I shook my head.
Leanne explained. “Mystique is a famous club on the island, and they host a party at the beginning of every school year to welcome the students.”
“Let me tell you,” Oliver said, “it’s an event you don’t want to miss.”
Okay, a party. That could be fun. Instead my mind conjured up high school videos shown during Drug Free Week, filled with drunk high school students OD’ing on drugs.
“And,” Leanne said, “let’s not forget that Andre de Leon will be there.”
“Who’s Andre de Leon?” I was two steps behind everyone else. I swear I must have missed an email.
“She did not just say that,” Oliver said.
Leanne shook her head. “Girl, you have a lot to catch up on.”
“Apparently,” I muttered.
“Andre de Leon is Europe’s all-time bad boy,” Leanne said. “He dates celebrities—and goes through them like potato chips—runs semi-legal establishments, and often gets in trouble with the law.”
“You forgot the sexploits and the blood-drinking,” Oliver said.
Blood drinking? What a disgusting fetish to have.
“I thought that fell under ‘dating celebrities’?” Leanne said.
“Sure, whatever. Point is,” Oliver said, facing me, “he’s naughty and smoking hot, and he’s going to be there tonight.”
I smiled and tried to act excited about this Andre de Leon and tonight’s festivities in spite of my stomach roiling. Call it intuition, but I had a bad feeling about the club.
Regardless, I would not sabotage my chances at friendship within the first day just because I didn’t want to go.
A little dancing never hurt anyone.
Right?
Chapter 2
That evening, instead of walking out of the building, Leanne and Oliver led me down to the dorm’s basement.
“Guys, I thought we were going to the party,” I said.
“What do you think we’re doing?” Oliver said. “Checking the plumbing?”
Leanne snickered. “You’ll see.” She pulled out her cell and turned on the phone’s flashlight.
Spare mattresses leaned against a wall of the basement, and a few boxes sat to each side of the walkway. Directly above us was Professor Nightingale’s room. I could hear her even footfalls as she moved back and forth across the room, pacing.
Further in, the room was filled with abandoned furniture. Flush against the back wall was a bookshelf filled with dusty books. Oliver and Leanne approached it.
“It should be Aesop’s Fables,” Leanne said, pointing to a worn blue book. The gold lettering was barely legible. Oliver grabbed it and pulled. There was a groan as metal ground upon metal, and slowly the bookshelf swung open.
Above us the pacing stopped.
“Seriously?” I said. “This is our way out?”
“If you don’t want to get caught,” Oliver said, “then this is it.”
“According to my grandmother, this passage should drop us off just outside the school. From there we can catch a taxi.” I did the math. That was a dizzying distance spent walking in a cold, dark, underground passage.
“What is this?” I asked, eyeing the dark hole.
“A persecution tunnel. It’s your medieval fire escape, although now mostly students use it.”
Above us I heard Professor Nightingale’s door open and close shut.
Oliver cursed.
“She’s coming,” Leanne said.
I bit my lip and eyed the dark tunnel. This was the time to make a new impression, a good impression, if I wanted to fit in. And I did, badly. While my brain was telling me to stay as far away from the creepy passage as possible, my ego was telling me that option was out of the question.
Outside the basement I could hear someone’s footfalls coming down the stairs. Oliver and Leanne looked at me, eyes wide. I took a deep breath for courage, pulled out my phone, and flipped on my own flashlight. I walked ahead of Leanne and Oliver into the secret passage.
“I guess we’d better get going,” I said. The damp clung to my tiny dress and I shivered. The cold had a hollow feel, as though there was not enough air to fill the dark passage.
Oliver whooped. “Someone’s excited to par-tay!” he said as he entered the dark tunnel. Leanne followed close behind, making sure to shut the entrance behind her.
Maybe—just maybe—I’d make it here.
***
I tugged down the short cocktail dress and took a sip of the bitter soda Leanne had bought me. We’d only been at Mystique for twenty minutes, and I was already regretting it.
“Ugh, it’s so freaking humid! My hair is already starting to frizz!” Leanne shouted above the pounding music.
“Leanne, does your Coke taste funny? Mine does.”
She gave me a look. “Of course it tastes funny. I ordered a Rum and Coke.”
I choked on my drink. “But—but how could you? You’re not eighteen,” I stammered, trying to collect myself. I’d never had alcohol before. Considering its foul taste, I wasn’t sure I liked it at all.