She presses her lips together tightly and nods.
“So, you wanna dance?” I blurt out before some other guy swoops in and steals her from me.
“Uh, sure. I’m just anxious,” she says, starting towards the dance floor.
“Don’t be. Everyone’s just having a good time.”
We insert ourselves in the crowd. The song is upbeat, which is not exactly what I was hoping for when I asked if she’d want to dance with me.
Twenty minutes have passed and of course not a single slow song has been played. It’s beyond irritating. I’m half tempted to ask the DJ if he’s physically incapable of playing something slower than this ear-aching pop crap. None of these songs are familiar to me or to Addison, but we’re doing our best to make the most of it.
I thought Addison was fine and that her nerves went away. She’s been laughing at my dance moves, or lack thereof. I’m second-guessing that now though, because she’s been in thebathroom the last ten minutes. I’m not sure what to do; I can’t exactly go in there.
I wait, leaning against the wall in the hallway across from the bathrooms, the music from the gym still audible but muffled.
Finally, the women’s bathroom door swings open and out she comes. Her hair is now tied back in a loose ponytail, her face flushed.
I push off the wall. “Is everything alright?”
“I just…can’t get it together.” She shakes her head, “I’m too worked up. Did you see Dylan and Joel in there sharing a flask?” She exhales, as if those words themselves disgust her.
Addison doesn’t drink. She’s sipped on some different things, just to try it, but she has absolutely no interest in drinking. My friends drink a little, but nothing ever gets out of hand or anything. Sometimes I’ll have a beer with them, but one’s enough for me.
“Yeah, butyou’renot going to get in trouble for it.”
“I don’t want them to get sick. If someone gets sick—”
“They’re not going to get sick,” I cut in, shaking my head.
“You don’t know that!” she snaps. I’m taken aback a little; she doesn’t snap at me, ever. She paces around the vacant hallway with her chin lifted towards the ceiling and her eyes closed.
“Call my mom. Tell her to come get me,” she chokes out.
“Addison…”
“Call her!” she pleads. I shut my mouth and pull my phone out of my pocket to find Maureen Jennings’ number.
While I wait for her to answer, I study Addison, still pacing, still taking deep breaths, and still looking up. Her eyes are open now, and it looks like she’s counting by the way her lips are moving.
Maureen’s voice comes through the phone. “Hello?”
I turn around and walk away from Addison, lowering my voice. “Hey, Addison told me to call you…I think she wants to leave.”
“I’ll be right there. Are you outside with her?”
“Outside?” I question. “No?”
“Get her outside.”
“Okay.” We hang up, and I slip my phone back in my pocket and turn back to Addison. It clicks in my head—getting her outside where the air is cold will help. She’s told me that before.
“Let’s go outside,” I suggest. My words speak some type of deeper meaning to her, and she nods and starts to walk towards the set of doors that lead out to the back parking lot.
She’s not saying anything to me. My heart is beating faster; I’m worried about her. I guess this is what the anxiety is like to witness? I didn’t take it to be this intense. She definitely downplays it when she talks about it.
Once we get outside the doors, I see her shoulders drop and her knees unlock. She’s starting to relax.
I give her a minute to breathe. “You good?”
