A squeal of excitement sounds during the split second break of music blasting through the surround sound speakers. I cringe, recognizing it as Kelly’s signature greeting.
If I could never hear a singular sound again, it would be that: her nails on the chalkboard, brakes screaming combination that physically hurts my insides.
Kelly cuts through the crowd and hurls herself into Hattie’s arms like they’re long lost lovers reunited after months of being apart. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day!”
“I picked up a surprise when I dropped off my catering order tonight.” Hattie takes a step back and pulls me by the hand from my hiding space behind her. I trip over my feet and she giggles, not in a laughing at me kind of way. More like a ‘you’re too clumsy for your own good’ kind of way.
I smile and lift my hand for a little wave. I don’t get the same vibe from Kelly that I do with Hattie. Hattie seems like one of those love-everyone, mother-hen kind of friends. With Kelly, I get the feeling that if I pulled her into a hug she might turn feral and claw my eyes out.
Kelly looks like she’s seen a ghost: mouth slack, eyes wide, neon orange skin a shade closer to natural. The weight of her stare makes my skin crawl with nervousness and confirms my suspicions that a hug would have been a terrible idea.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she finally says, dragging her heavily lined gaze back to Hattie. “What is she doing here?”
“Stop being a bitch, Kelly,” Hattie demands in a motherly tone that says the discussion is over. I’m here and there's nothing Kelly or me can do about it. Hattie sets her hand on my arm and smiles. “Be right back.”
She steps around Kelly and heads for the back door. I’m tempted to follow, but Kelly’s narrow-eyed glare keeps me in place.
I shift on my feet, nervous that she will pounce and rip my head off or something. I’ve never been in a fight and don't want to explain to Aunt Tricia why I came to work on Monday with cropped hair (because it’s been ripped out) and a busted up face, assuming Hattie would still drive me back to Orlando tomorrow. She might refuse if Kelly and I duke it out, leaving me stranded in this tiny town two hours from anyone I know.
Kelly takes a step towards me, shoulders back, hands clenched at her sides. The tiny bubbles of nervous energy simmering under my skin explode into volcano sized eruptions. My stomach clenches and twists because all I can think about is how bad this night is about to go and how much trouble I’m going to be in tomorrow. Aunt Tricia could send me home, tail tucked between my legs, reassuring my dad that Florida was a terrible idea.
I bite my lip. Tears pool from a hypothetical conversation that will determine my future in our family. Everything I've fought for this year is about to go down the drain because of some girl I barely know. I swallow the lump in my throat and stand at full height. If I’m going down, the least I can do is make the story worth telling.
“You’re going to ruin everything.” Kelly exhales, shaking her head, her hard exterior dropping along with her expression. I watch her curiously as she turns and steps towards the kitchen.
When she doesn’t immediately return, it dawns on me that I’m alone, surrounded by too many people I don’t know. My skin heats, the room suddenly feeling too small and hot. I’m not good at this, being social, making new friends, not that anyone in this room is or would be my friend. Judging by the way Kelly reacted, coming to this party was a mistake. I don’t know why I thought it could be a good idea.
Kelly makes her way back to me after being gone for three songs and extends a beer to me. “If you’re going to be here, at least pretend to belong.”
I take the can and stare at it for a second, then look at her again, not trusting that she didn’t somehow poison it. Girls are evil, especially when they’re jealous of you. That’s the only reason I can come up with for why Kelly is such a bitch. She’s jealous. Of what? I have no clue. She doesn’t know me or how the shiny picture my family paints is tattered and torn. “Thanks.”
I hook my finger underneath the tab, pop the can open, then stare at it. I’ve never been much of a drinker, even when I was forced to mingle. Pepsi was my go-to drink because I could easily pretend it had rum or something mixed in it. I don’t know how to fake drink this.
“Jesus,” Kelly murmurs. “It’s a fucking beer. Drink it. Don’t drink it. I don’t care. Just stop looking at it like it’s a rabid puppy you want to save but are afraid of.”
Bringing the can to my lips, it’s cold, which feels good considering how hot the room is, but the drink itself tastes horrible. I try not to grimace, but Kelly must notice because she snorts into her hard lemonade. Thankfully she doesn’t say anything.
Hattie walks through the door again, laughing and looking over her shoulder. I step towards her, ready to ditch Kelly, because she’s not the best company, when I see him again.
Josh.
He walks into the room and the air changes, sticking in my lungs. The eyes of nearly every girl turn to him, and for good reason. Josh was attractive in a teenageboy kind of way back in March. Looking at him now, he’s all man with hard edges, yet soft eyes.
Dark blue Wranglers hug every inch of his legs, all the way to his yellow and brown cowboy boots. A black button-down shirt hugs his chest and arms while falling loose near his waist, giving him a built but not meaty look. What gets me most is that hair. Short on the sides and a curly mess on top, ruffled like he’s just had sex.
Probably because he did.
Josh laughs at something Hattie says and his whole face lights up. It's the kind of laugh that would have my mom scheduling her next Botox treatment, full of life and expression.
Some guy lifts his heads in a curt nod, one that says, ‘hey bro, she’s here with me,’ and I notice a few other guys, the jealous ones, draping their arm over their girlfriend’s shoulders. I get it. Josh, his aura has a presence and it commands the room.
I take a sip of my beer and chase it with another swallow, the taste becoming more tolerable with each sip. My heart thrums against my chest with a force that vibrates through my body, but at least it's slowing. Pounding aside, it almost feels normal.
I glance over my almost full beer and our eyes lock. From across the room, they look brown, but Josh’s eyes are so much more than they seem. I’ll never forget the vortex of gold and green swirling within them. Josh’s lips lift and I feel it for the second time, my world shifting on its axis.
Everyone has a vice.
Landon smokes like a fucking chimney because it helps him function. When he was a kid, his mom tried putting him on meds for ADHD, but instead of slowing his brain to think like ours do, the drugs caused him to hyper-focus. He could be stuck for hours staring at a spec of dirt, deciphering its origin in our universe.