Major fuckup; lesson learned.
“I’m really sorry about your parents,” Jenny says after a beat, her features softening.
I shrug despite feeling a shift in my stomach. “It was going to happen sooner or later.”
Jenny and I met freshman year when we were assigned the same dorm. We became best friends though after we drank a few too many Four Lokos and trauma bonded. Three years later, we’re still trauma bonding, but without the Four Lokos. They’re actually part of our trauma now; we can’t look at them, or smell them, without getting sick.
We’re also on scholarships and part of the small percentage of students whose parents aren’t swimming in money.
We quickly realized we didn’t fit in when our classmates talked about visiting Monte Carlo in a private plane, the fashion shows they sat front row at, and the Birkin they were going to pick out.
With that said, Jenny and I know a lot about each other, like my parents’ overbearing, controlling tendencies and her family’s dependence on her.
“It’s horrible they would disown you for what you decide to do with your life.” She folds her light brown arms against her chest.
I lean against the cold wall and sigh, blowing at the bangs on my forehead. I knew they wouldn’t react well to the news, but I didn’t anticipate them turning their backs on me. Today was rough and it’s only going to get rougher.
I stop adding and subtracting our bills when the bouncer lets us know we’re allowed to go in.
“Just one night, let’s pretend everything’s okay.” Jenny takes my hand in hers, staring at me with hopeful eyes. “Let’s have a good time. Yeah?”
Once my mind is set on something, it’s hard to shut it down, but I know if I don’t stop thinking for one night, I’ll spiral. So, I smile and nod. “Yeah, come on.”
We walk hand in hand inside, the blaring music already drowning out my loud thoughts. The noise grows tenfold once the door shuts behind us.
Salt is supposed to give underwater vibes, and it’s delivering—from the jellyfish-like disco balls that take up every inch of space on the ceiling and the intricately designed, color-changing seaweed on every surface, to the bubbles floating around us and the ripples of water projected on the walls.
“This is fucking insane!” Jenny shouts over the deafening music, gripping my hand tight as she marvels at the place.
I do the same. It’s chaotically loud, trippy, and crowded. A college student’s and stoner’s dream come true.
We step aside before going to the bar, running through our do’s and don’ts.
“I think we’ve gone over everything,” I say.
“You think we look okay?” Jenny sweeps her gaze over herself and then at a group of hot girls that walk by us.
There’s a bit of hesitance in her voice, and I get it. We’re not wearing designer clothes unless you want to count the dupe Prada skirt I’m wearing. I bought it off a woman on the side ofthe street. It was originally sixty dollars, but I managed to get her to lower it to twenty-five.
“Yes, we look hot.” I brush my straight black hair over my shoulders, adjust my snake-print mini skirt, and retie the string on my sleeveless burgundy crop top. It does nothing to hide my breasts, but I guess it’s there for aesthetic purposes, and it also has a lace trim. “I know we’re not wearing thousand-dollar outfits, but it’s all about confidence…Or whatever those self-help books say.”
She giggles and I feel her uncertainty fade away as she fixes her dress’s thin shoulder straps.
“Remember: no getting drunk.” I hook my arm in hers as we slip past the crowd and amble over to the bar, attempting to avoid getting bumped and stepped on, but it still happens.
She shoots me a mischievous smile, placing her right hand to her heart. “I promise to behave.”
Though I need that reminder more than she does because I have a tendency to get carried away.
Once we get our drinks, we make our way to the dance floor.
I don’t know how long we’ve been dancing for, but the only time we stepped away is to get drinks. The crowd seems to have gotten larger and tighter. Sweaty bodies grind against each other and get a little handsy. Fortunately, most of it has been girls, which I don’t mind. There’s something invigorating about girls having a good time together even if we don’t know each other. It’s the occasional guy who thinks it’s cute to grab my ass that bothers me.
So, I do the equally cute thing and use the tip of my heel to stab their foot.
Jenny makes a gun motion to her head, rolling her eyes theatrically. “I swear they don’t get the hint.”
After I’ve had the pleasure of stomping on the fifth guy of the night, I say, “Thank God I chose to wear these.”
