by Drew Hayes
“Having fun?”
Candi nearly leapt out of her sandals. She’d been so focused on the sounds of the plants around her that she’d missed the more obvious noise of a door opening behind her. Once her heartbeat slowed to a dull hammering, she turned around to see the person who’d accidently snuck up on her. He was a sophomore, short in stature with a pair of glasses resting beneath light curly hair.
“I am, I just needed some air,” Candi said lamely.
“I completely understand. These things can be a bit over-whelming.” He sat down on a stone bench that rested near the door. Despite the fact that he carried a plastic cup, he didn’t seem to be drawing from it with the same enthusiasm as the other party-goers.
“Tell me about it. I like meeting new people and all, I guess I just wish it wasn’t all so...”
“Loud?”
“Exactly. Loud.” Candi wandered over and sat down in a lawn chair a few feet away from the bench. “I like quiet conversation better. When does that become the default way to make new friends?”
“Based on my observations, long after you’ve already made the important ones.”
“I was afraid of that.” Candi chuckled lightly. “I’m Candi.”
“Will. I’m one of the actual tenants here.”
“That explains why you’re in attendance.”
“Sadly I suspect I’d be here even if it weren’t the case. I’ve grown some friendships that encourage me to step outside my comfort zone with more frequency than I would generally prefer.” Will’s eyes were skyward, picking out the few constellations visible despite the cloudy night. “Such is the trade-off of friendship: you are forced into situations you’re not secure in, but in return you have people who assure you security in any situation. Quite a fascinating system when you think it over.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Will rose quietly from his seat. “On that note, I should go check on my guests. Perhaps you should see what your friends are up to as well.”
“Good idea.” Candi got up and followed the shorter boy back into the ruckus-filled fray that was colloquially known as a party.
79.
When Sasha found Vince he was already on the losing end of a game of quarters with Gilbert. He didn’t seem too down about it, smiling and accepting his drinks with a curiously cheerful demeanor. It didn’t take a detective to piece things together, especially when he looked up and noticed her arrival.
“Sasha!” He leapt up from his metal folding chair and enveloped her in a wide-armed hug. She stiffened with surprise initially, but then relaxed as familiarity and nostalgia swept through her heart. She’d missed his hugs, and even drunken, they still held the same reassuring quality. It was like he was trying to squeeze all the sentiments he was too awkward to articulate into a single loving gesture. Sasha let the embrace go for just a few instants longer than she might have if he were sober - they weren’t on that good of terms yet - then carefully disengaged herself and flashed him a warm smile.
“I see someone is enjoying himself.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Nick interjected, walking over from his vantage point of observing a beer pong game. “Alice and I left him unattended to play some darts earlier in the evening, and before you know it he’d gone through two cups of the punch.”
“Is it that strong?”
“It ain’t jet fuel but I wouldn’t feed it to an infant, either. It’s decent, but you’ve got to remember who we’re talking about here.”
“Right.” Sasha had been with Vince the entirety of last year and in that time she could only remember him occasionally taking sips of other people’s drinks, never indulging in one of his own. That meant despite his well-trained physique he had virtually no tolerance for alcohol. “What actually got him drinking anyway?”
“I found something that tastes good,” Vince replied, punctuating his sentence with a sloppy gulp of pink liquid.
“That, and he has been worrying his ass off about one of his tests. He’s scared he won’t do well enough to stay in the program.”
“Killjoy.” Vince stuck his tongue out at Nick.
Sasha chuckled, not just at the idiocy of her former boyfriend but at the idea of him worrying about a test. She’d seen Vince shrug off nearly everything that came his way with that same unwavering determination. He would get through any challenge because he had to: that was just his way. To hear that a regular class had gotten under his skin was frankly, well, adorable. It was nice to see even the seemingly unstoppable had fears.
“We should probably slow him down,” Sasha recommended.
“Tried that; he just poaches more drinks when my back is turned.”
“You’re not all that smart, are you?” Sasha turned to Vince and gently took his cup. “Hey, Vince, you want a drink that tastes really good?”
“Better than the punch?” Even intoxicated his tone was skeptical.
“So good you’ll swear there’s no alcohol in it at all. It’s as smooth and refreshing as water, I promise.”
“Wow. Okay.” Vince yielded his cup and Sasha flashed Nick a “told you so” look before heading toward the kitchen. Drunk or not, Vince was incredibly trusting and kind of an idiot. It made him into the sort of person who could maintain such staunch ideals in the face of a world that didn’t share them, and it also made him incredibly easy to manage if one was willing to put in a little effort.
Back in the garage, Vince looked at Nick and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “She looked really pretty.”
Nick laughed freely, not bothering to disguise his mirth. “Oh man, I am going to get you drunk more often.”
“Sounds good!” Vince meandered off, not waiting for a reply. Nick turned to check on the status of the beer pong game and when he looked back, Vince had procured yet another cup of the colorful punch. It was actually impressive how easily he produced them, like some bizarre booze magic trick. Nick considered snatching away the new acquisition, then shrugged it off. Sasha seemed to want to take care of him, so he’d leave it to her. Besides, if ever there was a place for Vince to cut loose a little, it was in a room full of Supers who could handle any problems he might create.
