Part 13 (1/2)

Nate didn't want to talk. He played the Ruse's CD to prep us for the show. It was perfect for me: I knew nothing about the band. I didn't exactly fall in love with them on the drive, but I loved watching Nate listen to their music. He tapped the beat with one hand and drove with the other, and sometimes he'd unconsciously work the guitar fingerings. There was an intensity to it all, like he wasn't just listening to the music but inhabiting it. I was positive he was the most pa.s.sionate person I had ever met.

The Works was an all-ages club, and packed with people. We maneuvered ourselves to a good spot, then Nate leaned close so I could hear him over the roar of the crowd. ”Want a beer?”

”What?” I shouted. Clearly I'd heard him wrong. I thought he'd asked if I wanted a beer.

”A beer!” he repeated. He leaned his head back and mimed tipping a bottle into his mouth. ”Want one?”

Ah. So I hadn't heard him wrong. But we were only sixteen. At least I was only sixteen. Maybe he was older than me. Still, no way was he twenty-one. ”How?”

Nate rolled his eyes. ”Do you want one?”

I'd never had a beer. With the exception of four sips of Manischewitz at last year's Pa.s.sover Seder, I'd never touched a drop of alcohol. Okay, there was the time Claudia and I were twelve and tried to get smashed on a box of amaretto cordials we'd found deep in the back of her freezer, but I'm pretty sure the all-night giggle fest that followed was more of a sugar rush than anything else.

What if we got caught and arrested for underage drinking? Isn't that the kind of thing that lands on your transcript and keeps you out of college? Nate didn't look worried about that, but maybe Nate wasn't interested in college. Nate did look a little impatient, which meant that I really should answer and soon. Did I want to have a beer?

Big Picture, this seemed to land in the ”don't look a gift horse in the mouth” category. After all, I didn't have to actually drink the beer.

”Sure!” I said.

Nate gestured for me to wait where I was. I wanted to pull out my phone and text Claudia, but I thought it would look really lame if he came back before I was done.

I shouldn't have worried. It took him a half hour. By the time he got back, the show was about to start.

”Long line.” He handed me a bottle with a lime stuffed in the neck. ”Corona okay?”

”My favorite.” My favorite? What was I saying? And how did he get the beer? Did he have a fake ID? Did they not card at the bar? Did he have someone else buy it for him? Had anyone else noticed? Were we about to get busted?

Nate pushed his lime all the way into the beer bottle and took a big swig.

What else could I do? I followed suit. I pushed in the lime, tipped the beer into my mouth...

...and nearly snarfed it out my nose.

I didn't realize it would be so bubbly! People don't warn you about these things!

I somehow held back the snarfing reflex, but to avoid a coughing fit, I needed liquid. And the only liquid I had?

I took another sip.

I didn't love the taste. It was a little bitter. But it wasn't awful. It was cold, though, and that felt great; the club was stifling.

I drank some more.

The lights went down and the Ruse took the stage. Nate chugged the rest of his bottle and cheered wildly. As the Ruse started playing and the whole room reverberated with sound, I took another long drink. The stuff wasn't bad once you had enough of it.

Was the room supposed to be swimmy? It wasn't unpleasant or anything, just ... swimmy. And a little fuzzy. And a little...

Wait a minute ... was that Robert Schwarner?

I saw him off in a corner several feet ahead and to the side of me. He was wearing that BeastSlayer cloak and nodding to the music. He turned and saw me with my beer, then lifted his chin and raised his c.o.ke can in a toast.

I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear it. When I opened my eyes the crowd had s.h.i.+fted and Robert was gone.

If he had even been there. Maybe the beer was giving me hallucinations. Could beer do that? I didn't think so, but maybe...

I took another long swig. I felt really good. Who cared if everything was swimmy and fuzzy and hallucinatory? I was happy. I was really happy-until I tried to dance. I tripped sideways into a short girl in a low-cut, fitted tank top, and spilled the last of my beer right down her cleavage.

She was not pleased.

”What the h.e.l.l?” she screamed. ”Are you insane?”

”I'm so sorry!”

”Not good enough! This top is new! It's silk!”

The swimminess ended. Everything came into sharp focus as Silk Tank Top grabbed a huge handful of my hair and yanked it-hard. Was she on steroids or something? She was strong! And she wouldn't stop. She just kept pulling and yanking me in crazy-fierce tugs.

”Ow! I'll buy you a new s.h.i.+rt! Just stop!”

Either she didn't hear me or she didn't like the offer, because she kept pulling. She'd buried her other hand in my hair now, too. I was doubled over, staggering through the crowd as I tried to claw her off me.

Finally a bouncer came over. ”Hey-break it up or you're both out of here.”

The girl finally let go. She flipped me off, then disappeared back into the crowd.

I tenderly put my hand to the back of my head, convinced it would be gus.h.i.+ng blood. It wasn't, but I had an unbelievable headache. Each beat of the music made me feel like I was being yanked across the room all over again.

Where was Nate? I didn't see him anywhere. Panic rose in my chest as I struggled to work through the ocean of dancers.

”Nate! Nate!” I cried. It was no use. Unless he was right in front of me, he'd never hear me. Oh G.o.d. I'd lost him. I was alone. I had no ride. I'd have to call my parents. How could I call my parents? I'd had alcohol; they'd smell it on my breath. And look at what I was wearing! And look at where I was! I was supposed to be at Claudia's! I couldn't call my parents. I was on my own.

”Nate!” I screamed.

”Hey!” he said.

He was right in front of me. I'd somehow stumbled back to where I'd started.

”Great show, right?” he shouted over the music, then turned back to the stage.

Great show? Did he not know I'd just been wrestled across the room and nearly scalped by a midget with biceps as big as her b.o.o.bs?

No. Nate had no idea what had happened to me. He was only interested in the music. I may as well not even be here, as far as he was concerned. I felt like an idiot. I never should have come. Nate didn't care about me at all. I should just call a cab and take it to Claudia's. It couldn't cost that much money, could it? Maybe a cab would take a credit card...

I was halfway through approximating the cost of a cab ride from Philadelphia to Yardley when the Ruse swung into their first ballad of the night: a cover of My Chemical Romance's ”Disenchanted.” Three notes in, Nate sidled behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and leaned his head next to mine.

”It's our song,” he murmured into my ear. Then he kissed my neck. My brain melted into nothingness.