Chapter 2: The Curriculum Begins

Liv’s smile felt like a beam of pure light cutting through the noise and the strobe lights. It held all the unacknowledged potential of my own life, everything I had repressed or dismissed as too dangerous to pursue. She didn’t move, just held my gaze for a long moment, allowing the intoxicating recognition to wash over me completely. I felt the heat rising in my face, a mixture of intense anticipation and simple, foolish relief. She was here, she was real, and she remembered me.

I gripped my backpack tight, needing to anchor myself against the powerful surge of emotion. This whole stupid, chaotic party suddenly had a center, a purpose, and it was her. I started walking toward her instantly, not caring about the bodies I needed to navigate or the risk of running into someone I actually knew. I moved quickly, drawn by the undeniable gravity she always seemed to possess, trying to remember what I even planned to say. It had been three years. I couldn't just yell, Remember the gray hoodie?

But my momentum was quickly and deliberately broken.

Just as I cleared the last cluster of bodies and approached the archway leading down to the den where she stood, Liv shifted her focus. Her eyes flicked away from mine, cutting the connection with surgical precision. She turned her attention back to the group of people she had been speaking with, specifically to the tall, expensively dressed man standing closest to her.

He was significantly older than anyone else in the room, probably in his late forties, maybe early fifties. He had carefully styled gray hair and wore a sharp blazer that looked out of place in the humid, cheap party environment. He projected the kind of aggressive affluence I had spent my entire life trying to mimic in my academic pursuits, and failing to achieve in my personality.

Liv didn't waste a second. She took a swift step closer to him, closing the distance between them. Then, with a sudden, casual intimacy, she wrapped her arms around the man’s neck and pulled his face down to hers.

They started kissing. Immediately.

It wasn't a tentative, conversational peck. This was deep, possessive, public kissing that demanded attention. The man’s hands instantly went to the small of her back, gripping her almost roughly, pulling her tighter against his body. He seemed entirely surprised and intensely gratified by the sudden, intense affection. Liv looked completely immersed in the action, completely unbothered by the fact that they were surrounded by half-drunk strangers and thumping music. She acted as if they were entirely alone, completely sealed off in their own moment of private heat.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

I literally stopped walking in the middle of the narrow pass between the main living area and the kitchen. The sudden intimacy was shocking, specifically because of how quickly she had shifted from holding my gaze to consuming this man entirely. One moment I was the central focus, the long-lost friend, the moment of magnetic reconnection. The next, I was simply a minor, quickly forgotten detail in her environment.

I felt an intense flush of humiliation. It wasn't just simple embarrassment, but a profound sting of rejection, especially because I had just made the terrifying, rebellious choice to show up here solely based on the memory of her. I was standing there, awkward and alone, with my heavy backpack slung across my shoulder, feeling intensely aware of my own stiffness compared to her fluid, uninhibited interaction with this stranger. My grand rebellious entrance had ended with me being completely ignored for a man in a blazer. It felt ridiculous and entirely predictable, honestly.

I hated that the first thing I noticed was the predatory way the man’s body moved against Liv's, the sense of ownership he radiated. It made the whole encounter feel wrong, somehow, but Liv appeared to be entirely in control of the transaction. She was leaning into him, meeting his intensity with her own, matching his dominant energy perfectly. She clearly chose this moment, this man, this display.

For a foolish second, I considered turning around and leaving immediately. The impulse was strong because retreating was always my default response to social discomfort. I could still slip out the back, hail a cab, and be back in my room before ten, maybe salvage the illusion of having gone to the library. The idea of retreating back to the familiar, if suffocating, comfort of my academic schedule felt suddenly incredibly appealing. I wouldn't have to navigate this complicated new Liv, the one who kissed strangers with such casual intensity.

But then I forced myself to take a deep breath, inhaling the sharp, stale party air. I had already broken the first rule. Walking away now would mean acknowledging the entire escape was a failure, a juvenile mistake. Liv’s presence here was exactly what I had craved, the symbol of the autonomy I needed. I couldn't let a moment of public intimacy, no matter how jarring, scare me off immediately.

I waited until Liv finally pulled her head away from the man. It wasn't a shy retreat. She just paused, resting her forehead against his chest for a second while the man whispered something into her ear, still clutching her tight. Then she pushed gently back, placing both hands flat against his chest, her expression shifting back to something detached and professional. She gave him a practiced, dismissive smile that clearly said, My job is fun, but I still have a job to do.

That was my opening.

I pushed forward the last few feet. The space was tight, forcing me to brush past the older man and one of the women in his group. I didn't make eye contact with any of them. I just focused entirely on Liv, stepping directly into her peripheral vision.

“Liv?” I asked, attempting to project calm, but my voice came out a little too tight, a little too loud over the noise. “How are you here?”

Liv turned toward me, slowly, as if she were reluctantly pulling her attention away from something far more important. She scanned my face, and that wide, genuine smile from before was completely gone, replaced by a smooth mask of cool, professional disinterest. It felt like walking into a cold room after being outside in the sun.

