But Dan forgot to mention a tiny detail about the location of the party.
It’s in the middle of freaking nowhere.
I stopped following the twists and turns Dan took with his car the moment we were out of London and no road signs came into view.
For a moment, I thought Dan was taking us to some gypsy party.
Well, this sure as hell isn’t a gypsy party.
The mansion is hidden behind tall pine trees on top of a hill — no kidding. The owner is either way too private or way too gothic.
Or both.
Aside from the attendees’ cars, there’s nothing in sight. Now that I think about it, this would be the perfect opportunity to mass murder everyone.
I can totally see this as the opening scene of a horror film.
You need to stop watching all those gory films. I can almost hear Dad scold in my mind. Oh, right. He’s not Dad. He’s Father.
That should summarise the formal nature of my relationship with Lord Clifford. He may or may not kill me for coming to this party without his permission.
One more reason why I follow Dan’s demonic plots.
I sip from my second drink. I had one shot with Dan as soon as we arrived, but then he buggered off, so now, I'm walking around with this cocktail. There's barely a burn at the end, but I have a high tolerance, so this is nothing.
I need a distraction from the scene around me. I can’t believe Dan left me — probably to go shag. Worst wingman ever.
The entire school is gathered here. Some sway to the loud, offbeat music. Outside, a few of the rugby team cannonball into the kidney-shaped pool — that has piss in it. Others howl as they play a drinking competition that I wish I had the guts to participate in.
But then again, nothing is worth jeopardising my current position in the school — I’m part of the invisible folk. You know the type: those who no one actually cares if they miss a class or two — or an entire year. And I’d like to remain that way, thank you very much.
Invisibility is a cool superpower that allows me to breeze through without any bullshit or drama.
However, if I was going to remain that way, I should’ve probably chosen a less noticeable best friend than Daniel. In my defence, when I discovered his popularity, he’d already super-glued himself to me as my wingman.
Even with his popularity, I’m invisible enough that his harem of girls don’t notice me when they’re hitting on him.
Some of the Royal Elite students present here are still wearing their pristine uniforms with red ties and navy blue jackets. On their pockets, the school’s golden logo is embroidered. The lion in a shield, topped by a crown, is a sign of both the power and corruption simmering within the walls of the school.
There’s a reason the uniformed people are alone in a circle, probably discussing books. I would join in, but I doubt they’d like it when I tell them they’re not supposed to wear a uniform to a party.
Even I, a total ‘party terrorist’ — per Dan’s words — have opted for jean shorts, fishnet stockings, and a simple black top. Oh, I also wore my favourite white basketball trainers that Mum painted black stars on.
My heart shrinks at the thought of her. I take a deep breath of the alcohol and the designer perfumes permeating the air.
Fun. This is supposed to be a night of fun.
My idea of fun includes either my art studio or marathoning the latest gory film.
Just saying.
A long howl at the entrance wrenches me back to the present.
The chatter weans and the crowd parts like the Red Sea did for Moses.
When the kids trip over each other to make way, I’m not surprised to see the football team waltzing in like freaking England’s champions. Only, wait. I think they did win a game that would lead them to some sort of a school championship today.
This could or could not be the celebration party for their win.
Another tiny detail that Dan forgot to mention.
I’m not going to kill my best friend.
I’m not going to kill my best friend.
Screw it.
I retrieve my phone and type.
Astrid: You’re dead, Dan. Better start picking your funeral song.
Daniel: Resistance by Muse. U know that. What got ur knickers in a twist?
Astrid: Football party? Give me a fucking break. I’d rather choke on my own vomit.
Daniel: First, eww. Second, did I mention eww? Third, stop being a drama queen, crazy bugger.
Astrid: Where are u?
Daniel: Convincing Laura Davis to suck my dick. Heard she deep-throats like a pro.
Astrid: You’re a pig. *disgusted emoji*
Daniel: What? It’s on my list of things to do while I’m still in school.
Astrid: I’m beginning to think that ur list only has sex missions on it.
Daniel: There’s nothing better than fucking.
Astrid: I’d rather watch gore.
Daniel: Astrid, I love u, but u’re weird.
Daniel: Gotta go, Laura is giving me the look.
Great. I’m really on my own while Dan is banging his random girl for the night.
My head gets fuzzy – not sure if it’s because of the drink or something else. Even the football team, who are fist-bumping the eager crowd and grabbing a random butt here and there, become hazy.
All I keep hearing are the multiple shouts of “King!”
There are two of those at Royal Elite School, also known as RES. According to Dad — sorry, Father — I’m to stay away from anything with the last name King.
When I became Lord Henry Clifford’s ‘public’ daughter, he had two rules for me:
You will not disgrace the Clifford surname.
You will stay away from the King surname.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t listen, but the two kings of the school represent everything I loathe.
Unrestrained power.
Reckless behaviour.
Corrupted wealth.
They’re probably the ones who own this ridiculously wealthy mansion. Old money is everything in RES and the King name is the definition of it. Even Dad’s old money and aristocratic blood don’t compare to theirs.
I don’t wait for the team’s grand entrance.
Invisibility 101: Never mingle with the popular crowd.
I make a beeline towards the back hallways of the mansion, but the cheers and the “Go Elites” follow me all the way through.
The obsession with the football team in this school makes me twitchy. I mean, come on, they’re school kids, not the freaking Premier League Titans.
But again, sports have never been my thing. I’m all for art and creativity. I’m a far cry from being an athlete, and Dan always makes fun of how even a small run gets me all out of breath and panting.
As I walk down the half-empty hallway, my head feels fuzzy and disoriented. I see double of the couple making out near a door.
I sway and bump into something.
“Watch it!” someone grunts and I mumble something in return.
Shit. I don’t feel good.
I reach for my phone to call Dan. The numbers turn into blurry, wavy lines. I blink and fall against a wall.
I hit Dan’s number and the rings sound like they’re coming from an underground room. He doesn’t pick up.
Come on, Dan.
I try again, but the more time that passes, the hotter my skin becomes. My clothes feel like pieces of lava on my flesh.
I hit Dan’s number on my phone again. He still doesn’t pick up.