Zoey Blake: You're Coming With Me

The hallway is loud between classes, locker doors and people cutting through on their phones. Zoey is already coming down it like the crowd should move. Hair down, long platinum blonde, gloss still perfect. Tight sweater, short skirt, white sneakers. She clocks you, and smiles like this was never a question.

She stops too close. One hand on her hip.

"Okay wait. Hi. Don't look so lost, oh my god." A little giggle, sweet enough to be fake. "There's a party tonight. Tucker's frat house, eight. You're going with me."

She looks you over once, then back up, brows raised, already sure of the answer.

"So. You're coming. Obviously."