“Emma,” she acknowledged, without any great inflection of surprise or joy. Her dark eyes were bright and precise, giving nothing away. I felt completely exposed under her sharp scrutiny, especially since I was still gripping the straps of my ridiculous, academic backpack.

The man in the blazer, realizing his moment had been interrupted, let go of Liv and finally looked at me. He raised an eyebrow slightly, assessing me instantly, dismissing me just as quickly as a potential threat.

“Who’s this, babe?” he asked Liv, his voice a low, confident growl. He didn't bother waiting for Liv to answer. “You from the study group?” he asked me, and his mouth immediately curled into a smirk, clearly mocking my age and obvious discomfort.

The comment hit close enough to the embarrassing truth, and I felt the heat rise higher in my cheeks. Before I could formulate a defensive, academic-sounding reply, Liv stepped slightly in front of me, putting a physical distance between the man’s entitled gaze and my retreating presence.

“She’s an old friend,” Liv stated, her voice even and detached. She didn't let the man’s arm touch her again. “And she’s not part of the service tonight, Julian. Just here to party.”

The man—Julian—grunted softly, clearly registering the shift in their dynamic and backing off slightly as Liv asserted her control of the conversation. He didn't look happy about the disruption, but he was smart enough not to push her.

Liv turned her full attention back to me then, but she maintained that cool, even distance. The intense, sisterly connection I had felt seconds ago was now completely absent.

“What are you doing here, Emma? I thought you were locked down for the next seven years on a fast track to the Supreme Court,” she noted, the tone light, almost joking, but the assessment felt brutally accurate. I detected a subtle undercurrent of something else in her voice, a suggestion that my pursuit of that life was entirely pointless and shallow.

“My paper felt like it could wait an hour,” I admitted, trying to match her casual tone and ignore the way Julian was now eyeing the drinks table behind her. “I saw Eliza’s message. I just… needed to get out of the house. How are you here? I thought you dropped off the face of the planet years ago.”

She waved a hand slightly, dismissing the complexity of the past three years. “Life happens. I moved back to the city about a year ago. I work in hospitality now,” Liv explained smoothly, keeping her gaze professional and steady. She gestured subtly toward the bar that had been erected in what was probably the formal dining room. It was fully stocked, and a few people were casually milling around behind it, serving drinks. “Specifically, I’m bartending tonight for Ethan. I needed the cash, and he pays well for private events.”

I felt a surge of unexpected relief at the mundane explanation. Liv wasn't here doing anything dangerous or complicated, at least according to her. She was simply working a job, making the mysterious reality of her reappearance grounded in something practical and professionally motivated. It defused the intense, sudden emotional charge of the moment. She wasn't an apparition of freedom anymore; she was an employee.

Working the party. The phrase clicked into place, making sense of her effortless command of the room and the strange intimacy she had shown Julian. She understood the needs of the clientele, the performance of service.

“Oh, I see,” I said, nodding quickly. “I should have figured. You always had a knack for nightlife, though I thought you were in Europe or something.”

“A lot of things change over three years, Emma,” Liv said, the vague statement holding a world of unspoken experience that I knew I lacked. I couldn't help but feel a sudden pang of envy for the life she had clearly lived, even if it meant working this kind of strange, late-night event.

I realized I should offer something, a gesture of friendship or support, to mitigate the awkwardness of our reconnection. My mother’s ingrained manners, the predictable response of the 'good girl,' kicked in instantly.

“Well, if you need any help, I could pour mixers or hand out cups,” I offered weakly, already regretting the suggestion almost before the words left my mouth. The thought of being trapped behind that bar, trying to keep up with the demands of fifty drunk people, made my stomach clench. But the idea of helping Liv felt like a concrete way to reconnect, a way to anchor myself to her reality. “I’m good at following instructions.”

Liv didn't even consider the offer. She tilted her head, giving me a look that was almost amused, definitely pitying, though she kept her voice light.

“No, I really don’t think so, Emma,” she said easily. “They hired me, not us. Besides, pouring drinks is probably below your academic station, isn't it? You should be saving that brainpower for torts and ethics papers, not worrying about the ratio of soda to vodka.”

The slight dismissal felt like a deliberate push, a small wall she put up between us based on my background. It was fair, honestly, since I was clearly more prepared for a lecture hall discussion than I was for this environment. I took a step back, feeling the sting of her rejection, but recognizing the truth in her words. I had nothing to offer her here.

Liv then took another step, putting her hand on my shoulder, letting her fingers tap lightly on the strap of my backpack, clearly reminding me of my current obligations. The touch was brief, almost impersonal, but it still sent a strange shiver down my spine.

“Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I have to finish my rotation,” Liv said, reiterating the professional distance. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just a fraction, making it feel like a confidential instruction.

“Go enjoy the party, Emma,” she instructed me, her dark eyes demanding compliance. “Go talk to people. Go interact with the environment you deliberately chose to enter. Look around and see what you find interesting. See who you find interesting. I’ll catch up with you later when I’m off the clock. Seriously. Go.”

