You and Everything After

“Good thinking. It’s low-fat if you put it on the side,” the diva says. My ninja princess just stares at her, watching her pull out a mirror and check her lipstick; then she flips her gaze to me. This time, I don’t panic; instead, I just lift the right side of my lip in a tiny grin to let her know I’m with her—hell, I’m so with her. She shakes her head at me in disbelief, and then returns her gaze back to her friend.

“Putting the dressing in a different bowl doesn’t change its chemistry, Paige,” she says, and I smirk again.

“What’s so funny, dude?” Nate interrupts, but I shake my head and hold my hand up against the table.

“Hang on, I have to hear this out,” I whisper; he bunches his brow before turning to look at the two girls behind him who have me completely rapt.

“Then why the hell did you make me get it on the side, Cass?” she asks, and I commit that name to memory the second it leaves her lips.

“So you could use less,” Cass huffs back.

“That’s stupid,” Paige says.

“Yes, I see that now,” Cass says, stepping out from their booth to head to the restroom area. She gives me one last smile before she leaves, and I hold up my empty beer glass to toast her—the sexy ninja princess, with the patience of gold, and the next girl I want to get to know in Oklahoma.

Chapter 2

Cass

“Is it bad that I’m excited? I shouldn’t be so excited. I should play it cool. Right, cool…phew…deep breath, and ready. Okay, I’m being cool. How’s this?” Paige only rolls her eyes and picks up her stride. “What? Not cool? It’s the shoes, isn’t it? Or my shorts? I should have worn a dress, or something cuter. I’m so bad at this.”

“Jesus Christ, Cass! You look fine. You’re cute. Boys are going to think you’re cute. Just like they did back home. If you’re going to get like this every time we go to a party, I’m going to start going without you,” Paige fires back her short fuse with me, and my nerves kick in quickly.

“You’re right,” I say, blowing out a huge breath into the few strands of my hair that have found their way in front of my face. “I wish Rowe would have come with us.” Rowe’s our roommate. We have one of the big rooms at the end of the hall, which means there are three of us in a room, and Rowe seemed pretty cool. I liked her music, and she seemed like she was hungry for friends outside of her tiny circle—just like me.

“Ugh. I don’t. I don’t know about that chick. She’s…quiet,” my sister says, punctuating that last word like there’s something wrong with being quiet. I’m quiet. Or at least, I was. But I left that all behind in high school. Here, no one knew my history. No one knew about my bad choices for boyfriends—and the reputation that only took months to create and a thousand miles to run away from. Here, I was going to be loud, and confident, and important, and someone’s girlfriend. And I would settle for nothing less.

“You’re just being a bitch. She’s nice,” I say, feeling defensive of my barely eight-hour-old friend.

“Probably. But I still don’t like her,” Paige says, making those annoying last touches on her hair she always makes before she knows we’re about to enter a room full of strangers. I should probably do the same thing, tuck hair behind an ear, or make sure my lips are pink or shiny or kissable or, I don’t know. Paige did my makeup. That’s her thing—hair, fashion…exteriors. Me, I’m more of the crack-open-the-beer, chug-faster-than-the-guys, and then kick-their-asses-in-something kinda girl. I brush my fingers through my hair anyway though, because change is good.

The second we open the door, we’re weaving through a crowd of people. We’re at some old apartment complex, right off campus. One of the fraternities took it over for housing. The living room is filled with smoke, which makes everyone look just a little dirtier.

College parties aren’t like they seem in the movies. They’re not even close. There isn’t some band playing in a corner, or some DJ spinning records. It’s just an iPod plugged into a nice set of speakers, playing the same rap album over and over again. The girls here aren’t all wearing major label designer clothes. Most of the guys are wearing hats, and they sport newly minted beards that haven’t been groomed properly—and way too much cologne. It’s just an apartment overcrowded with people, most of whom are gathered around a Goodwill sofa in the living room or the giant table pushed against a wall in the dining area.

“I’ll get us beer,” I say to Paige, doing my best to push through the group of girls who are gathered around the kitchen island. My experience has me waiting for them to say something to me—or spill their drinks on me on purpose—but instead, I slip through unnoticed, their conversation continuing without pause as I move through them.