Please, Pretty Lights (Pretty Lights #1)

by Ina Zajac

  What? Psyche-crushing disappointment toppled her.

  “Oh, wait,” he chuckled. “Via Yorpretty. You’re in.”

  By the time she realized what he had said, Whitney had pushed her inside where another guy was stamping her wrist. The place was dark, thirty degrees warmer, and packed. It was uncomfortably loud; she hoped her ears would adjust. They made their way through the crowd. Burnt-orange colored lanterns hung above the bar. A long half wall divided the bar from the main room. Whitney pulled her into the belly of the beast. A band was already playing. The singer wasn’t so much singing as lecturing. It sounded like a sexy anthem of some kind.

  The walls thumped in time to the beat. Wait, she felt a chill of recognition. That was him. Were they already on? She couldn’t see over the sea of shoulders in front of her.

  “That’s Matt,” Whitney shouted. “He does ‘Rock & Roll Lifestyle’ and a few others. Jeremy sings most everything else. They have a guy on horn for some of their Cake stuff.”

  Overwhelmed by the crush of the crowd, she realized she was one of the few people in the place who didn’t know the words.

  “If you hang with them, you’ll learn to appreciate Cake,” Whitney continued to shout as she pulled her back toward the restrooms. “We’ve got to take care of business first.”

  “Just one sec?” She had found a pocket in the crowd through which she could see a sliver of the stage. She walked into it and her line of sight opened up. Matt stepped back from the front of the stage. Damn, she had missed it. The song wrapped up and the room filled with the sounds of applause and generalized screaming. Freddy Krueger bumped into her and spilled half his beer at her feet. He didn’t seem to notice or care. Everyone started swaying or jumping to a new—fast—beat. She recognized the song as Blink-182’s “All the Small Things.” Girls were screeching in her ears.

  A glowing sphere, like a beach ball, skipped past her, and then another. People were throwing streamers back and forth. Whitney yelled into her ear. “This is why everybody comes to see them.” Another ball flew by. “This isn’t a Halloween thing. They’re always fun as fuck.” The women next to them threw flower petals into the air like confetti. Pink and purple lights flashed on and off, on and off. The beat intensified. Matt had described Nick as a hard hitter, and now she knew what he meant. She couldn’t see Nick past the heads in front of her, but she could feel him through the beat.

  She leaned to the side until she got a better vantage point. The stage was set into the corner, with twelve-foot-high speakers angled out from both sides. People jumped up and down belting out, “Na-na, na’s,”while strobe lights flashed from the corners of the room. Nick was up high behind his drum set, moving his head in time to his own beat. He looked commanding, even while sporting a rainbow clown wig. But, her heart pulled her attention back toward Matt, who stood to the right. He was standing in an open stance with his head down. He wore a Rasta cap and a Bob Marley t-shirt. Her face grew hot and she couldn’t hold down her smile no matter what. He wasn’t moving much, just hanging back, bobbing to the beat. He held Envy. She sparkled under the golden stage light. If Via hadn’t been in love with him before, this was the clincher. Game over. Whitney yanked her arm, and because she didn’t want to come off as star-struck, she followed her back through the field of “na-na-nas.” They continued past a long banner that read, “Obliviot: No requests! No regrets!” Another one read, “Obliviot: You get what you get!”

  Whitney dragged her into the back corner of the bathroom next to a row of sinks and fumbled with Via’s top. “Why did you wear a bra under this? Are you Amish or something?” she asked. “Toss it.”

  She took it off, just as she was told. Anything to get back out to the main room again. That smile was back, just the thought of him.

  Whitney started assisting a mermaid next to them whose shells were lopsided. Mama Whitney to the rescue. The girl thanked her and waddled back into the main room. Unzipping the wallet hanging from her wrist, Whitney pulled out eyeliner and a lipstick. “You just need a little eyeliner,” she said. “You have these great almond-shaped eyes.”

  “Sure, I get it,” she said. “It’s slut night. But no lipstick. I hate the feel of it.”

  “Look up.”

