“Ugh, it smells like vomit and beer in here.” I spotted a can of air freshener and sprayed a generous amount, but it didn’t help much. Now the tiny bathroom just smelled like vomit, beer, and “Lilac Breeze.”

Great. At least the smell matches my mood: rotten.

My best friend Simone had invited me to her annual Halloween bash and promised me a night to remember, but so far it had been nothing but a parade of drunk jerks in shitty costumes who couldn’t hold their liquor.

Why did parties always sound a lot better than they ever ended up being?

Right about now, I would rather be anywhere than where I was, locked in Simone’s foul bathroom staring at my reflection and wishing that my parents had gotten braces for me when I was a kid. Having a mouth full of metal would have sucked as a teen, but at least I would’ve ended up with a perfect set of teeth to show for it.

I would even go as far as considering myself pretty attractive—if not for this fucking gap. Not only was it a glaring imperfection front and center for everyone to see, but it also made me look a lot younger than twenty-two, and I wanted nothing more than to be seen as the responsible, mature adult that I was.

I straightened the cheap plastic cat ears clipped in my hair. I looked and felt absolutely ridiculous.

So much for looking like a real live adult. I don’t even look like an adult cat.

My whisker makeup was smeared across my cheeks, making me look like I’d just lost a dirt-pie-eating contest. My “cat costume” was even worse—an ashy black button-down shirt and equally washed-out black leggings. I was wearing white combat boots when I probably should have been wearing black stilettos or something. I didn’t even have a tail. No claws, either.

I looked like what I was: a tired, aspiring graduate student who’d thrown something together so her friend wouldn’t yell at her for not dressing up for her costume party.

I should be at home studying for the GRE. If I fail to get into veterinary school because of this stupid party, I’ll never forgive Simone for guilting me into coming!

Someone pounded on the door so hard the towels hanging from the hook dropped to the floor.

“Hey, what gives? Are you going to be in there all night or what?” a voice shouted.

“I’m sick!” I moaned, clutching at my stomach and doubling over even though there wasn’t anyone around to see it. “Leave me alone.” I made a loud retching noise, flushed the toilet a few times.

“Fucking disgusting!”

“Sorry, too much peach schnapps, I guess!”

I waited a few beats, and when the pounding didn’t start up again, I brought my attention back to my reflection. If I was going to go back out there, I had to at least fix the whiskers.

Part of me wanted to forget the whole thing and leave, but it had taken me nearly an hour’s worth of trains to get from Brooklyn to Simone’s place in Midtown Manhattan. I figured it was better to stay and make the best of it.

And maybe I could spruce myself up a bit, even try to look a bit sexier by unfastening a few buttons and showing a little cleavage. It would probably help me fit in better since almost every girl at this party was wearing some skimpy excuse for a costume. I’d never seen so many “sexy exterminators” in my life.

One girl was wearing nothing but strategically-wrapped string, claiming to be a box of dental floss. It left nothing to the imagination and was, not surprisingly, a big hit.

I was wiping off my makeup to get a fresh start on creating the perfect cat look when the pounding started up again.

“Aliyah? It’s Simone! What the hell? Why are you hiding out in there?”

I almost couldn’t hear her over the bad karaoke blaring in the background. Someone was butchering one of those super sappy boy band songs, and the crowd was going wild.

I should really get the hell out of here before they get drunker and start butchering rap songs.

“I’m not hiding out. I’m just…reinvigorating. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Reinvigorating?” Simone repeated.

“Yes. Freshening up. Centering myself. Just a minute.”

I wiped off the rest of my makeup and stared at my reflection. I felt a little better looking at my bare face. I didn’t look bad, but I didn’t look good, either. Maybe it was the ears. Or maybe it was just time to go.

No, Aliyah. You came all this way, and you told yourself that you wanted to be more social, so this is your chance to prove to Simone that you’re not a wet blanket.

Determined and with a steady hand, I drew on a fresh set of whiskers—six straight black lines, three on each cheek—that looked just a touch less awful than before. It would have to do.

It was time to face the music. I opened the door and screamed at the huge werewolf blocking my way.