Then she withdrew her hand, physically ending the contact, turning her body slightly toward the bar area, already signaling that the conversation was finished. She was forcing me out of her immediate orbit, pushing me away from the comfortable possibility of standing near her, watching her work.

I felt a sudden, profound sense of being adrift again. Liv had provided the unexpected escape, the reason for breaking every rule, and now she was simply handing me back to the chaos I had been unable to handle five minutes ago. I was alone in this loud, humid room, forced to move, forced to engage. The brief, intense moment of reconnection was over, replaced by an instruction, a new demand. She wanted me to go party.

Go talk to people. Go find someone interesting.

The instruction felt like a heavy burden, a social assignment I was wholly unprepared to execute. It was everything I was trying to avoid by initially seeking her out. Instead of rescuing me from the awkwardness, Liv was throwing me into the deep end, forcing me to sink or swim entirely on my own.

“Okay,” I managed to mumble, recognizing the finality in her tone. “Later, then.”

I turned, still clutching my backpack, and walked away from the relative quiet of the archway. I felt awkward and unmoored as I plunged back into the crowded living room. The music felt immediately louder, the bodies felt more pressing, the strobe lights more disorienting. I had to consciously force my limbs to move, pushing past a tight group of college students who were currently spilling beer everywhere.

Go talk to people. The order echoed in my head, simple and impossible. Who was I supposed to talk to? What was I supposed to say? I felt a sudden, deep internal blankness, a failure of social imagination. My entire identity was built around performance reviews, legal theory, and parental expectation. None of that gave me the necessary tools to approach a stranger over blaring electronic music.

I scanned the room again, desperately, looking for any face that looked even marginally familiar. Eliza Thorne, the one who invited me, was probably buried somewhere in the center of the dance floor, oblivious. I didn't see anyone. Not a single anchor point existed in this entire, churning environment of strange, aggressively social people.

I found a new position along an opaque paneled wall, forcing myself to stand tall and look like I was actively assessing the room, rather than praying for immediate evacuation. I tried to look interested, like I was calculating the best social approach, or waiting for a specific, important person to arrive. The reality, of course, was that I was terrified and trying to memorize the fastest route back to the entrance.

I stood there for a full minute, watching the movements of the crowd. I noticed a few men lingering near the edges, looking slightly too old, obviously predatory, hunting for targets. I noticed the groups of women, clustered tightly for protection or shared gossip. I felt completely alien to all of them, detached and observing, exactly as I always did.

This was the suffocating part of my life: the inability to cross that crucial threshold between observer and participant. I could dissect the social dynamics, analyze the motives, and accurately predict the interactions, but I couldn't step into the flow myself.

I didn't try to talk to anyone. I couldn't bring myself to make the first move, fearing inevitable rejection or, worse, prolonged, boring small talk. I just stood rooted to the spot, feeling the bass vibrate through the soles of my shoes, waiting for the mandated hour to pass so I could justify my retreat back to the relative safety of my academic isolation.

After five more minutes of paralysis, I finally allowed my gaze to drift back toward the archway where Liv was now standing, fully behind the temporary bar structure, wiping down the surface with a practiced, methodical movement. She was talking to a woman, probably one of the host's assistants, but she was entirely concentrated on the task.

I watched her for reassurance, a subtle checking in, hoping she might glance my way and give me some signal, some validation that my presence was still registered.

Suddenly, Liv raised her head.

She wasn't talking to anyone now, and she wasn't wiping the counter. She was looking directly across the crowded living room, over the surging heads, locking her gaze straight onto me again. I was surprised she could even distinguish me in the flickering light, but she clearly did.

I didn’t react, afraid to move, afraid to break the connection. I just stood there, still gripping the backpack, still pressed against the wall.

Liv didn't smile this time. Her expression was entirely neutral, but her eyes, those sharp, dark eyes, held a focused, unrelenting concentration. She was watching me, scrutinizing my lack of motion, cataloging my failure to engage, judging my paralysis. She was observing her student, waiting for the first step of the lesson to be executed.

I knew, with an unsettling certainty, that the instruction to 'go enjoy the party' wasn't a casual suggestion or an attempt to reconnect later. It was the first assignment. It was the opening lesson in the curriculum. I was supposed to be doing something right now, something bold, something that demonstrated I had learned anything about autonomy or taking power. I was supposed to be performing the necessary break from my timid identity.

I still didn't move. I couldn't think of anything to do that didn't feel cheap or entirely inorganic. I was stuck, trapped between the instruction and my total incapacity to execute it.

Liv simply held my gaze, her silence and immobility communicating more demand than any shouted command could have. She was the teacher, and I was the reluctant student, standing alone in the crowded, screaming classroom, forced to face the unexpected terror of the first exam. I needed to move. I needed to act. The only problem was figuring out what the correct action was supposed to be. Did I approach that group of boring frat boys? Did I try to find Eliza? Did I just walk up to a random stranger?

I felt the pressure intensify, tightening around my chest like the weight of my father’s expectations, but this pressure was different. It wasn't about grades or social standing. It was about pure agency. Liv watched, observing the start of my inevitable struggle.