Read Online Survive the Night by Danielle Vega - Free Book Online Page B

place?” Shana asks, taking a puff from her cigarette.
    â€œLike where the celebs hang out?” I ask. Shana shrugs and leans her head back, trying to blow smoke circles.
    â€œThis is New York,” she says, winking at me.
    I lean forward, peering down the tunnel that leads to the entrance. “Maybe it’s back this way?”
    I start down the tunnel, but a bouncer cuts me off before I can go any farther. He has the kind of face that looks like it doesn’t know how to smile.
    â€œNo one leaves Survive the Night until the party’s over,” the bouncer says. He hooks his thumbs into his jeans pockets and stands up straighter. He must be more than six feet tall.
    I glance at Shana, “We’re just looking for . . .”
    â€œA bathroom,” she finishes for me.
    â€œParty’s not over till five,” the bouncer says.
    â€œCome on,” Shana says, pulling me back into the party.
    â€œThat was weird,” I say. “We’re trapped down here until five in the morning. Don’t you think that’s—”
    â€œCool?” Shana stomps out her cigarette.
    â€œI was going to say strange.” I check over my shoulder again. The bouncer leans against the wall next to the tunnel, waiting for anyone else who might try to slip back to the entrance. “Shana, we have to drive back before Madison’s sleepover gets out or my parents will know I bailed.”
    â€œIt takes two hours to get back,” Shana says. “You’ll be fine.”
    â€œBut if there’s traffic . . .”
    â€œAt five in the morning?” Shana picks at the nail polish on her thumb. “I’m going to find us something to drink,” she says, letting a black flake flutter to the ground. “Think you can try to relax until I get back?”
    â€œYeah, of course,” I say, a little embarrassed that I’m getting so worked up.
    Shana veers off to the drink line, while I scramble onto the platform to look for Julie and Aya. Narrow ledges jut out from the wall above me. A girl with pigtails sits on one of them, spray-painting a face on the concrete. I ease past a group of people playing Spin the Bottle and try to make my way toward the dancers on the far end. The platform’s so crowded I can barely move. I’m about to give up and follow Shana to the drink line when I stumble over a pair of Converse sneakers and balled-up socks.
    â€œLeft foot, green!” someone shouts.
    I push past a line of people and see another, smaller group. It looks like they’re wrestling. Paint coats their hands and feet and drips from their clothes. Messy puddles of red, yellow, blue, and green cover the concrete and ooze together, making the floor look like a Jackson Pollock painting.
    â€œRight hand, blue!”
    Everyone scrambles around to find the blue paint puddles. Giggles erupt as their hands slip out from under them. A few people lose their balance and fall.
    I grin as I watch them play, thinking back to the party where I met Sam. I kept waiting for him to come inside so I could make an excuse to talk to him, but he spent most of the night in the yard with his lawn mower.
    Then, about halfway through the party, I saw him slip through the front door and sneak upstairs. I found him alone in an office on the second floor.
    â€œI was looking for an extra bathroom,” he told me. But when I promised I wouldn’t rat him out, he admitted he was actually snooping.
    â€œCheck this out,” he’d said. He stepped aside, revealing a floor-to-ceiling bookcase completely stocked with old board games. They had everything: Jenga, Trivial Pursuit, Life, Monopoly, Sorry!—you name it. My mouth dropped open when I saw it—I didn’t realize people owned board games anymore. I hadn’t seen so many in one place in my entire life.
    I threw a hand over my eyes. “Whatever game I point to is the one we’re going to