High, @((Y^!@ Allyvia [any book recommendations TXT] 📗

she knew, because he was smiling at her, exposing those white teeth as though he had just won an award. 

 

 Amy, glancing at the three flutes of champagne in hand, smiled half-heartedly. “They’re not mine,” Amy lied, looking at the man to see him smiling. 

 

 “Really,” he asked with a raised brow, taking one from her hand gently and placing the other on the floor, and giving her his free hand, “I’m Darin. Darin Brighton. Mind if I drink this then?” He raised the glass, and Amy waved it off dismissively. 

 

 “Knock yourself out. I have much better company now than half a bottle of Krug Brut Vintage 1988,” Amy smiled, and glanced down at her dress. Yes, she was still wearing her ugly satin, royal blue dress. Yes, her hair was still a fiery orange, and her shoulders were still speckled and freckled. Yes, this Brody Jenner look-a-like was smiling at her, and giving her his hand, and drinking her champagne. 

 

 “Wow,” Darin grinned, showing off those white teeth again and coming just a bit closer so Amy could breathe in that spicy scent of, what could only be, his very expensive cologne, “you know your champagne; I’m impressed. So, beautiful Krug Brut Vintage 1988 Girl, can I get a name? I simply can’t keep calling you that mouthful all night.”

 

Thinking of her favorite movie starlette, Amy grinned, her white teeth shining brightly against her dark red lipstick. “Scarlette. I’d give you my last name,” she smiled flirtatiously, throwing every thought of Matt out of her mind as she took Darin’s hand, “but I’d like there to be some mystery.”

 

 Darin laughed, a light one that made her feel effortlessly sexy, and stepped a little closer. “Ah, mystery is another name for our ignorance; if we were omniscient, all would be perfectly plain-- Tyron Edwards.”

 

 “Is that how you pick up all the girls,” Amy teased, carelessly letting her fingers trail to the collar of his jacket, her blue eyes meeting his brown, “ with famous theologian quotes? I’m impressed, Darin Brighton.”

 

 He chuckled, and glanced at the piece of art before them. He asked the question Amy had been bitterly harboring all night: What do you think of it?

 

 Amy, pretending to stew the thought over, stared at the picture once again. She prayed this sexy Darin didn’t see her features darkening, or her brows furrowing in anger. “You know,” she said, trying her best to sound matter-of-fact, “I think it’s a little overrated. I mean, it’s so... melodramatic, you know? The girl looks like something out of a Twilight movie.”

 

 Darin, nodding up until that point, snorted when he heard her Twilight reference. “The vampire movie? You think?”

 

 “Yeah,” Amy nodded, twirling a tendril of red hair around her finger, “I mean, she just needs a hoodie and a headband and she’s basically Bella. And the dark hair, dark scenery, dark silhouette thing is totally overrated.”

 

 “I agree,” Darin nodded, his arm brushing against her shoulder, “I think redheads are much sexier.”

