“What did I tell you about mixing drinks?”
“Sangria is one drink!” she protests as I bend over to collect the piece of fruit and dislodge both of the bedroom keys instead. They bounce off each other and hit the kitchen floor with a clang. I groan and scoop up the keys along with the orange and put everything on the table. I guess that pocket isn’t actually for holding things.
“What even is Cointreau, anyway?” I ask.
Izzy pours a healthy glug of clear liquid into the jug and studies the label. “Orange liqueur. It smells yummy.” She waves it under my nose.
“It smells strong,” I sigh. “How did you get hold of all that, anyway? I thought the others were bringing drinks.”
“It was in the cupboard.” She points vaguely, and the blood drains from my face.
“It’s Dad’s? Oh, Iz, what were you thinking?”
“They won’t notice, I’ve only used a little bit, and I’ve asked Noah to buy another bottle of red wine so we can replace it.” She picks up the chopping board and fixes me with a look as she starts to scrape pieces of chopped apple, lemon and orange into the jug, where they land with a splash. “Chill, okay? Just enjoy yourself.”
“Fine.” I sulk, annoyed she didn’t think this might get me in trouble. I’m glad she’s sorted out a replacement, at least.
Izzy stirs everything together with a long-handled spoon, and despite my misgivings, my mouth starts to water. It smells prettygood.
“What are the keys for, anyway?”
“Bedrooms,” I say, looking around the kitchen. I finally decide on the cupboard over the kettle, opening it and dropping the keys into one of Kim’s mugs. “I’ll leave them here in the blue mug.” I hold it up for Izzy to see. She nods. “Bedrooms are still off-limits, but if you need anything, you know where the keys are now.”
“Got it.” She nods again and continues chopping up a bunchof mint. She throws that into the jug, followed by a splash of orange juice and a thimble of lemonade. “Grab me some ice, willyou?”
I watch Izzy put the finishing touches on the sangria and allow her to pour me some. It doesn’t taste as strong as I know it is, and I remind myself to keep a note of how many I have. I’m crunching on a crisp apple slice when the doorbell rings.
“Ready?” asks Izzy.
“No,” I admit, glancing down at my outfit one last time. “But I guess we should open the door.”
Half an hour later, I’m staring at myself in the bathroom mirror. The porcelain sink is cool beneath my hands as I check my teeth for rogue bits of orange flesh and take some calming breaths.
The party, if you can even call it that, was going well, by which I mean Izzy has been practically straddling Ford, while Scarlett found my dad’s vinyl collection and put some music on. I saywasbecause Noah just turned up with Jen, a British Korean girl who might be the prettiest person I’ve ever met. His other friend hasn’t arrived yet, but if it’s another girl, I might have to climb out the bathroom window at my own party. I’m not saying this turn of events has sent me into a tailspin, but I have been in here raiding Izzy’s makeup bag for the last five minutes.
I dab some of her glowy blusher onto the apples of my cheeks, smiling into the mirror the way I’ve seen her do, then smoothsome more serum onto my hair. Should I put on lipstick? I don’t usually, because I end up chewing it all off, so I root through Izzy’s stuff until I find a colored gloss that I can smear on instead. I straighten my top, which is on full display now, because Izzy made me ditch the cardigan, and wish it was cold enough for me to hide away in a hoodie.
I take a deep breath and leave the bathroom.
“Does everyone have a drink?” I ask as I join the others in the living room, trying to sound like I do this all the time. There’s a vague mumble that I take to mean yes, so I hang back and study my guests instead.
Noah is AWOL, but Izzy and Ford have joined Scarlett at the record player and Noah’s model-esque friend is kneeling by the coffee table. Her glossy black hair falls in waves almost to her waist and her movements are self-assured as she fills glasses from a tap protruding from a cardboard box.
A stocky guy in a blue T-shirt comes through the door, followed by Noah. My shoulders relax. His other friend is a boy. He gives the room a greeting nod, and Noah takes a bag from him.
“Heywood!” the new guy calls when he sees Ford. “How are you doing, man?”
Heywood? Like the gallery? I watch the interaction and swear Ford pales. He starts to twist the ring on his forefinger and tenses a little but quickly shakes it off and lets the new guy give him one of those slap-on-the-back bro hugs. I had the impression Ford wasn’t from around here, but he must be, to know one of Noah’s local friends.
He can’t be related to the guy who owned The Four, can he?
“Jake just brought our beers.” Noah breaks my concentration. I didn’t notice him come to stand next to me, but now I can smell his aftershave. It’s so good that I have no idea what he just said.
“Sorry, what?”
He holds up the plastic bag and it makes a clinking sound. “Beers. Can I put them in your fridge?”
“Oh, sure. Here, I can do it. I need to get my drink from the kitchen anyway,” I say, reaching to take the bag from him. My fingers brush his and a spike of lightning shoots down my body, so unexpected that I snatch my hand away.