And the group moves on, trickling into rooms farther down the hall.
Are those girls really okay? Did I do enough? Should I follow them?
No. Sloane gave me her name, which she probably wouldn’t have done if she was trying to hide something. She looked me right in the eyes and said she’s got it covered.
A tension headache is screwing slowly into the space behind my left eye, spiking the nausea in my stomach. I want to leave, and if I can’t leave, I at least need some fresh air.
I have to find Nick.
Swimming through the crowd downstairs is harder now—the numbers at the party have swelled in the last hour. For thirty minutes or so I navigate the swarms and pods of people, throwing my best smiles right and left when people greet me, asking for Nick at every turn. I’ve been through every first-floor room and part of the grounds, and I can’t find Nick or the guy he was with. He’s not answering my texts.
Finally a text from Jordan pops up. Where are you?
I text her back. Rear entrance. Can’t find Nick, looked everywhere downstairs. Can you check upstairs?
After more fruitless wandering and asking, Jordan and I meet behind the house. She keeps fidgeting with her bag, switching her weight from one foot to the other, plucking at the neckline of her dress. “Did you find Nick?” she asks.
“No, and it’s nearly three. Do you think he’s okay?”
“He probably just went off with someone.”
“But he would have texted me.”
“Really?” Jordan lifts her eyebrows. “He reports every romantic tryst to his cousin?”
“No, but—”
“It’s fine. One of Gatsby’s staff will call him a car when he’s ready to go. Just text him that we’re leaving, okay?”
My head is throbbing hard, and surges of nausea keep welling in my gut. I don’t have the energy to argue with her. After texting Nick, I climb into Jordan’s car and roll the window down, dragging in deep lungfuls of cool night air, beating back the sickness.
“You okay?” Jordan asks.
“Headache.”
“But you had fun, right?”
“I did, until—”
“Yeah, sorry I got called away. I met Gatsby, though! He’s hot and well spoken. And he told me things—god, Daisy, I can hardly believe it—but I can’t tell you. He made me promise not to say a word to anyone. But it’s life-changing, Daisy, honestly.”
“Don’t trust him,” I say wearily. “We don’t know anything about him.”
“But he explained everything, and it makes so much sense. I really want to tell you. But I can’t. I promised not to. Not yet…”
“Jordan.” I can barely manage the word without gagging. “If you don’t want me to throw up in your car, please let’s just be quiet for a while. And drive slowly, for goodness’ sake.”
5
When I wake up, the memories of the party are a hazy nightmare. Gatsby’s face in the sweeping light of the dance hall. The unconscious girls being dragged along the second floor. The absence of Nick.
I fumble for my phone, but there are no messages from my cousin. And that scares me, with a jittery wretchedness that propels me right out of bed and into the first tank top and pair of shorts I can find. I scrape earrings off my dresser without even bothering to check if they match. I’m entering the kitchen before I realize that it’s Saturday—the day my parents usually have brunch together before splitting up to do chores or hobbies.
My dad is flipping French toast on a griddle while Mom sips coffee and reads him memes and headlines from her Twitter feed. Her auburn hair is a match for my aunt Sarah’s, but where Nick’s mom has a wild mane, my mom’s crisp bob is glassy smooth, even on a Saturday.
“You got in late last night,” she says to me, with a half-smile. “But you don’t seem hung over.”
“I didn’t drink much.”
“That’s my girl.” My dad shakes the spatula at me so vigorously his glasses bounce on his nose. “That’s what I like to hear. My daughter, being smart.”
“Dad, I’m twenty-two. I can drink, and I do. I just…had other stuff on my mind last night.”
My parents exchange a glance I know all too well. They’re worried about me, which is why my mom prompted Nick to stage his little “reconnection intervention”—and now Nick is missing, and it feels like my fault.
“Join us for brunch?” Dad asks.
“Look, I’d love to, but I really need to find Nick.”
“Didn’t he go with you to the party?” My mother frowns.
“Yeah, we picked him up, but he didn’t leave with us. We couldn’t find him. I think he left with this guy…” My voice trails off as my mother rises, her dark eyes snapping.
“Daisy Faye Finnegan. Are you telling me you left your cousin at some stranger’s house?”
“He’s an adult, okay? And he was with someone,” I protest. “We checked everywhere. Jordan and I both looked, and we texted—”
“I’ll call your aunt Sarah and see if he showed up at home.” She has her phone to her ear before I can say anything else.