  The crowd was cheering like crazy and Via couldn’t hold herself down anymore. Every moment spent in the ladies’ room was killing her. She couldn’t bear to miss another song. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” she said as she squirmed away from Whitney’s forced-beautification. “Let’s go already.”

  “What’s the rush?” Whitney wore a wicked grin. “Don’t worry, if your ferry turns into a pumpkin at midnight, you can just crash with the prince on bass.”

  “You know about Matt? How?”

  “Bitch, please,” she said with Super Sistah style.

  “It’s that obvious?”

  “To me it is. He left the room when you started practicing the other day. He won’t watch you dance. It’s sweet.” She adjusted her Viking helmet. Her cat eyes were playful and full of fun. “Which is a good thing, by the way, because your moves are so weak. Oh, and also because he point-blank asked me to bring you here tonight, Via Yorpretty.”

  CHAPTER 21

  VIA

  VIA DIDN’T WANT to walk into the party alone, but standing on the sidewalk in front of Nick’s house, so close and yet still so far, was agony. Whitney seemed to befriend everyone she met and had spent five minutes counseling a broken-hearted girl they’d found crying curbside. Whitney had helped her fix her mascara, which—like the boyfriend in question—had gone astray. “Fuck him, he’s a pig,” she had advised her. “Men who make you cry aren’t worth your tears. You’re dressed like Wonder Woman, so act like it.”

  Via pulled her away and up to the porch, which was free of raccoons but packed with zombies and sluts representing every era of civilization. They walked into the foyer and took it all in. She saw fifty or so people, most in costume, crowding the living and dining rooms.

  Whitney looked past the dining room and into the kitchen. “I need to go talk to the keg master,” Whitney yelled over the sound of Sublime. “Want a cup while I’m there?”

  “There’s an actual keg?”

  “Boys don’t grow up,” Whitney said. “They just get better beer.”

  “Sure,” she said and then turned to look around the room. She didn’t see Matt anywhere, but then she wasn’t sure if he was still in his Rasta garb. She stood next to an angel with a white whip and a belly dancer, only slightly slutty. The house smelled like weed. She leaned against the stairway railing and thought about her romantic stairway adventure with Matt. The house had been theirs that day, and only theirs.

  A guy dressed like Zorro came up, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her in for a sloppy beer kiss. She fought him off. It wasn’t Matt. The pheromones were all wrong. She pushed him away.

  He smiled but didn’t let go. “I’m sorry, I thought you were somebody else,” he said in a voice that sounded rehearsed. “But hey, let’s get to know each other. I’m Zach.”

  Matt, sans dreadlocks, came up behind the guy, spun him around, and pushed him up against the nearest wall.

  “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

  “Hey, I’m a kissing bandit,” he said. “It’s my costume. I’m sorry, man.”

  “Don’t tell me, assclown.” He turned the guy back around so he was facing Via. “Tell her.”

  While she wiped Zorro’s spit from her mouth, she glanced around to find that they had the attention of everyone in the room.

  “I’m sorry,” Zorro said. “My bad.”

  She tried to manage a forgiving smile. “It’s fine, I guess.”

  “So, Red,” the guy added. “What’s in your basket?”

  Matt scowled, pulled him away from her and pushed him into the kitchen. She heard him say, “Son, we’re going to have to talk about your behavior.”

  She was disappointed. Matt hadn’t said anything to her, barely looked at her.


  “Oh my God, are you okay?” the angel asked.

  Whitney walked up and handed Via a red plastic cup of beer. “What did I miss?”

  “Some random guy just started kissing her, but Matt was all over him,” the belly dancer explained. She pulled herself into classic gossip stance then whispered, “He looked super pissed. You guys going out?”

  “I barely know him,” Via said. “I mean, he lives here. He’s probably just watching out for everyone.”

  “Do you know if he has a girlfriend?”

  Whitney had a look on her face that was downright evil. “No, actually,” she said. “He’s a virgin, saving himself for marriage.”

  “Really? He’s religious?” the belly dancer asked.

  Whitney leaned into the gossip huddle and lowered her voice. “He’s training to be a shaman, like a medicine man.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Yep. He’s half Native American. His mother is a warrior princess of some kind.” Via couldn’t believe the words coming through her friend’s glossy lips.