 Just that little touch had Amy’s body buzzing. She looked up at him from beneath lashes, and grinned. “Hey, Darin Brighton,” she said softly, her fingers still fiddling with the collar of his jacket, “do you want to get out of here?”

~~~

AJ exposed the little pouch, barely enough to fill the red, yellow and green pipe Kingsley held in his hands.

 

After Asswipe Eric stole his dance partner, Kingsley needed to take a little smoke break to keep from smashing the guy's face into the polished wooden floors. He had a lot of nerve showing up at Kingsley's party, of all the fucking places in the world. Just the thought made Kingsley piss-fire mad.

 

 Blond AJ gave him a sly smile, and grabbed the grinder from her bag, placing a few pieces of pot in between the plastic teeth. The room began to smell of weed, of burnt hair and skunk, of a bit of relaxation.

 

"So," she asked, her hands working the two pieces of plastic, "who was the girl?"

 

Kingsley didn't even blink, and grabbed the grinder from her hands, pouring the contents into the pipe. His nimble fingers dug through his jeans until they wrapped around the lighter he always kept handy. It wasn't until he took a hit-- the lighter clog getting hot underneath his fingers and smoke invading his lungs with a big inhale, and blew the smoke in rings out of his mouth-- did he answer. "Who?"

 

AJ gave him a look, 'that' look, and rolled her eyes before taking a hit herself. "The little blondie from I Dream Of Jeanie."

 

"Just a friend." Kingsley shook his head, and took the pipe from her hands. The smoke tasted like burnt coffee, hurt his throat as he sputtered into his hand. It was official; he couldn't even get high anymore without screwing up. 

 

"Right," AJ grinned, "a friend you just so happen to crotch grab while on the dance floor."

 

He rolled his eyes and shrugged her off, remembering the look on Amanda's face when he first bailed on AJ. He had followed her into the back room. He had gotten out the pot; he had found his lighter in the jumbled mess of his pocket; he had held the pipe to his lips, before he dropped it and excused himself. He had figured, by then, Amanda would be done dancing with Asswipe and they could go back to partying.

 

What he hadn't figured was she and Asswipe would be cuddling in a corner, giggling like school girls. He steeled himself on that one, snorting at the sight of homecoming king and queen curled up. It wasn't like he had expected Amanda to hang onto his every whim... he just handn't expected her to follow Eric Asswipe of all people. That's when he walked back into the back bedroom, pretending not to be annoyed with the thought of Amanda making googly eyes at the meathead, and plopped down on the bed. AJ looked at him, a smile playing on her lips. 

 

Finally, he sighed. "Well, are we going to get high or what?"

The Dream

 

 

The sounds and sights of the party were what made Lucy slightly more wild than usual. As Nix's car pulled up to the front lawn, the obnoxious music that poured from the unfamilar house was way too loud and cut through the silence in the car. Lucy's blue dress glittered in the light that seeped through the curtains in the windows, and an excited blush spread through her.

 

Turning to Nick and his tux, she frowned. "You're a little dressed up for one of Kingsley's parties..."

 

With that, she began to unbutton his jacket. Her nimble small fingers tugged at the jacket, making Nick stiffen with the slight certainty this was some dream. He felt shivers crawl up his spine when she brought her fingers to his tie and slowly loosened it, never breaking his eye contact. When her fingers combed through his hair, fixing the slicked back hair he had spent fifteen minutes trying to perfect, he didn't even mind. Smiling at her handiwork, Lucy let her fingers run through his hair unneccessarily, just because she could. She kind of liked it.

 

"Slater and I are cool, and I'm sure if I do enough begging, he'll let you in," she teased Nick, smiling to herself when he cut the engine and climbed out of the car to open her door. Chivalry isn't all that dead, she happily thought as she took his hand and stepped out of the car and into the moonlight.

 

 The moonlight glittered on her dress, made her hair shine. Nix felt his fingers fumbling with the lock button on his keys when he looked up at her, dry mouthed and in awe. Her dark eyes were so bright with happiness, he never would have believed the things she had written on her arm if he hadn't seen them himself.

 

 "So he won't kick me out for wearing some monkey suit," Nix laughed, walking with her up to the drive. She strut, like she belonged to the party, like she was the party. Lucy laughed and took his hand, commanding his mind once against just with that little touch.

 

"No, I'll get you in. Don't doubt me," she insisted, nudging him and letting herself lean into his chest slightly. She kinda fit, she figured, tucked under his arm. Stopping slightly, she felt his broad chest bump into her. Her back still facing him, she swallowed some autumn New Hampshire air and asked the one question that had been tickling her skin all night. "Nick... why'd you come with me, instead of staying with Amy?"

 

Nick didn't even have to think. "Because we're friends," he shrugged, as though the answer was obvious.

 

"Right. For this weekend. At school on Monday, we'll go back to being... normal, right," she asked, steeling herself for that agreeable 'yeah'. Of course they would; she was setting herself up for hurt by asking this question. Nick snorted, and grabbed hold of her arm lightly. She turned, facing him and his copper-blond hair and Rolo eyes and strong jawline, and felt as though someone had punched her in the gut. Here it was, the inevitable 'We shouldn't really talking in public.'

 

"What? Lucy-"

 

"You don't have to be nice to me anymore, you know. I've forgiven you, for the whole journal thing... and you don't have to say we're friends."

 

"We are, though," he insisted, bewildered by how much she was denying this.

 

"But we're not... we're not exactly a good match. People will talk and... they'll look at us weird in public."

 

Nick snorted and looked at her as though she was crazy. "Lucy, I don't care what other people think. In fact... in fact, you should eat with me at lunch, in the Quad on Monday. It'll be fun. I mean, Matt is a 'go-with-the-flow' kinda guy, and Amy and Amanda... Well, Amanda's really nice," Nix smiled, punching her shoulder playfully, even though the action was hollow and weak. They both knew this was not good idea. They both knew it was a terrible idea, and yet, Nick didn't mind as much as he thought he would.

 

"Are you sure? I mean, won't it be a little... weird?"

 

"No. Look, if you want, you can even drag Kingsley with," Nick laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets and quirking an eye brow at her. "What do you think will happen? We have nothing to talk about? I mean, we're all going to be at the party tonight."

 

"Except Amy," Lucy reminded him, trying her best not to sound awkward. Nick almost winced at that note. The reminder was a rough, swift kick in the gut. He was already feeling worse than horrible for ditching his friend, despite how much she had complained. He could only hope she was having fun. Appearantly, he had no idea about the Brody Jenner look-a-like who was happily, and drunkenly, keeping that friend company.

 

 "Right...," Nick drawled, guilt wrenching him in the gut. It was a sour feeling, on his tongue, the taste of betrayal. He was a bad friend; a horrible friend. Amy had been there when, in tenth grade, he broke up with Miranda Hale, who he had dated for almost a year. Amy had been there when, in ninth grade, he had twisted his ankle during a football game. Amy had been there when, in eighth grade, he