“Just leave it to us.” Sydney and Emily take off, smiling and laughing as I follow behind them to practice. Why do I think my fake boyfriend has already been more trouble than he’s worth?

I’m lying in bed reading when Sydney storms into our room with matching neon green towels wrapped around her body and on top of her head. She’s got a big smile on her face. “Get up. I talked Bri into going and I made a few calls. Practically the whole team is going.” She does a little happy squeal and claps her hands.

“The whole team?” I ask, panic rising. I don’t need any more witnesses to what is surely going to be an epic failure of a night. I don’t know any real details about the party. I don’t even know where Nathan lives.

Resigning myself, I grab my phone.

Me: Hi. It’s Chloe.

I wait for a response, tapping my pinky on the back of my phone. Sydney pulls three different dresses from our closet and puts them on the bed. Her wardrobe is a rainbow of colors and the three she pulled are no exception. A yellow dress with straps that crisscross in the back, a purple strapless spandex number, and a hot pink, super short dress with thick straps and a square neck.

After five minutes of watching Sydney deliberate, pick the hot pink dress and then switch to the purple one, and then go back to the hot pink, I still haven’t heard from Nathan.

Me: So, this party… where is it? The roommates wanna go so looks like I’m in.

I try not to overthink it and press send. This way, if we run into each other, it won’t be like I’m admitting to being into him. I mean, I don’t even want to go… except I kind of don’t hate the thought of seeing him again. Outside of class, of course, where I can flee at any second. And it’s just a party. As long as I steer clear of the Everclear and don’t invite him back to my dorm, all should be fine. We’re going to be partners all semester so I might as well get used to spending time with him as friends.

“You should start getting ready,” Sydney says as she plugs in her blow dryer and spritzes her hair with a heat protectant spray. “Parties at The White House are packed. It’s best to get there early.”

The White House? I feel like that name should mean something to me, so I don’t ask what the hell The White House is even though I’m dying to know.

“What happened to showing up to parties fashionably late?” I bite my tongue before I add that at Golden we never arrived at a party before eleven. I need to quit reminding them of my past.