“I like, want you to offer you a drink again, but not in a pushy way, you know?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “I get it. I know, I’m a weirdo.”
It isn’t like I’ve never wondered what the appeal of it was. Why so many people do it and seem to have such a great time when they do. I’ve always been curious. Just terrified that something would happen to me or I’d wind up like my dad, having one sip and never stopping, like a hostile takeover.
I wonder if I would even know - ifheknew - that he’d been invaded.
Part of me wants to rebel, to be anyone but the stupid girl who was in the car with Colt Fowler that night. To be anyone but the girl who walks in the door to a broken home, working hard so she can run away with her sister because their dad has become a monster. Just a part of me. But that part is so loud lately. To shut it off for a while, or just turn down the screaming volume, would be such a relief.
Before I can shake the thought away, I find myself digging through a cooler and pulling out a can of some spiked lemonade seltzer drink.
“Is this any good?” I ask Mariah, showing her the label.
“Oooo, yes!” She squeals. “Oh, gimme one, too, will you?”
I grab another and hand it to her, and we crack the cans open at the same time. She taps the top of hers against my can with a metallic thunk.
“Here’s to your first drink, girl!”
I laugh and tip the can to my mouth, taking just a small sip. I brace myself as I swallow, expecting it to burn or taste like sewage and acid, but it’s actually really sweet, like a real lemonade you would get from a stand during summer,just fizzier. I take a few more sips of it before setting it down to return to the task of fruit slicing.
“Oooo, she likes it!” Mariah sings, shimmying in her seat. She holds out her hand, smacking her fingers against her palm. “Keys please.”
“Oh, right.”
I fish my car keys from my bag and set them in her hand, and she then drops them into a big bowl filled with the keys of what I can assume is everyone in attendance who is drinking tonight.
An hour later, I’ve had four of these little cans, and my fingers and nose feel just as fizzy as the drinks do going down.
There’s a warmth settled in my chest and the world moves just a little bit slower. It’s an interesting feeling, like I’m not actually standing here, watching people dance in front of me. It’s more like I’m floating on a cloud somewhere in the room, but my body is down on the ground, acting on its own free will.
After throwing my empty can away, I reach down to the cooler and lose my footing, stumbling a little. I let out a giggle as I reach into the icy abyss for another drink and a warm hand wraps around my upper arm, guiding me to a standing position.
“Hey, you alright?” Emmett asks.
I give him a few slow nods and giggle again. “Emmett! I’m great! How are you?”
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
I lean in and whisper, like I’m letting him in on some big secret. “I’m not that girl anymore.”
“Oh?” He quirks a brow. “Why’s that?”
I motion with my finger for him to come closer, and he humors me, leaning in so his ear is right in front of my lips.
“That girl was stupid. She fell for someone who just wanted to use her.” Concern takes over his features when hepulls back from me, and I slap a hand against his chest. “Not you.”
“Lead with that next time,” he laughs as he puts a hand against my back and inclines his head toward my drink. “How many of those have you had?”
“I dunno, a couple,” I tell him. “They’re really good!”
“Let’s maybe maybe make that the last one, huh?”
“Are we friends?” I ask him, cracking open the top of the can.
“Yeah,” he says, furrowing his brow. “Yeah, of course we’re friends.”
“Cool.”