* * *
Mary and Camille sat on a dilapidated couch that had been set alongside threadbare chairs in the hopes of creating a makeshift lounge area. It provided an excellent view of the garage as well as a vantage point to see out the garage door, allowing one to observe various comings and goings as they occurred. Neither of the small–framed girls sipped on anything stronger than soda, but after watching the way Vince and Sasha had embraced, Camille was beginning to find herself sorely tempted.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Mary said, loud enough to be heard yet soft enough not to be overheard.
“Sorry?” Neither girl had said much beyond the usual friendly chit-chat upon taking a seat. They were both more comfortable as silent observers than as active participants, at least when it came to situations like these.
“I wouldn’t recommend getting a drink. I don’t think it will help the situation.”
“Oh, you heard that?”
“I did, and even if I didn’t I could have guessed it. You sort of wear your feelings on your face,” Mary explained.
“I know.” Lying to a telepath was a waste of both of their time. She tried anyway. “It doesn’t bother me that much.”
“Or at least you feel like it shouldn’t. Like you don’t have the right to be hurt by it. He isn’t anything more than your friend, after all.”
Camille nodded.
“Did you know Roy and Hershel share memories?” Mary didn’t look at Camille as she spoke; both girls kept their eyes trained on the active people bustling through the party.
“They do?”
“Thoughts, emotions, memories, everything one experiences the other can recall. It’s the closest thing to communication they have,” Mary explained. “That means even though Hershel has never cheated on me, he regularly wakes up with cris
p, genuine memories of sleeping with other women. My boyfriend is a virgin, but he has literally hundreds of woman as a standard of comparison.”
“Hundreds?”
“Roy can be charming when he wants to be,” Mary said. “The point is, Hershel can’t help that any more than I can help hearing what people think. It’s a part of his ability and the only way to stop it would be to deny an entire part of who he is. That’s something I don’t have the right to be mad about, if only because I knew it going in.”
“So it doesn’t bother you?” Camille looked at her team captain with a new measure of awe.
“Of course it bothers me. It bothers me all the damn time.”
“That seems awful.”
“It is, but that’s not why I brought it up. See, it’s an example of something that can’t be helped. If I want to be with Hershel then I can’t really complain about it. You, on the other hand, have feelings for a single man who is well within your reach. You have every right to be bothered when he squeezes his ex-girlfriend like she’s going to spurt candy. You don’t have to feel bad about feeling bad. And you don’t have to do nothing about it either.”
“Yes, I do.” Camille could have tried harder to keep the sadness off her face, but she couldn’t really see the point.
“You can take care of him. Friends do that, and the way he’s plowing through the punch, he’ll probably need it.”
“Sasha has that in hand.”
“Sasha’s first recourse was trickery. That’s not the only way to guide Vince to a conclusion. Besides, can she heal the damage his liver is taking?”
“Probably not,” Camille ceded.
“So go be his friend. Keep him safe, whatever that entails.”
Camille looked at Mary for a long minute, then set down her water and got up from the couch. She couldn’t get too close to him; she couldn’t risk losing the relationship they shared. She could, as a friend, still protect him. That was why she’d worked this hard, why she’d come this far. She could take care of him, no matter who else was around. That much was within Camille Belden’s power.
80.
Thomas eventually left his post at the door to join the revelry, but only once he was sure the bulk of the guests had arrived. It seemed like things were going well - the general vibe was certainly more relaxed than at last year’s festivities. The few freshmen who’d bothered to attend looked like they were enjoying themselves. A couple milled about in the living room making conversation, some participated in the drinking games set up in the garage, and one looked to be racing Roy to the bottom of the keg. Angela and Chad greeted him with their usual nods, and Thomas thought he saw a smattering of approval in the smile Angela flashed him. He could see why: things were going along as well as could be expected.
Thomas tried to take a detour to the bathroom, only to walk in on a couple getting exceptionally familiar on the counter of the sink. He closed the door before investigating identities: there were some things he was probably better off being ignorant of. It wasn’t like he blamed the duo - there were scarce private places to be found and with this much social lubricant, such instances were bound to occur.
The thought that followed on that one’s heels, not that Thomas would accept that there was any connection between the two, was that he should check on his housemates and make sure they were all doing okay. Thomas turned his attention in search of Violet and the others, winding his way back through the rooms. He snatched up a few abandoned cups as he went: just because it was a party didn’t mean he couldn’t get a head start on the eventual clean-up.
* * *
The inevitable had happened, and thankfully it had happened in a toilet rather than on anyone’s shoes. Despite Sasha’s secret water and Camille’s watchful eye, Vince’s stomach had turned after only a few drinks more. Camille had offered her services in aid to Sasha and the two had gotten him upstairs where he proceed to make a valiant offering to the porcelain god. The two women stood outside during the assault, neither one particularly wanting to get the visual on such an event.
