Free Inferno: Part 1 by Alyssa Winters

don’t talk we blast the radio with the windows down, turning up the volume for an Iggy Azalea song.
    Finally, we pull up to the back of a grand mansion, and I catch a glimpse of enormous columns before we round the back of the house.
    We get out and I follow Alexa up a well-manicured pathway into a side entrance.
    Alexa strides in without knocking, and makes a beeline for the kitchen with me still trailing behind. She knows her way around, so this must not be her first party in this house.
    As we put on our aprons, a woman stalks in, surveying everything. Her expression is harsh, but something about her face is familiar. I’m snapped out of my reverie, though, because she has landed on a detail not to her taste: me.
    “You simply cannot serve guests looking like that. Your hair is disgraceful! Fix it or leave,” she scolds.
    With that, she strides back out not even giving me a chance to respond.
    We drove here with the windows down, and my hair blew all over the place while Alexa’s hair barely escaped from its braid. I take a cue from her and braid my hair. The criticism from the woman is still bothering me and I try to shake it. My mind doesn’t want to seem to leave it alone though.
    “Does that happen often?” I ask Alexa, shamefaced.
    “I wouldn’t worry about it. We need to get out there. You should head to the great room first.” Alexa points to one of the doors.
    Dutifully, I pick up a tray and scurry out, not wanting to earn the wrath of the hair tyrant. In my hurry I forget to ask for directions, so I follow the path towards the voices of chatting partygoers.
    I walk through the crowd with a tray of hors d’oeuvres numerous times, smile and compliment several guests. They are all dressed impeccably, and with the small bit of flattery become rather gracious, asking my name and making small talk. When the tray is empty I excuse myself, but I have to walk directly past the tyrant to reach the kitchen.
    After I pass through the doorway, the name “Bryce” reaches my ears, and I stop short. Leaning around, I hear them talking about Bryce and someone named Kayla.
    The tyrant keeps bemoaning that Bryce is chasing trash while he should be reconciling with Kayla. Her friend murmurs, hinting that Kayla will be at the party very soon. Her voice lowers and I miss the rest of what she says.
    “Well at least one of our children has some sense,” the tyrant muses.
    Before I can hear more, one of the guests sees me leaning against the doorway, and I hurry back to the kitchen.
    Alexa bursts in, grabbing a toast point with caviar before ranting about how nice the party is.
    “You should see the outside,” she insists. “The yard looks amazing.”
    “Alex—why didn’t you tell me this was Mrs. Cole’s party—Bryce’s mom?”
    “Oh, Mila, take it easy. This way, you get to meet the in-laws without knowing it was them. You can’t have a much more objective way to see the people Bryce is related to. You should be thanking me—lighten up!” A coy smile crosses her face that makes me doubt her intentions.
    She grabs a full tray and breezes back out to the party, but I don’t want to leave the kitchen. I guess I’m the poor trash Mrs. Cole is seething over. Why couldn’t we meet when I am in nice clothes, instead of an apron like some indentured servant? Alexa couldn’t possibly think this was a good idea. I guess Shayne didn’t keep his mouth shut after all.
    I stare out the window into the yard and my heart jumps. I see Bryce, smiling intensely, and then a thin blonde comes into vision, running into his arms. He hugs her warmly and they talk for what seems like an eternity. She whispers in his ear, then swats his arm playfully. He swings his arm around her shoulder and they disappear out of my sight.
    I know flirting when I see it.
    All I want to do is leave, but when I spin around to find an escape, Mrs. Cole is blocking me. Her face is full of disdain, and she begins her speech with poise and