Page 13 of Depraved Boys

“Ashley.” I tugged her shoulder. “He’s been drinking.”

The moment I said that, a full-body cringe seized my skeleton. That was so rude and awkward. Of course, people drank at parties. That’s what they were for. I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry!”

Bruce’s lips tightened, and he cast me a withering gaze. “Who’s the dumpy mule?”

“Nobody.” Ashley looped her arm around his and winked. “Tell me more about your car.”

They walked through the dance floor together, and I backed against a pillar, my insides shriveling as though someone had doused me in salt. It was no wonder Ashley never invited me to parties. I hadn’t been in this ballroom for a minute before putting my foot in my mouth.

Bruce took Ashley to a group of casually dressed boys and girls who sat around ice buckets filled with bottles of champagne. The music turned itself back on, and people flooded the dance floor, obscuring my view. Most people hopped about, waving their arms in intricate patterns that seemed to be part of a structured dance. A few people did the floss, a synchronized movement of swinging arms and swinging hips, which I’d seen on Youtube but never been able to master.

“Want to dance?” an alcohol-scented voice shouted in my ear. It belonged to a boy about five feet ten with a bright smile and a mop of blond curls.

“I don’t—”

“Come on,” he grabbed my arm. “Just one spin.”

“I—”

The blond boy gave me a stern frown. “Don’t tell me you’re going to stand and watch over your friend? She’ll be fine with Wilmington.”

“She’s my sister.” Now I sounded like I was her mom.

“Does that mean you can’t have fun?”

I cast my gaze to the dance floor. In the gap between the dancers, I spotted Ashley twerking between the legs of a seated Bruce. “One dance.”

“It’s all I ever asked.” He pulled me into the dance floor.

The music boomed in my ears, reverberated through my bones, and shook me to the marrow. I copied a girl’s enthusiastic hoppy steps and waved my arms like windscreen wipers, hoping I didn’t look as stupid as the cringing in my stomach made me feel.

The blond boy, whose name I’d forgotten to ask, did a variation of Dad’s favorite dance move, the running man. “I’ve never seen you around the circuit. Are you from St. Hilda’s?”

“No, Brittas.”

His brows rose. “What year? I would have noticed you.”

“Sixth. We joined a few days ago. And you?”

“Third.” He added my windscreen wiper to his routine.

I gaped. “Y-you’re thirteen?”

“Fourteen.” He grinned. “But I look older, right?”

I gave him an absent nod and played the air drums. The boy told me he’d never been with an older girl but was willing to learn if I was willing to teach him. I forced a weak, non-committal smile and refrained from telling him that I’d never even been kissed. My gaze wandered back to the bank of sofas, where Ashley had sat with Bruce, but a group of people was in my way.

When the music stopped, I said. “Thanks for the dance.”

His face dropped. “Don’t you want a drink?”

“I need to get back to my sister.”

“But she can look after herself,” he whined. “And I don’t even know your name.”

“Willow Evergreen.”

His brows furrowed. “If you change your mind, I’ll be over there with the football team. My name is Will Parker-Bloom.”