I find my way to the photo booth and listen to the carefree laughter of girls whom I’ve known since kindergarten but still aren’t close to. Now we’re in college together and I still feel worlds away from them.
“Oh, Sage, hi.” Leah Michaels grins at me with perfectly applied lipstick and shining chocolate eyes. Her hair is brushed into a sleek bun, and she moves around in her heels like she’s walking on music. The sound of stone on stone roars in my ears.
“Hi, Leah. My mom told me you were over here.” I tap my knuckle against my lip and try to think of more words to fill the silent cracks forming between us.
“Yeah, me and Sophia are trying to get hold of some champagne. The guy working the bar is cute enough. I’m gonna go flirt with him.” Leah smashes her big boobs together and smiles at me. “Wanna come?”
“Me?” I squeak. I take in small sips of air so I don’t pass out. “Oh, I’m not good with stuff like that.”
“Stuff like what?” Sophia materializes out of nowhere and her gaze shoots between Leah and me.
“Going to flirt with the cute bartender so we can get champagne,” Leah chirps. “You think my dress is low-cut enough?”
“You absolutely look like a slut. A classy one though.” Sophia winks and then looks me over with a frown. “God, could you be any more awkward, Sage?”
I wonder if my hair is unruly or if my brows rejected the tons of gel Mom smoothed on them. My fingers instinctively go to my face. I smooth the tail end of my eyebrow down and try to shake away the claustrophobic feeling of being shattered by my own anxiety.
“Leave her alone, you know she’s shy,” Leah fusses.
“She’s boring. Let’s go talk to the cute bartender.” Sophia locks fingers with Leah and I feel like an island alone in the middle of a sea of people.
“Speaking of cute guys, did you see the new hot guy in town? You can tell he’s not from around here. I heard he has a record.” Leah leans into Sophia and speaks in excited but hushed tones. They share a bond I wish I had with someone. Not them but someone who gets me.
“Wait, like he’s been to jail?” Sophia asks, her arched brows flying up to her hairline. Leah giggles and gives a nod as she pulls her friend off toward the bar. I watch them for a few moments then scan the room for an exit.
I need to breathe. I need to get out of this stupid blue dress and these uncomfortable heels. I need freedom.
I move through the crowded space, looking for the door. A firm grip on my elbow makes me pause abruptly. I look up and take a breath of relief when I see Dad.
“Taking off?” he quizzes, moving me closer to the door. I can almost taste the night air.
“Dad, I gotta get out of here. It’s driving me crazy and I haven’t even been here that long.”
“Well…” He cranes his neck to see over the crowd, but at six foot three, it’s not hard for him to do. “I don’t see Eleanor anywhere so you’re free to go. I’ll cover for you, but I want that painting you’re working on finished tonight. Deal?” He winks at me and I crash against him, hugging him tight.
“Yes. Thank you so much.” I dash out of the side door and tip my nose to the night sky. The air is cool and soothing against my warm skin. Once the roar of talking and laughing dies down, I can breathe easy again.
I make my way to the front of the country club and see the black Benz already waiting for me at the curb. The driver steps out and opens the back door for me. “Your father said to drive you home,” he tells me with a courteous head bow. I blink a few times and climb in happily.
“Can we stop past The Grind House?” I ask, tapping my knuckle against my bottom lip. His eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror.
“The coffee shop?” he asks.
“Yeah, please.”
“You drink coffee at night?” He chuckles and turns down the street that takes us to The Grind House.
“When I need to stay up and get things done, yes.” The driver pulls into the parking lot and I hop out. I walk inside and inhale the rich smell of coffee beans in the air. It’s nice being able to breathe freely again.
I don’t mind being at The Grind House. Actually, it’s one of the few places I love to go. The soft murmur of scattered conversation and the clink of mugs and saucers is a pleasant symphony I don’t mind at all.
“Hey, Sage,” Martina, my favorite barista, greets me with a kind smile. She knows my order by heart and never gets it wrong. “You sure do look pretty. Just getting back from a date?” I don’t even have to ask, she begins making my latte immediately. A wave of calm washes over me, then settles into my bones.