“I’mokay. Let’s do this.” I suck in a lungful of crisp autumn air,reminding myself I can leave any time I need to, even if it’s justto return outside for some air.
Felicity releasesmy waist and offers me a hand. Relief and gratitude surge throughme as I slip my hand into hers. Despite my resolve to muster up asmuch confidence as possible, the shaky feeling persists. Felicitythrows open the doors and we stride inside.
I search forLeland among the people milling around the entrance and coat checkarea. My eyes go wide as I take in the sea of neon, geometricalshapes, plaid, tie dye, and glitter. Talk about a blast from thepast. The feeling of falling through time into my childhood easessome of the persistent knots in my stomach.
We check our coatsand follow the sound of Whigfield’s “Saturday Night” into the mainevents area. Felicity sings along to the song, bopping beside me asI take in the low-lit room with its starlight effect from the discoball. The majority of the room is dedicated to the makeshift rinkwhere people are roller skating, with a shoe rental area and baroff to one side, and a small stage at the far end of the room.Wesley is doing his DJ thing, wearing what appears to be some sortof armor that glints in the flashing lights.
Felicity leans inand speaks loudly so I can hear her over the music. “If you decidenot to skate, you could always dance instead.” She points to wherea group of women are dancing near the DJ stage. “Look, there’sLee.” She grabs my hand and leads me across the room.
Ibarely recognize my own fake boyfriend. His baggy blue jeans areripped at the knee, and he’s sporting an INXS t-shirt under a redplaid shirt. His hair is artfully messy and he’s wearingeyeliner.Eyeliner.God help me. He looks like a ’90s grunge fantasy come tolife.
“Someone got the memo,” Felicity says to him ingreeting.
“I aimto please.” The words are meant for his sister, but it’s me he’sgrinning at. He takes me in from head to toe, his appreciative gazeleaving shivery tingles in its wake. “I scoured Google for ideas,and landed on a cross between Kurt Cobain, that hilarious slackerkid fromClueless,and Jared Leto’s character inMy So-CalledLife.”
“And isthat my eyeliner?” Felicity asks, her eyes narrowing playfully onher brother.
“Perksof sharing a bathroom with your little sister.” Leland laughs whenFelicity shoves his shoulder. He waves at someone behind me and Iturn, letting out a cry of surprise when I recognize the group ofpeople heading our way.
I have a second totake in Evie’s long, white dress and glittering white wings beforeshe pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. Wesley’s armor makes moresense now; the pair are dressed as Romeo and Juliet from the iconicmasked ball scene in Baz Luhrmann’s movie.
“We’reso glad you’re here,” Wesley says, leaning over Evie to kiss myforehead. Evie releases me and Hollie takes her place.
“Hi,Blossom,” I say, admiring her flowery dress, black vest, andfloppy-brimmed hat with a large white daisy affixed to it. The fourof us watched reruns ofBlossomtogether in the late ’90s, and Hollie and I wentthrough a short phase where we were obsessed with Blossom and Six’shats. “Is that one of your original hats?”
Hollie’sexpression is a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. “The wholeoutfit is vintage. When Evie told us about tonight, I went throughsome old boxes in the attic and found this stuff.” She touches thehat, indicating where it’s slightly squashed on oneside.
Delighted laughterspills past my lips. I reach for Louisa, whose familiar outfit islikely as old as Hollie’s. “Look at you, Baby Spice, adorable asalways.” And she is, in her pink dress, white knee-high socks,chunky white sneakers, and pigtails. I send her a sassy wink as Iincline my chin over her shoulder and ask, “Who’s yourfriend?”
Even in thedarkened room, I can see Louisa’s blush. She steps aside andmotions wordlessly at Fergus, who comes forward and greets me witha kiss to each cheek. He looks sexy as sin in his all-black outfitof leather jacket, t-shirt, and leather pants. When he lowers thesunglasses that are perched on his head, it hits me: he’s The Fly,one of U2 frontman Bono’s alter egos from the ’90s.
“Ican’t believe you’re all here,” I say to the group atlarge.
“Youcan thank Leland for that,” Hollie says. “Evie and Wes mentionedthe event in passing last week, but Lulu and I didn’t plan to come.I ran into Leland at the diner last night, and he convinced me weshould all be here.”
Leland steps upbeside me and loops his arm around my shoulders. “It’s more fun tohave a group,” he says. Then, just for my ears, he adds, “And Ithought you might appreciate the moral support.”
At a loss forwords, I simply shift to embrace Leland. The arm he had around myshoulders slips to my back and his other arm closes around me,pulling me in so he’s holding me flush against his body. I know myfriends are watching and I can imagine what they must be thinking.I close my eyes and push away those thoughts, allowing myself amoment to be held by Leland. To pretend his feelings for me matchthe growing affection I’ve been experiencing since the night wefirst reunited at the Village.
I squeeze my eyestight as Leland loosens his hold, brushing his lips against mycheek as he releases me. There’s a hint of concern in his eyes asthey meet mine, but I force a bright smile to assuage his worries.The smile is only fake for a minute before the song playingtransitions into “Saturday Night Divas” by the SpiceGirls.
I whip around tosee that Wesley has returned to the stage and has his headphonesback in place. He waves when he spots me looking.
“Iasked him to play this for us,” Evie says. “I requested a heavyrotation of Spice Girls tonight, and he said he has itcovered.”
I laugh. Of coursehe does; Wesley knows his girls well. “In that case, let’s godance.”
*****
“Drinking alone?”
I turn myattention from the shot of vodka sitting on the bartop to Fergus.After nearly an hour of dancing, I excused myself to use thebathroom, and made a side trip to the bar on the wayback.
“Liquidcourage.” I pull the shot closer to me without lifting it. “Ithought it might help me work up the nerve to finally get out onthe rink.”
I expect Fergus toquestion that. Instead, he slides onto the stool next to me andflags down the bartender. When he has a glass of scotch in front ofhim, he angles to face me and lifts the glass in atoast.
Fergus watches medown the shot, a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth.He sips his drink and shifts more on the stool so he’s facing theroom. We sit in silence, watching the skaters loop the rink, theirlaughter and raised voices audible over the music. I’d normally beantsy sitting in silence with someone I don’t know well, butFergus’s body language is open and relaxed. He seems comfortablewith us simply enjoying each other’s company, and I have a feelinghe doesn’t need me to attempt to fill the silence.
