“What?” Cassidy yells above the music, leaning closer and cupping her hand to her ear.

“I think we should leave.” I blow into my bare hands. It didn’t occur to me to bring gloves.

She rolls her eyes and gives me an exasperated look. “It’s not that cold, Ivy. Besides, we just got here.”

My roommate and I, along with a bunch of other people, are standing on the covered porch of the huge old house. With the rain coming down in sheets, we’re waiting to get into the first big off-campus party of winter quarter. Everyone’s huddled together trying to stay warm and dry, talking and laughing about what they did over the Christmas break. None of them look as cold as I feel.

“Yeah, twenty minutes ago.”

You have to be on the list or vouched for in person by someone who lives here. Guess they think that’ll stop the cops from busting them. But Cassidy’s cousin forgot to put our names down, which we didn’t find out until we got to the front of the line, so we’ve been waiting for him to come get us. Cassidy doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold, even though her family used to live in Hawaii up until a few years ago. As a transplant from California, I haven’t built up my cold weather calluses yet. It’s like going barefoot for the first time in the summer. It hurts until your feet toughen up.

“I’m developing a serious case of frostbite. I think it could be fatal.” I let my teeth chatter for effect.

Cassidy puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake. “Don’t be so lame. It’ll be worth it once we get inside. Trust me.”

I hope she’s right. Although I’ve been to a few parties since I started at Pacific State University in the fall, they’re not really my thing anymore. But since I don’t have a lot of homework yet, I couldn’t use that as an excuse not to come with Cassidy.

The guy and girl at the sign-in table are wearing mullet wigs. “Welcome to the FA Eighties,” the dude shouts to the people next in line. “Name please.”

Two guys in PSU baseball caps and high school letterman jackets step forward. I can’t tell if they’re still in high school (which would be weird) or if it’s just part of their costume.

“What does FA mean?” one of them asks.

“Fucking Awesome Eighties,” the sign-in dude says without looking up from the pages. He makes a check mark next to their names. The girl hands them each a red plastic cup and they head inside.

The guys who live here are known for throwing outrageous themed parties. The one last month right before the break had a “religious” theme. I say that in quotes because, apart from the costumes—Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Moses, Buddha, druids, even a pope—it was far from saintly. At least you don’t have to come in costume, because I’m not really the cosplay type.

The opening guitar riff from “Back In Black” pierces the night air. Cassidy lets out a little squeal, puts her hands on her knees and starts to shake her butt.

“Oh my God!” My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “Are you crazy?” Is my roommate seriously starting to twerk? If so, I am sooo disowning her. She’s not even buzzed—this is the normal Cassidy. I glance around. People are staring, not quite sure what to make of her either.

“Come on,” she says, trying to get me to dance with her.

I hold up my palms. “No, no, and no. I think you’ve got your decades mixed up.”

Undeterred, Cassidy continues to dance, and sure enough, a few others join her. I step back and watch, shaking my head. Cassidy is one of those self-assured people who doesn’t think twice about doing something totally crazy that draws attention to herself. I guess that’s what makes her so fun, even if she mortifies the hell out of me sometimes.

A girl from my humanities class last quarter is right next to me, laughing. I can’t remember her name. Kako, maybe?

“Is that your roommate?” she asks.

“Yeah, she—”

Kako starts taking pictures with her phone and I lose my train of thought.

“Are you…going to post those?” I ask warily.

“What?” Kako yells, not taking her eyes off the phone display.

“Online. Are you going to post those pictures online.”

“What?” she repeats. “I can’t hear you.”

I look around and realize that others are doing the same thing. When Cassidy makes devil horns and sticks her tongue out at someone taking a picture, I know I’m overreacting. I just need to relax. Not everyone is as concerned about online privacy as I am.

“Never mind.”

After the song is over, Cassidy comes back, laughing and out of breath.

“Nice,” I tell her. “Very classy.”

“If you’d joined us, you’d be much warmer now. You need a drink, Ives. A serious one. As soon as we get inside, we’re going straight for the keg.”

They call this place the White House, because it’s, well, white, and it’s a mansion. Someone’s grandma lived here until she moved to a nursing home a few years ago. It’s basically like a frat house for the grandson and a bunch of PSU guys, without the rules or the social obligations.

