so scared? There was no voice to blame now. And her own sounded smaller than ever. “I just want my coat, Teddy.”
“Are you cold? C’mere.” He pulled her farther into the bedroom, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her, hard.
She turned her head to pull her mouth away, but he didn’t let go. “I have to go, I’m really tired—”
“Me too, lie down for a minute.” He sat down on the bed, pulling her onto it with him.
Cady forced a laugh and scrambled back to her feet. “I’m sorry, but I should go.” She turned to reach for the door, but he was still holding her hand, and when she shifted her weight away, his grip tightened. She looked back at him pleadingly, but his bloodshot eyes were impassive. In that moment, her last shred of embarrassment surrendered to the chill of undeniable fear. “I want to go. Now.”
Teddy smiled. “Oh-kay, bring it in,” he said, as if he was going to hug her goodbye, as if he didn’t still have a death grip on her wrist. He nuzzled her neck. “You smell good, I bet you taste good, too,” he murmured. She squirmed in his grasp. “C’mon, baby, we’ve been having a good time all night.” He pressed her hand to his crotch so she could feel his erection. “See what you did?”
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