Dark Parties (ARC) by Sara Grant

Author:Sara Grant [Grant, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette Book Group
Published: 2011-07-31T21:00:00+00:00

There’s a pounding in my head, in my dreams. Slowly I realize that this rhythm is outside of me. “Nev.” Sanna’s not just knocking on my bedroom door; she’s playing her own special drum solo. She knows where we hide the spare key. Dad hates it when Sanna lets herself in but, to me and Mom, Sanna’s family.

I glance at the clock. It’s nearly noon. All I want to do is go back to sleep. “Give me a minute,” I whine.

But she doesn’t. She bursts into the room. “Rise and shine.” She looks down her nose at the grubby and probably slightly smelly mess that is her best friend. “What’s with the zombie routine?”

“I said, give me a minute.” I snuggle under my blankets, enjoying the weight of the quilt and the bubble of warmth. She rips my blankets away. The cold air swirls under my big gray shirt. Goose bumps dot my arms.

“No time. Get dressed.” She throws a pair of jeans from the floor to me.

“Why?”

She searches for a pair of matching shoes. She gives up and hands me one pink and one gray tennis shoe. She opens my closet and pulls out a gray shirt. “Here. Wear this.” More clothes are shoved at me. “Nev, you want an engraved invitation? Get moving.” There’s an urgency to her actions. She’s rummaging in the pile of jewelry on my dresser. She loops my watch on one finger and the snowflake necklace on another.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I scratch at a crusty white spot on the leg of my jeans.

“Not like that you’re not.” She pulls off my shirt and throws it in the corner. I cover my bare breasts. “Please, Nev, I’ve seen them before. Not all that impressive.”

I bend down and open the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I untangle a light blue bra and beige cotton underwear from the mass. I slip off my old underwear and put on the clean pair.

She’s trying to act carefree, but I can tell she’s trying, not just being. “What’s wrong?”

She waves off my question. “Nice tat,” Sanna says, reaching toward my snowflake tattoo.

“Get off,” I swat her hand.

“Must say I do good work.”

“It hurt like hell,” I say, remembering the millions of tiny pinpricks. It took two hours to make my one-inch square tattoo, but Sanna was right: it looks pretty amazing.

I finish getting dressed. “I don’t really feel like going out.”

“I don’t care.” Sanna slips my snowflake necklace over my head.

And it feels almost like old times, that effortless give and take, before Braydon created a wedge between us. I decide to play along.

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