Midnight came and went. The Khadra twins finished their set with a crowd-pleaser, the O.C. theme song remixed EDM-style, and in the lull between sets, wordless techno pulsed through the speakers to keep the energy going. Strobes bathed everything in savage red and electric blue, acid green and shocks of pink. There was a chameleon quality to it. Kas felt that he could finally move freely, just one in a crowd of many, no longer obligated to suffer through small talk or feign interest in things which didnât really interest him. Heâd changed into jeans and a faded, canary-yellow T-shirt bearing a photograph of the Bad Brains circa 1986, his dark curls as unruly as always. Nothing on the surface differed from his usual, quiet coolâ but still, he could feel that the gala had depleted something essential from him. The lack of it left him scarce, hard to engage. An observer on the edges of the party rather than an active participant.
At a certain point, he found himself leaving a conversation and looking up as a gust of wind filled the palm trees. Their fronds stirred slowly, as if underwater. This was supposedly his chosen lifestyle; this was the look of it, these were the people that populated it. This was a party he was technically co-hosting. And yet, he could feel his oppressive mood persisting like a heavy, low-hanging fog, no sun inside to burn it off. All he could think about was the massive clean-up heâd have to orchestrate tomorrow. Him, because who else? Not the Master of Ceremonies, who was currently pouring Titoâs across a line-up of shot glasses for some Eastern European models, their every rib visible in the neon light. A collective cheer rose from the sidelines of the pool and Kas looked away from the tops of the palms, arms crossed, just in time to watch someone take a running leap. Those already in the pool scrambled back to make room, before a sheer curtain of water sloshed over the edge and descended on the patio stones; what was left in the pool churned like sea foam above a sinking anchor. âChrist,â he said, half under his breath. It wasnât clear whether he was addressing the nearest bystander, or simply the air. âSomeone needs to be reminded that thereâs no lifeguard on duty. And no EMT on standby, if they break their fucking neck.â
      the circular icon on her instagram was glowing ombre shades of purple, pink and orange from the collection of stories she was posting on her account. most recently, the last few included a bluetooth microphone she had found. a click would show her singing along to a britney spears mix, another click a mock interview with an outlandish question and one more click featured strangers confessing their undying love for a girl they just met. - she had of course coaxed them into it.
      she pranced around the party, holding the microphone and waving it around to whatever gaudy beat was currently pumping through the speakers. she would have ignored the giant splash in the pool if she hadnât heard the christ that swept into her ear drums, the voice familiar and prompting the girl to come to a stop, green gaze flickering to the pool for a few beats before her attention falls onto the older boy. âdo you want to use my mic to make an announcement?â she muses, waving it in front of kasâ face, âitâs tragically stuck in autotune mode but -â a slender shoulder lifts into a small shrug, âi think you could pull it off.â her eyes dance with mirth, as she takes a sip from her drink swallowing the laugh that threatened to spill. she eyes him through the rim of her red cup, âkas, your vibe.. i feel like youâre about to pop a fucking vein. are you okay?â a finger darts out to push out a stray curl on his forehead as if sheâs expecting a harsh outline of a vain to be underneath. she pulls the microphone up to her lips, âkas,â she whispers, âwill some asmr-r-r-r help you chill, or how about some shots-s-s-s?â this time she can't help the infectious laugh that splits through her lips, moving the mic in front of him, as if waiting for an answer.
