My eyes shot open as a wave of nausea hit me, doubling me over in pain as I rushed to my bathroom and promptly heaved up my stomach into the toilet basin. Throat burning and skin sticky, I grimaced and glanced at myself in the mirror as another ebb of pain lolled through my brain.

"It's not your best," Jordan joked, leaning on the doorframe as I gargled mouthwash.

"Gee, you think?" I asked sarcastically, rinsing my mouth with tap in an attempt to wash the taste of alcohol away. "I feel like I'm dying. What happened last night? And why are you still here?"

Jordan sobered up at my response, lifting his weight off the frame and taking a comb in hand to start working on my hair. "You asked me to stay," he said between strokes, grey eyes focused on his task. "Anything you usually do for hangovers?"

"I haven't had much experience with absinthe," I admitted, rubbing my temple in a vain attempt to ease the aches. "Did we?"

"I would love to say yes," Jordan said with a small smile, pushing a lock of hair over my shoulder and meeting my eyes in the mirror. Their grey was that of a brooding sea on a cloudy day—mysterious, but comforting and serene. "But no. You fell asleep on the taxi, so I asked Samantha to open the door for me and I carried you in. I was going to leave, but you wouldn't let go of my sleeve... so I stayed."

"Well, other than prevent you from having a good night, what else did drunk-over-heels Stella do?" I asked, sighing in relief as I reached the end of the first round of hangover aches. My memories of last night were still jumbled up together, but flashes were beginning to fall into place. "Wait—I kissed Hunter?"

"Yep," Jordan affimed, laughing as I groaned. "And man, you can really drink! Do you know how many shots of absinthe you had?"

"Enough to die?" I asked, only half-joking. "Was I really that bad at the game? What was it?"

"Never-have-I-ever," Jordan said, shaking his head. "You've never had anal?"

"God," I said, groaning in disgust. "Shut it, Jordan. Did I do anything else I'd regret? Pledge to a sorority, get a tattoo, adopt a horse?"

"I don't think so," Jordan said, setting down the comb and meeting my eyes in the mirror. "Beautiful."

"Enough of the sweet talk," I sighed, looking at myself in the mirror. Eyeliner smudged and lipstick still half-there, everything was a mess—except for my hair. Although it was dull and in desperate need of a shower, it looked good. Jordan had changed my part to the right, and although it was strange seeing my part to the left in the mirror, it looked interesting—the good kind of interesting. "Ever consider a career change? The hair styling world could use your expertise."

"I had a sister, you know?" Jordan asked with a laugh, but his eyes betrayed his thoughts. While he smiled and appraised me in the mirror again, a dimple etched to the left of his grin, his eyes were lost in the past. I turned and hugged him tightly, hoping to convey what he needed.

"Move again and I'll kiss you," he whispered, clutching me tightly.

"What are you waiting for?" I asked, using my hands to guide his mouth to mine. Vodka and citrus... strange, it reminded me of—

---

"She here yet?" Karen asked with a yawn as Quinn and I glanced around expectantly. We were waiting for Stacey to arrive so we could meet up with Whitney—opted out of classes on Friday, a sensible and truly enviable choice—at the mall for another run. Spring was beginning to melt into summer, and my closet needed a makeover.

"Her journalism class should have ended with ours, so I don't know why she's not out yet," Quinn said with a frown. "She would have texted if she was going to be late..."

"Let's go to her class and look for her then," I suggested, adjusting the strap of my bag before smiling helplessly at my friends. "Er—do either of you know where her classroom is?"

"A08,"Karen responded, grinning. "They interview me for sports. A lot."

"Not surprising considering how many you're in," Quinn snorted, leading the way. "Onwards!"

I trailed behind the two, lost in thought. Although I hadn't remembered everything that went on during the party, I'd had enough puzzle pieces to figure out that I'd spend the majority of the night drunk and annoyed at Kimberly. However, I had a lingering feeling that I did something I'd regret, but there were many things I'd done that night that I would wish into oblivion. Just to make sure, I wanted to ask Stacey because who better to ask for possible gossip-worthy mistakes than the person who served as the intersection of all gossip?

"Yoo-hoo! Stacey!" Karen shouted, waving at the dark-haired girl. Stacey looked over and indicated that she needed another minute before turning to continue conversing with a perky strawberry-blonde.

"Who's that?" I inquired, wracking my brain for a name. I felt like I'd definitely seen her before, but there were plenty of girls who she reminded me of.

