{Chapter 1}: A Wink Is Worth A Thousand Words Two years later and I was already back at the one place I swore I'd never return. As my gaze skittered across the room, drinking in the sight of the now unfamiliar faces, I realized how in the end nothing had really changed. The pungent smell of smoke still wafted in the air, a hint of something suspiciously like BO mixed with alcohol lingered not too far behind, and the sound of cue sticks breaking against billiard balls echoed in the area. All that, however, was nearly drowned out by the loud R&B song blaring through the stereo system. Danny's Grill was a place known for the notorious. A popular pub house, it was reputed for it's overcooked - and, admittedly very delicious - curly fries and for harbouring the largest population of minors in town. I'd never understood why the workers completely dismissed the fact that overeager sixteen years olds littered the place. I guess it was good for business. At eighteen, I was fully legal and therefore had no reason to worry about getting carded. Even now I could still see the appeal this place held for so many of the kids from mine and other high schools. After all, there was a certain atmosphere surrounding the pub that could easily lift off the damper on anyone's mood - even mine. "Eat," Layla, my best friend of nearly eleven years, commanded as a smile teased the corners of her lips. "Gabby went to order another platter of nachos cheese so help yourself." I wasn't going to lie, it looked delicious. Right on cue, my stomach rumbled at the sight of nachos, salsa and melted cheese. I speared a chip, making sure to scoop an extra dollop of the heady combination. Layla's smile broadened when she watched me take a couple more hungry bites. "I knew you were starving," she said, flicking her shoulder length brown hair over neck. "I could hear your stomach making noises throughout the entire lecture." I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Mr. Moe, our newest English Literature teacher had taken it upon himself to pick on me. Never mind that it was only the fifth day of school, but it had become his personal vendetta to fire Shakespeare-related questions my way. It was safe to say that I knew jackshit about the playwright's earliest dramas. I quickly noticed that he had a pattern; every time we were in class, he chose one new student to pick on. Today I was that said student. In my hungry addled state, I couldn't form a coherent response. Suffice to say that I was pissed when the bell rang, indicating the start of the weekend. I all but bolted out of class with Layla hot on my heels, laughing at my misery. When my two best friends had suggested we go grab a bite at Danny's Grill, my resolved had succumbed. I didn't have it within me to say no to them. And that's how I found myself here, after all this time. "I've officially concluded that I hate Mosby Roberson," I spoke with a mouthful of nachos, ignoring how unladylike that was of me. "He better not pick on me again." "Actually, I think he kind of fancies you. You were probably the first student that didn't stammer or cower away in fear. Proud of you, girl." "Geez," I grunted, taking a sip of my Pepsi. Layla stole a couple of tortillas from my plate and I decided to pause my assault on food for a moment. I reclined back in the cramped space of our booth. From my position, I peered over my shoulder and caught sight of Gabby juggling two plates of steaming waffle fries and chicken wings. Under the crook of her armpits, something suspiciously like two Bavaria beers were lodged. Her face was scrunched up in pure concentration and her mouth moved faintly as she cursed under her breath. My lips parted and I uncrossed my legs. "Should we help her?" Layla's eyes glimmered. "No." "You're terrible." "That's what makes me the best friend. I'd rather watch you struggle and drop your plates. I'll point at you and laugh. Then maybe I'll consider helping you out." Gabriela reached our booth soon enough and with strenuous effort placed two large plates of food in front of us. Layla was the first one to shamelessly dig into her fries. "Thanks for all your help, guys," Gabby said dryly. "Really, it was much appreciated." Giving her a sheepish smile, I took a chicken wing from her plate. "I offered, I swear. Layla's the one who stopped me." "Bitch," she muttered as she slipped inside the booth. "I'm not going back for the nachos or club sandwiches." I nibbled on a fry. "I volunteer." "...as tribute," Layla finished, sending us an amused look. As Gabby gathered her pretty red hair in a long ponytail, she flipped Layla the bird. A fine sheen of perspiration was smeared near her collarbone. Since it was only the end of August, it was still hot out. And because this place was so crowded, the inside was a burning oven. Silence rushed between us as we ate. Over the sound of the music, there was the constant drone of the air vents, the ones that barely functioned properly. As more people filed in, the sound of chatter and laughter grew. It was when Layla was halfway through her plate of waffle fries that she spoke up. "I heard there's another party happening tonight." "Where?" Gabby chimed in as she took a long pull of her beer. "Joshua Brown's house." I cocked a brow in Layla's direction, pursing my lips. "How do you know about that?" Biting her bottom lip, she ducked her head. Unfortunately for Layla, not before I caught the blush tinging her cheeks. Oh God, no. "He invited me." Her voice was barely audible over the loud raucous but I managed to make out the mumbled words. Gabby was first to react - spitting out a mouth full of concoction as her eyes widened the size of saucers. With the cuff of her leather jacket sleeve, she wiped her mouth. "Holy shit, Lay. He's damn fine. Please, tell me you're not joking." Layla shook her head and glanced at me from under her lashes, face set in a stark mixture of fear and anticipation. "Not joking," she intoned softly, keeping her gaze fixed on me. "He asked me about a week ago." My head swam as I reached forward to pop a fry in my mouth. A couple of months ago, I vaguely remember telling Layla how much I didn't like Joshua. Wide Receiver for the Panthers at Northwind High, he was what every girl at this age wanted, craved. A rich ostentatious jock who played the innocent card whenever he was caught doing something he shouldn't. He had quite the reputation. He was sweet enough but just like most guys at his age, he excelled at two things; fucking with girls - and their hearts - and getting away with it. I'd be damned if I stood on the sidelines and watched my best friend get manipulated. Layla and Gabby had both waited, gauging my reaction. They knew how I felt about parties and boys like that. At the hopeful glint in Layla's eyes, my stomach churned in painful realization.