  The belly dancer was looking at the angel, doubtful.

  “It’s true,” Whitney said. “He goes out into the woods and smokes peyote, and he’s not allowed to shave his pubes.”

  With that, the two girls turned away and started talking to a couple of corporate vampires.

  “Who are you talking about?” It was Kaytlyn, dressed as a beauty pageant contestant. Her sash read, “Miss Rock Yo World.” Her hair was vast and wavy and held a diamond tiara. She looked amazing, impossible to cut down. Jealousy screamed inside Via’s chest until she noticed Kaytlyn’s poor arms covered in goose bumps. She looked away and took comfort in her soft red cloak.

  Nick joined them. He looked flustered, downright pissed off. He frowned at Kaytlyn. “Sup, Miss America? You the one telling everyone we were throwing a par-tay?”

  “No. No, I did not.” Her voice shook with odd formality. “Where’s Mattais?”

  “Putting out the fires you started,” he said, sneering at her. “He’s had to boot two guys already. We just wanted to keep it mellow tonight, just friends. I don’t even know who brought the keg, and now I have to tell half these people to leave. Now I’m the asshole.”

  Via listened to him vent, looked around the room, and guessed there were fifty people there. And who knew how many were in the kitchen and backyard.

  “Nick, Nick!” Josh yelled from the landing. “There’s some girl-on-girl action going on up here, and they’re filming!”

  Nick’s mouth dropped open before turning up into a half smile. “I’ll pass.”

  “I thought you should know,” Josh yelled. “Because they are in your grandma’s room.”

  “Hell no,” Nick muttered and ran upstairs. Kaytlyn turned and made her way toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, Whitney!” some guy was calling over from the couch.

  Via turned and saw a big guy with short brown hair wearing a “Portland Sucks” t-shirt who was trying to get Whitney’s attention.

  “Whitney!” he called again.

  “Hey, Jake!” Whitney called over to the guy. “Come on,” she said to Via and led her into the living room. Coke, Via realized when she got closer. They have coke. She was suddenly much more interested in meeting Whitney’s friends.

  “Via, this is Jake,” she said. “Brittney’s boyfriend.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “These are my boys, Justin and Trevor. We’ve got party favors and no hot girls to play with. You ladies down?”

  Whitney sat on the edge of the couch. “Are you saying we’re not hot?”

  Jake’s friends started laughing, but he didn’t look fazed. He skimmed and chopped the blow against the glass table. “Why you so insecure?” he asked. “You know you’re smokin’ hot.”

  Trevor, who was at the other end of the couch, looked Via up and down. She acted like she didn’t notice, but she loved the attention. He took a long drink from his cup and said, “Ladies, if a man offers you free drugs: he wants to fuck you—period.”

  Whitney didn’t look impressed. “Then they’re not really free drugs, are they?”

  “Touché,” Trevor said without taking his eyes off the coke.

  Pretty fancy, she thought while she tried to restrain a blatant eye roll. He reminded her of Carlos, trying too hard to sound intellectual. It was easy to see this guy was a dick, but still. Her eyes followed the path of Jake’s credit card as it organized the blow into columns. She felt herself amping up, like her chest was blooming and turning inside out.

  Whitney continued to rag on him. “You know I don’t do that shit.”

  “What about her?” Trevor asked. “You want some, Miss Riding Good?”

  Via looked over to Whitney for permission. “It’s up to you,” she answered. “But, watch yourself. That shit will mess you up.”

  Jake handed her a rolled up bill, but the table was low, and there was nowhere to sit. Was she supposed to bend over and show her ass to half the room or get down on her knees?

  “You can sit down right here,” Trevor offered. She walked over to his side of the couch, but instead of scooting over, he pulled her on top of his knees. She knew it probably looked bad, but figured she could do a quick line and be up before anyone noticed. She leaned over the table, which brought her ass up into lap dance position. She felt his hands inch down her waist and come to rest on her ass. She snorted up the line, sat back and pinched her nose. Heaven descended upon her.