Cassidy catches me checking the time again. “Would you just relax? Tate said he’d be out in a minute.”

“You sure he’s not dogging us? Maybe he doesn’t want to corrupt his sweet, innocent cousin.”

She makes a face at me. “I’m sweet, but hardly innocent.”

“Tell me about it.” I lean against the pillar and cross my arms. “You’d better not be texting me another XOX tonight. I spent way too long in the TV room the last time. I ended up watching a bad sci-fi movie on Netflix with those two guys who live on the third floor, and I really don’t feel like doing that again.”

“I told you earlier Will was coming over. It’s not like you didn’t have any warning.”

“Five minutes is ample warning?”

“Try thirty.”

“Ten. Maybe. And that’s being generous.”

“Okay, fifteen.”

You can’t win with Cassidy. She hates losing an argument. “Whatever. The point is, you didn’t give me much time to make other plans.”

“He’s not here tonight, anyway. He went home for the weekend.” Something in her voice doesn’t sound quite right.

I frown. “Will went home? Why so soon?”

She pretends to be examining her nails, but I can totally tell she’s not. “We only Skyped once during the break.”

“Just once in four weeks? I figured you guys would be talking every day.” They were getting pretty damn serious toward the end of last quarter. Will even spent Thanksgiving with her family.

“Yeah, so did I. But every time I texted him, he said he was busy and didn’t have time to talk. It was really…weird. I think he might have hooked up with his old high school girlfriend.”

“Why do you think that?” I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned this before now. Maybe that’s why she insisted on coming to the party. She needs something to keep her mind off the fact that Will might be cheating on her.

She shrugs. “I wish you did some kind of social media, Ivy—then maybe I’d know if I was being paranoid or not. Over the break, I stalked him online and…”

Stalked?

I’m suddenly boiling hot with this scarf around my neck. I tug on it to make it looser. “What? So I can…stalk…him, too?”

“I want to know what you think. Maybe I’m being paranoid. I mean, he can be friends with an old girlfriend without wanting to hook up with her again, right? Maybe that’s all it is.”

“I suppose it’s possible…”

“But not probable,” she finishes for me. Her shoulders sag.

I don’t want to go all negative on her and agree, but I think she’s right. Why else would Will not want to talk to her during the break? Before I can reply, a string of obscenities erupts from inside the house, followed by a few loud grunts. Sounds like an argument has just gotten physical.

The two people at the sign-in table jump up in unison. “What the hell?” the guy says, stomping toward the door. “If it’s one of those high school kids, I’m going to be so fucking pissed.”

“They’re letting in local high school kids, but they make us wait outside? That is sooo lame.”

“Maybe it’s someone’s little brother and his friends,” Cassidy says. “Ryan visited me my freshman year and got so sick at a party that he puked on my neighbor’s bed and passed out in the men’s bathroom. The RA found him in the shower at six in the morning, wearing leopard-print underwear and nothing else.”

I laugh. “Poor Ryan. What kind of a big sister are you?”

“He was supposed to be staying in my friend Steve’s room, but he wandered off.”

The music stops. Now we can really hear the fight. I’m envisioning someone getting slammed up against the wall and furniture being knocked over.

We press our faces up to the glass next to the front door. It’s frosted and all we can see are a bunch of shapes. But the shapes are—

Cassidy and I jump out of the way just as two guys come crashing through the door and fall at our feet. Instantly, people from inside and outside the house crowd around us.

“Are you fucking crazy?” The guy on the bottom is trying to wriggle free. He’s the smaller of the two. Wiry, with long arms and legs, he flails against his opponent, but the guy on top is much stronger.

From this angle, I can’t see the stronger guy’s face, just his broad back and shoulders. His black T-shirt stretches tightly over tattoo-covered biceps. I wouldn’t be surprised if the shirt had a graphic on the front for an MMA gym, because this guy is definitely tough. None of the smaller guy’s punches seem to be having much of an effect on him.

Grabbing fistfuls of the skinny guy’s shirt, the stronger guy hauls him to his feet. Dark hair hangs over his forehead, obscuring his face. He reminds me of a wild animal, ready to rip out this guy’s throat. I seriously wouldn’t be surprised if he let out a growl right now.