But the moment the song stopped, a lull in the music and the crowd’s dwindling attention allowed me to slip away. I hugged the wall near the back of the gym, dipping under streamers and metallic ribbons, running away from the unwanted conversations and hypocritical congratulations.

No one was surprised I’d won. This was how it was supposed to be. This was the world nicely fitting into the same old routine.

The Cheerleading Captain and the Quarterback. How cute. How convenient. What a fucking cliche.

I shoved hard against the first door I found and finally slipped outside.

Standing on the concrete steps behind the gym, I looked out at the overflowing dumpsters. A single light illuminated the steps and rain poured around me, cold as it mercilessly drenched me. My dress’s layers of pink satin were swiftly soaked, too tight and heavy as it clung to me.

The rain ruined my makeup fast enough. It didn’t matter if I cried.

I tried to hold it back. I sat on the step, stifling the hiccupping sobs in my chest.

No one likes you. You’re fake as fuck.

I felt hot and cold at the same time. My stomach twisted with the alcohol I’d been sneaking all night. It didn’t matter what Kyle said. He was an asshole anyway, and I deserved better.

I wrapped my hands around my bare arms, covered with goosebumps from the cold. I was just as much of an asshole as Kyle. It was the only reason we’d ever really worked together. We’d deserved each other.

Two absolutely awful people deserved each other.

I jerked up my head at the sound of a footstep. Vincent stood to the right of the stairs, wearing a leather jacket, button-up black shirt and trousers, dry beneath an umbrella.

I sighed heavily, looking away from him. “Oh, God, it’s you.”

“Damn, people are usually way more excited to see me at parties.” He came up the steps and sat beside me, moving the umbrella so we could share it. I was used to him wearing oversized joke t-shirts and tight jeans. The sight of him in black, fitted clothes, was…nice. It was actually nice.

“Well, I’m not looking for any party favors,” I said, trying to subtly wipe my sniffly nose on the back of my hand. “Unless you’ve got Xanax.”

“I might. I’ve got whatever the people need.” I could feel his eyes on me, probing at me, like a doctor’s fingers looking for an injury. “You’ve never wanted downers before.”

“I don’t want to feel anything,” I said. I stared straight ahead at the soaked bags of trash. “Not anything at all.”

“I don’t usually comment on how people get their high, Jess. But something tells me I shouldn’t sell you xannies. Not like this.”