Pretty Ugly Promises by C.W. Farnsworth EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: C.W. Farnsworth
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available for Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 2 MB
LYLA
As soon as we step from the porch’s slatted floor inside, past the red front
door, I know this is the wrong house. A rap song is blaring, loud enough
that I can feel the beat pulsing against my skin and rattling my bones. The
hardwood floors, stained with spilled drinks and muddy shoes, are vibrating
beneath me.
It’s crowded and hot inside. Loud and smelly. Sweat and smoke swirl in
the sticky air, adding substance to the intangible. Each time I breathe, I have
to suppress the urge to cough.
I glance at Kennedy, who looks as shell-shocked by the scene we’re
standing in as I feel. Her tawny skin is flushed, her eyes wide as she takes in
the throng of people packed in the room. My wildest college experience so
far was passing around a bottle of cheap merlot in Pembrook Hall’s common
room late on a Tuesday night, knowing I had an eight a.m. interviewing skills
class on Wednesday.
I’ve never attended a party like this.
I didn’t even know parties like this existed in real life. The term rager
seemed like a product of Hollywood and its unrealistic expectations about…
basically everything.
But here I am, awkwardly standing and experiencing it firsthand.
There’s an honest-to-God disco ball attached to the ceiling at an awkward
angle, sending glints of light spinning around and dancing off the bodies
filling the room.
Kennedy mouths something to me, but I can’t catch a word of it. Reading
lips has never been a strength of mine, especially when I’m already
overstimulated and overwhelmed.
I shrug in response, then wave a hand toward the door we just entered,
silently asking if we should head back out into the cold. There’s no way to
pinpoint exactly where the music is coming from. It seems to be emanating
all around us, pressing in and making conversation impossible.
My wave whacks a passing football player’s arm. The one and only
reason I have any clue he’s on the football team is his attire. His backward
ball cap, sweatshirt, and sweatpants all have UPenn Football embroidered on
them. He looks like a football player too, tall and broad.
And he’s clearly used to taking hits packing more force than my hand is
capable of. There’s no acknowledgment of the contact or of the apology that
gets lost in the high decibel of the music before he keeps striding forward,
unbothered.
The crowd parts for him in a way I haven’t seen it do for anyone else.
Kennedy nods toward the opening, and this time, unspoken communication
works.
We follow the path that’s been carved before it disappears, through the
first room and into the kitchen, whose cabinets are painted the same garish
shade of red as the front door. It’s quieter in here, but not by much. The
music is audible, just slightly muffled.
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