Zaza is absolutely thriving.
She spins once, hands up. “I’m a theatre kid. I must perform. Anywhere. Everywhere.”
I rub my forehead.
“Yeah, well next time we hang out, can it be somewhere I don’t have to wear this mask the entire time?”
She nods easily.
“Where’s your friend?”
She glances around. “She’s finding us a table— oh! There she is.”
I follow her gaze.
Frankie stands across the room, one hand in the air, the other resting lightly on the back of a booth. Neon washes over her face. The sunglasses are gone now, so she looks softer.
She waves and my stomach tightens, then I sigh and head over.
The booth she chose is tucked deep in the back.
Dark.
Out of the way.
Everyone else is here to be seen; this corner is for ghosts.
Good.
I wonder if she picked this on purpose.
I slide into the seat and for once I actually feel like I can breathe. I could pull the balaclava down if I wanted and be a person, so I did.
Before I can say a word, Frankie slides a shot toward me, it’s clear liquid with a strong smell.
Wray & Nephew?
Her expression is clear. Truce.
Fine.
I take the glass and Zaza practically squeals.
“Aww! Look at that. We’re making progress!”
She raises her own shot high.
“To progress!”
We clink.
We drink.
The burn sits behind my ribs, steady. Calming.
“Right,” Zaza says, popping to her feet. “Now I’m gonna tell the DJ to playNewsiesso I can practise my choreography.”
I blink at her. “What?”
