Chapter 5

Tyler

I didn’t even want to come in the first place.

Michael’s parties were always predictable—crowded house, expensive liquor stolen from his parent’s wine cellar, music loud enough to make you go deaf.

Same faces, same people in silly costumes, thirsty for some recognition.

The only reason I showed up dressed as some tattooed rockstar was because if I didn’t, people would notice. And Micheal would be disappointed because there was a possibility half of the attendees bailing at the last minute.

The moment I stepped into the noise, it swallowed me whole. Someone clapped me on the back, and Micheal shoved a red cup into my hand.

“Sinclair! You made it!” he drawled, already half drunk. “Cool costume, by the way.”

Then he burped and just staggered away.

I looked into the cup, and the strong stench of alcohol hit me.

“Nope.” I shoved it into someone else’s hand. I was never one to take alcohol. And I wasn’t sure I’d ever like that shit.

Then my eyes moved—faster than my brain.

When I’d stuck fake tattoos around my neck and arms, I’d told myself I wasn’t going to look for her. I warned myself, I had a full mental conversation about it.

But I still found myself searching for her through the crowd.

I’d heard her reluctantly agree to come to the party—Maeve could be really persuasive and pushy.

And when I left school that day, for the first time in a long time, I was actually looking forward to a party.

Most of the chairs at Michael’s house were already taken.

A group of people were even gathered on the ground at a corner playing Uno. So I just grabbed a soda, traced my way to the minibar in a corner of the living room and plopped myself onto one of its seats, my eyes straying to the door.

And each time the door opened, and it wasn’t Sydney, I sipped my drink.

I wanted to know if she’d actually show up or if she’d chicken out and move to another planet so Maeve didn’t have to pull her to Michael’s house.

I wanted to see what she’d dress as—if she’d dress up at all.

Then the front door opened again, and I lifted my drink to my lips.

But I then paused.

The room shifted.

Orange. That was the first thing I noticed. Then it became clearer.

Orange sweater stretched over curves I tried to sketch perfectly in my head every night, a short skirt, knee socks, and glasses that framed her face instead of hiding it.

Velma—of course.

She looked uncomfortable as Maeve pulled her into the crowd, and I just knew she wanted to melt away when she kept shoving people and apologizing.

Before I could stop myself, I was on my feet. To do what? I didn’t know.

All I knew was that Sydney was trying to push through the bodies, calling for Maeve, and I was already moving in her direction.

And then—slam! Her body collided into me; soft and warm.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She adjusted her glasses and looked up at me.

“Damn,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

Her cheeks flushed, and she tugged at her skirt.

For a second—just one second, everything else vanished and all I could see was Sydney Walker in that orange sweater.

I wanted to tell her how good—stunning she looked.

Instead, a smirk settled on my lips.

“Aren’t you hot in there?” I tilted my head. “You look…stuffed.”

Her shoulders tensed, her gaze faltered. But before I could get any other reaction from her, Brooklyn appeared.

“Sydney? What are you wearing?” She asked, the almost realistic stab wound on her neck bouncing.

I stepped back slightly. Like I was avoiding something explosive.

Still, I didn’t look away.

“Maeve gave it to me,” Sydney said.

Brooklyn looked more stunned than worried. But she tried to mask it.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

Sydney’s gaze shifted, and she hugged herself. “You didn’t ask. You just packed up and left the house.”

Brooklyn folded her arms. “Well, I had to help Micheal set up.”

Oh, yeah, those two are dating.

“Maeve made me come anyway.”

“Dressed in that?”

Sydney looked like she might combust. “Is it that bad?”

“Well…if you were aiming for thirsty, then no,” Brooklyn said, eyeing her.

What?

“Oh God,” Sydney pulled her hand further into the long sleeve and tugged at her skirt, “I didn’t know.”

“Well, you—”

Maeve appeared from the side. “Sydney! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You let go—” her eyes shifted to Brooklyn, and she rolled them hard. “Oh, mama bear’s here.”

Brooklyn glared at her. “I knew I smelled you around when I saw Sydney.”

Maeve squared up instantly. She was one of the boldest people I knew.

“And what?”

“How did you think it was a good idea to put Sydney in this?” Brooklyn snapped. “She doesn’t like clothes like this!”

“And how do you know that? What did you do to change that?” Maeve shot back. “What have you done to stop her from shrinking every single day?”

Brooklyn’s jaw tightened.

“All you do is wave around your perfect life while your sister keeps drowning,” Maeve continued. “Sister of the fucking year.”

A fight was about to break out, and I could feel it.

Maeve never liked Brooklyn from the beginning, and she never hid it. And now it was about Sydney—

Sydney.

My eyes shifted to her once again. She’d stepped back, her arms around her, her eyes on Brooklyn and Maeve arguing about her like she wasn’t even there.

She looked sick. Like she wanted to throw up and had even taken off her glasses.

I pushed forward from where I was sitting. But somehow that was all I could do.

My stupid ego wouldn’t let me move closer, maybe separate Maeve and Brooklyn and bring their attention to Sydney.

Sydney was moving backward, not caring who she was hitting in the process.

My heart slammed against my ribs, my head screamed. ‘Come on, idiot. Go get her.’

But I didn’t move.

I remained where I was, just watching.

The girls were still arguing.

Sydney turned.

Then click. The lights went out.

A familiar voice shrieked, and glass shattered.

The lights flickered back on almost immediately.

“It was just a minor issue. It’s been fixed!” Micheal announced, wine bottle in hand. “Go back to partying!”

But all eyes shifted to where the glass had shattered.

Sydney stood there—by the door, her body drenched in red wine.