"Rachel," Quinn supplied, making a face. "She's in my art, and she's a bit... snobby, I guess."

"Didn't she hook up with Jordan over break?" Karen asked, eyes wide as she reexamined the girl in question. "She's pretty, but she's got nothing on Stell."

"She's running for council prez," Quinn noted, grimacing. "She's not getting my vote—that much is for sure."

I rolled the new information around in my head, still confused as to why Stacey seemed to be engrossed in conversation with the girl. But I didn't have to wonder for long: Stacey was already walking over, a wide grin splayed on her face.

"Sorry 'bout that," she said, popping the 'b.' "Tidying up some business."

"'Business?'" I echoed, not understanding, but Stacey just gave me a wink.

"To the mall we go?" she asked, twirling her keys around a finger.

"Let's," Karen said, matching her grin.

---

Cheers erupted from the crowd as Jeremy stepped off the stage with a relieved but satisfied smile, waving at some who had risen to their feet to deliver a standing ovation—or to garner attention. I had to give it to the boy—he could really hit the nails on the head with the problems in the school, and it helped that he was heavily involved in both the athletic and academic sides of our university.

"Damn," Karen said, shaking her head. "I would have thrown my vote to him without complaint if it weren't for the fact that I already pledged it to Kimberly."

"Bet'cha regret that," Whitney mused, scanning the stage. This election featured three presidential candidates and a load of others who were running for the lower positions, and I had to agree with their decision: Jeremy was a formidable opponent. He'd pointed out that the bleachers hadn't been replaced in nearly fifteen years and that the decaying house near the field ought to be reconverted into an extra field for the school or sold off to a high-end cafe so that students could simply walk get their espressos in the morning. The former hadn't occurred to me—I hadn't sat in the bleachers for some time—and the latter had only been touched upon in conversations as a faraway fantasy.

There were only two speakers left: Rachel and Kimberly. Rachel looked confident—almost smugly so—but Kimberly looked like a nervous wreck. Part of my sympathized with her—Jeremy's delivery was a force to be reckoned with—but the other half of me wanted to reserve all words until after the elections when I could cross my arms and tell her with a cavalier grin: "I told you so."

A faint hush rolled over the crowd as Rachel mounted the podium, adjusting a few notes in front of her on the stand before she started. Her grin looked too smug from my angle—almost like she didn't care about the elections at all.

"Did you know that less than ten percent of our students get financial aid?" Rachel asked, faking a gasp. "Most universities strive to get more students financial aid, but we do the exact opposite. We're almost like a community for the rich, and that has to change."

My mouth dropped open—she was advocating the exact same thing as Kimberly! There was no way this was a coincidence! No one in their right mind would stand up for such a thing in this crowd!

And just like that, it hit me.

Stacey.

This was what she was talking with Rachel about that day after school. This was the plan she had concocted to bury Kimberly's hopes of winning the election. This... was what I had asked for that night at Pete's when I was drunk. This was the cause of the lingering feeling of regret in my mind.

Of course I'd remembered parts of the agreement, but I'd dreamed so many of the flashes I'd remembered of the night that I'd brushed this particular possibility off. What were the chances that I'd get so angry at Kimberly as to tell Stacey to ruin her?

But so it was, and I was drawn to Kimberly's look of horrified awe as Rachel completed her speech with more tact and arrogance than I doubt she'd be able to muster in a lifetime. Horrified as I was at the sequence of events, I also couldn't bring myself to regret my decision: I had been drunk, and I hadn't technically done wrong.

Despite how awful I knew I should feel, I couldn't help the small flame of sadistic satisfaction that flickered inside. I'd warned her to change her pitch, but she hadn't listened. In fact she hadn't listened to anything since her arrival, never picking up on the subtle hints the stratified student body presented to her. It was black and white like this, with minimal shades of grey. I was better than her, so she should roll over and play dead. This—

I cut myself off, both neither willing or wanting to see what lied at the end of that train of thought. This was no way to behave, no way to exist... but it—

I shot up from my seat as Rachel finished, indicating that I needed to use the restroom before rushing off. I wouldn't— I shouldn't— I couldn't—

But I could.

---

Author's Note:

Hey everyone! How's life, how's the story?

Updated as promised (would anyone notice if updated on Wednesday instead...), hope you liked it!

Any thoughts, suggestions, etc? Still looking for ideas for the flashback/inserts at the beginning of the chapter!

Anyhow, until next Tuesday! Hope to see you then, my lovelies!

 —Littlewhims