The Mary Shelley Club, Goldy Moldavsky [e ink ebook reader txt] 📗

have left, but I was transfixed. It felt like I was watching a movie. It felt like The Purge.

Was Bram as disgusted by all of this as I was? He couldn’t be—this was his own party. These were his rules. He was easy enough to spot—whichever corner of the party he visited livened up. People clinked their glasses against his, boys pounded him on the back, girls squeaked and got on their tippy-toes to drunkenly wrap their arms around his neck.

The tie Bram’s mother had laid out for him was no longer around his neck. His top two buttons were undone, collar up, shirttails out. His hair stood up in clumps and his cheeks were beet red. Like a gentleman, he sauntered over to the girls who had cigars and offered to light them with his golden Zippo. He chatted, flirted, threw back his head and laughed with everyone, pulling them in for hugs.

But it was just another mask.

No one else could see it because this was the only Bram they knew, but it was so clear to me. The Bram that I’d gotten to know would rather listen than talk. He was a neat freak who picked up every last piece of popcorn that fell on this floor. Even now, when he saw a boy drunkenly reaching for a girl, Bram would distract him and pull him into his orbit without the guy even knowing that Bram had interfered. And when he thought no one was looking, Bram would glance at his wristwatch. I’d seen him do that before. It always meant he wanted to leave.

But apparently not before the night’s main event got underway.

There was a couple making out on the big desk in front of the balcony doors, but Bram swept them off in one clean motion, which was met with a chorus of laughter, even from the two girls he’d just ousted. He climbed on top of the desk.

“I want to express my deepest thanks.” Bram placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head. “It is an honor to spend my birthday with my closest friends. Even if you are all a bunch of assholes.”

The truest thing he’d ever said. And while he’d just insulted his “closest friends,” they ate it up. This was Charismatic Bram. Charming, Top Dog Bram. King of Manchester Bram. He radiated it. And it was, admittedly, difficult not to buy into it.

“Seventeen,” he continued. “Soon we’ll officially be adults.” A mix of boos and woos. “And we’ll have responsibilities and expectations and the weight of the entire fucking world on our shoulders. Who am I kidding—we already have all that. So live it up tonight!” Cheers. “Let’s get off our fucking faces!” More cheers. “And give me my fucking birthday presents or get the fuck out!”

Bram hopped off and sat in his throne-like armchair, having practically been carried there by the cheers. Around me everyone held their glasses up high and chanted one word over and over.

“Presents! Presents! Presents!”

Had Bram actually been serious? Were people going to line up and give him big gift-wrapped boxes? Was this another party ritual?

“All right, people, who’s up first?” Trevor Driggs said. His eyes roamed the room, searching for volunteers. Plenty of people squealed or raised their hands, but then someone pointed at me and shouted, “The waitress!”

“The waitress!” Trevor said excitedly, coming over to clap a hand over my shoulder. This would be the third time we’d ever talked face-to-face and he still didn’t have any idea who I was.

“I didn’t bring anything,” I began, but somehow I ended up standing in front of Bram in his chair. This was stupid. But I could feel everyone’s gazes burning holes into me, including Bram’s. I refused to let them see me sweat.

I patted down my clothes. All I had on me were my keys, my phone, and a MetroCard. I took out my keys, attached to my favorite key chain. It was a red key fob for Room 237 at the Overlook Hotel. I worked the keys off the ring and handed the keychain to Bram. “Happy birthday.”

Bram looked it over, and when our eyes met, I thought he was going to speak, but the only noise came from something shattering in the back of the room. I flinched. Bram didn’t.

Trevor swooped in and snatched the key fob out of Bram’s hand. “What the fuck is this?” He pinched it between his fingers. “Why do you think Bram would want this?”

Because Bram loved Stanley Kubrick. And he knew every word of The Shining. And he’d once gotten into an argument with Felicity about it, saying it was one of the only movies that improved upon the book. And he actually did killer Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall impressions.

But Trevor didn’t know any of that. “Wait.” He squinted. “Did the waitress just give Bram the key to her hotel room? Holy shit!”

Trevor laughed and threw the key fob back at Bram and the room rang out in whistles and hollers. I slunk back, trying to get lost in the crowd to hide my burning face, and the party continued as it had before.

Bram remained in his seat, receiving his gifts. I watched as Sebastian Santamaria pulled Bram’s chin down and plunked a yellow tablet on his tongue. Seth Gebahard shoved a wad of hundred-dollar bills into Bram’s hands. Lucia Trujillo and Emily Vilford came up to Bram as a package deal and began to make out in front of him.

Yeah, I’d definitely given Bram the wrong gift. It was time for me to get out of here.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A boy stepped in front of me, Pete Something or Other. I took a step to the side and he did the same, blocking me. He was slow—definitely high on something—and he had his shirt off. “You’re the only girl in here not wearing a dress, you know that?”

“As riveting as this conversation is, I’m leaving, so if you could—”

“A challenge,” Pete