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My body sags, the weight of his dismissal a physicalpain.
Carly’s “experiment” doesn’t mean anything. But it doesn’t stop the acheinside.
I can’t linger on it for long because out of nowhere, the minions are on me with their bingo wands ofdestruction.
“This isugly.”
I gasp as one of the bingo dabbers smears a bright pink spot on mytop.
“So areyou.”
Another one plants itself on my bareshoulder.
Before long it’s a flurry of attacks. My clothes, my arms, myface.
I shove them on instinct, scratching at them. Pushing. Grabbinghair.
One screeches, but the attack doesn’tstop.
There are too manyhands.
By the time they step back to admire their work, my arms, legs, and costume are covered in redblotches.
I’m grateful I can’t see my face right now. Not because I probably look like I’m about to cry, but because it’s likely as covered as the rest ofme.
“That might be an improvement,” one of them decides before turning on her heel and stalking off towardCarly.
I stare through the crowd, some of which is now turning to whisper about me. The humiliation and angerblur.
Tyler’s on stage,oblivious.
I turn on my heel and stalk back to thekitchen.
Pen finds me nursing a drink against the counter. “Shit! What happened to you? Do you want to gohome?”
“No,” I bite out. “These assholes can’t run me out. I’m not leaving.” My gaze lands on the island, where a dozen people are playing some kind of drinkinggame.
I grab Pen’s hand and tug her over. The game is something with cards and rules layered on top. They deal usin.
I’m good at cards and immediately look for a strategy, but it’s pretty much allluck.
Somehow, I end up drinking the contents of my cup in two hands before losingagain.
The floor is already tilting when I go to drink, but my cup is empty. “I need a minute,” I mumble when the dealer holds out a half-empty bottle ofvodka.
“You have to drink,” hereplies.
Before I can decide if that’s a good idea, another playerinterjects.
“If you don’t drink, you have to kisssomeone.”
A guy closes his eyes and whirls his arm around like some dementedly biased spin the bottle. His finger lands on Jamie from my chemclass.
“No. No offense,” Iblurt.
“You have to kiss him ordrink.”
“She doesn’t have to doshit.”