  “Hey, Matt,” she heard Whitney say.

  Without looking over at Matt, she said, “Thanks,” and tried to get up, but Trevor wouldn’t let go. “Oh you have to stay for a minute, at least,” he said. “No fair, teasing me.”

  “You’re the one who pulled her onto your lap,” Whitney said. “Now, let her up.” Via was afraid to look over, but she could tell by the way Whitney was defending her honor that Matt wasn’t pleased.

  “Whatever,” Trevor said then let her go.

  Matt hadn’t jumped in to save her and she wondered what that meant. She finally looked over and met his offended eyes.

  “They’re all teases, man,” he said. “You still have to let them go when they want.” She noticed Matt’s right hand was pulled in toward his side and wrapped in gauze. He held it up and said, “I’m done for the night.”

  Whitney gasped. “What, you hit somebody? I can take a look at that for you.”

  “Nah, I’m good,” he insisted, then passed through the living room and headed upstairs. Before Via could decide if she should go after him, Kaytlyn beat her to it.

  “Come on,” Whitney said. “Let’s go.” She flicked her head toward the front door so hard her Viking helmet almost fell off.

  “Already?” Jake asked. He sounded like a spoiled child.

  “Sorry,” Via said. “Thanks again.”

  She got up and followed Whitney to the front door and was surprised when her friend stopped at the bottom of the staircase, turned around and whispered, “Go up and deal with him. You can’t let Kaytlyn swoop in like that. I’ll be waiting for you in the car. Five minutes. If you don’t text or come out, I’ll assume you two made up. ”

  “He’s pissed,” she said. “I can’t go up there right now.”

  “You can’t not go up there right now.”

  She stood up on the first step so she was tall enough to straighten Whitney’s Viking helmet. “Thanks, Whit.”

  “Only my closest friends call me Whit,” she said in a stern tone that developed into a southern drawl. “So, yep, you can call me Whit. Now go on, git.”

  “Are you a cowgirl now? I thought that was Kaytlyn’s thing.”

  Kaytlyn. Duh, she realized. Kaytlyn.

  “Gotta go.” She turned and raced up the stairs.

  ***

  VIA

  SHE KNOCKED ON the door twice. “It’s Via.”

  She was relieved when he immediately opened the door looking happy to see her. Kaytlyn, who was sitting on his bed, did not look
happy at all. Her disdainful gaze focused on Via. “Really, Mattais?” she asked in a tone Via found hurtful. “Her?”

  “That’s enough,” he said. “I want us to be cool, but you’ve got to let it go.”

  Via pulled the riding hood around her body and wished she could slink back downstairs for another line. “I can come back.”

  “No,” he said. With his left hand, he pulled her close and rested his arm against her lower back. She watched the look on Kaytlyn’s face grow more emotional. Was she going to cry?

  “Don’t, Kaytlyn,” he said. “Don’t make me out to be a dick. We hooked up a few times. That was it. I told you that’s all it was ever going to be. I told you that up front.”

  “Why her? You just met her.”

  Via was dying to hear his answer. But he didn’t say a word, just held his ground. Via tried to step back toward the door, but he grasped her by the arm and whispered, “Don’t go.”

  His plea was enough to make Kaytlyn stand up and storm past them. “Your loss,” she said as she stomped out the door.

  Neither of them spoke. The room was quiet except for the vibrations of the music coming from downstairs. He turned to face her and pulled her in for a hug. They fit.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said. “I guess it’s good that you did.”

  She tried not to care about Kaytlyn.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  He tensed up. “Oh, you mean the guy downstairs?”

  She nodded, afraid to look at him.

  His hand came in under her riding hood. “Don’t try to make me jealous. That’s messed up.”

  That hadn’t been her intention at all. She had only wanted the line. Its effects on her were minimal anyway. It didn’t seem to pack the same punch as the stuff Carlos had.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. He smelled so good.

  “You haven’t been texting me back, which is even more messed up.” He pulled back and looked down into her eyes. “Maybe you do love that guy—the fiancé,” he said. “Maybe it’s time for me to back off.”