“You can probably head back down if you want,” Sasha said, partly just to verbally cover the series of sickening sounds coming from the open doorway. “I’ll just clean him up, throw some water in him, and put him to bed in Will’s room.”
“That’s not a good idea until we’re sure he’s done vomiting. If he gets on his back and throws up in his mouth he can choke to death.”
“First off, yuck. Second, what are the odds of that?”
“More than you’d think. I took some emergency care classes at the local hospital when I was younger. Apparently there are multiple cases of people dying that way every year,” Camille explained.
“Really? I guess I’ll prop him up, then.” Sasha was interrupted by a fresh wave of audio from the restroom. “That might be a while from now. So, why did you take emergency classes? Can’t you fix everything with a touch?”
“Not everything. Illness is really hit or miss for me, depending on what kind it is. There are very few healers who can deal with all forms of infection and sickness, so learning some general treatment practices was a good idea. Plus, it never hurts to expand your knowledge.”
“I bet it also looked good on your application to Lander.” Sasha flashed her classmate a conspiring grin. Camille reciprocated as best she could. The noise from the bathroom began to dull, and Camille risked a quick peek to ensure his head was still above the rim.
“How is he?”
“Looks stable for the moment. Let’s give him a bit.”
“Good call,” Sasha agreed.
The two stood in silence, save only for when Camille ventured into the bathroom to give the toilet a quick flush. Vince stirred briefly, mumbled a pair of words and then set his head back onto the seat. The girls had wiped it liberally with some cleaning pads before letting him settle down, but Camille still couldn’t help wondering how sanitary a practice this really was.
“Why don’t you use some of your healing ability to make him better?” Sasha asked as Camille emerged from her unpleasant adventure.
“I did that on the way up the stairs. I healed his liver, but the alcohol is still in his system. The symptoms won’t go away until it runs its course.”
“I see. So all I can do is wait.”
“Seems like it’s our only option.”
“Gotcha. Well, while we’re standing around, I was wondering something. How long have you had feelings for my ex-boyfriend?”
Camille reddened immediately but she didn’t look at the ground. Instead she met Sasha’s stare dead on, even shifting her feet a bit to close the height gap between the two. “What do you mean?”
“It’s okay, you don’t need to deny it. I’ve given you multiple chances to leave Pukey yet you stay; you even went in to flush despite his current combustive nature. When I think about the way you’re always gazing up at him, it all falls into place.”
“I wasn’t denying it. I was literally asking for clarification on what you meant. If you mean to ask how long I’ve admired him, the answer is a very long time. How long have I been attracted to him is obviously since I saw him. If you want to know how long I’ve cared deeply for him... well, now that I think about it, that’s really none of your business anyway.” Camille’s insides were churning with a fervor only Vince’s could currently equal, but she stood her ground and refused to look away.
“Look at you, getting all puffed up for a change.” Sasha attempted a friendly smile, but succeeded only in resembling a tiger showing its teeth to a house cat. “There’s no need to get upset. He’s my ex after all. I was just making conversation.”
“Then I apologize for misunderstanding your meaning,” Camille replied, lowering her stance but keeping her eyes locked with Sasha’s. The two might have stayed like that all night, if not for the sounds of a silver-haired young man pulling himself up from the toilet and lumbering to the doorway.
“Anybody have any mouthwash? There’s a flavor on my ton
gue that would curdle milk.” He gave a weak smile to his two caretakers, who immediately let the tense mood between them dissolve.
“I’ll put a cup for you by the bed. I’ll also leave a bottle of water and a trash can, just in case,” Camille volunteered. She nearly dashed from the room while Sasha began helping Vince over to the bed. Her heart was thundering, partially because of her confrontation with Sasha, but more from fear that Vince might have overheard their discussion. They’d been speaking low; however, that didn’t mean he hadn’t at least gotten snippets.
By the time Camille had found a free trash can and a big enough bottle of water, she’d managed to calm her nerves a bit. She reminded herself that even if Vince had gotten pieces of the conversation, there was virtually no way he’d recollect them in the morning. He was well beyond out of it; after all, when she’d gone in to flush he’d mumbled something that sounded like “stop, thief.” That made no sense at all. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself over and over as she climbed the stairs back to the room where the man she loved was waiting.
81.
Angela was impressed: the celebration had lasted most of the evening before any semblance of a fight had broken out. She’d had to put down two half-hearted scraps before the freshmen had even arrived at her party. It was a little surprising that Thomas had managed to keep the peace for so long, though who had broken it was somewhat less shocking.
“Should we intervene?” Chad was standing next to her, looking delicious as always. For a guy who didn’t seem to care much about his looks, Angela couldn’t help noticing that his hair was always nicely styled and his complexion impeccable. Given his power, these things probably took almost negligible effort to maintain, but it was still effort he exerted. Chad could put on the dedicated tough act all day long; Angela knew there was a bit of vanity and ego under the calm warrior’s surface.