Part 1 (2/2)

”Why don't you wait to make an official announcement? Tonight I'm taking you out to find a couple hot guys who will fawn all over us and ply us with liquor like we deserve. Then we can tell them we're purity club recruiters, and ask them if they'd like to join. Do you still have your ring?”

”Unfortunately, no. I gave it to Jon-Jon to use as a c.o.c.k ring-it fit perfectly.” She laughed. ”Do you really want to go out drinking? You said you weren't doing that anymore.”

”When did I say that?”

”Last Friday night.”

”Was I drunk?” I asked, knowing full well I'd said it. I was tired of tagging along, pretending to have a good time. ”Because there's no way I would say that on a Friday. Monday maybe, sure. Wednesday, probably. Sat.u.r.day's fifty-fifty. But no way would I ever say that on a Friday.” The truth was, I hadn't been drunk in public in eight months and four days, but not even Sara knew that. It's easy to convince a drunk you're drunk-just laugh at their terrible jokes and say, 'I'm never drinking again' every once in a while. ”Plus, when a friend needs to celebrate getting rid of a loser, who am I to not support her?”

”Best. Friend. Ever.”

That wasn't even a little bit true, but it did no good to correct her. If I were the best friend ever, I wouldn't be using her name to avoid getting arrested. Again.

I brushed another lock of disobedient hair out of my eyes, wis.h.i.+ng I'd grabbed a stronger clip before I left the house, or maybe a hacksaw. Naturally curly hair is a misnomer-no naturally occurring substance on earth can restrain it. Mine could only be controlled with industrial-strength anti-frizz, leave-in-forever conditioner made from totally unnatural chemicals. The kind that didn't come cheap, which was why I almost always wrapped a hardware store rubber band around a messy ponytail and pretended it didn't exist. d.a.m.n, how I envied Sara's long, straight, well-behaved locks. While she, naively, wished she had mine.

About a year ago, she'd tried dying her hair the same auburn color mine is. Since I wasn't willing to saw off a lock she could bring to her hairstylist, and a picture wouldn't have shown what Sara referred to as my 'subtle lowlights' or something equally bizarre, she'd dragged me to the salon with her, promising to pick up the tab for both of us to get prettied up. It was an experience best forgotten, since the stylist, who had obviously never dealt with hair like mine before, was faster with her scissors than I was at screaming, 'No, please, no!' Thankfully, the bangs she'd chopped had now grown out just long enough to be annoying.

”You should wear that dress more often,” Sara said to me while holding onto the arm of the guy who'd handed her a new drink. ”You look hot.”

”I am hot.” And grumpy. And tired of pretending to be enjoying this. I can't believe I ever actually liked these kinds of places. Although, 'like' might be too strong a word. 'Used these places to forget how much I hate my life?' Yep, much better. Far more accurate.

Nowadays, I preferred to stay safe and sober in public and drink myself to sleep at home. Even if I did have to pay for my own booze, I was never nervous I'd slip a roofie into my gla.s.s or have meaningless s.e.x with myself, and- Well, the meaningless s.e.x with myself happened, booze or no booze, but I'd never do drugs. I already had too many problems.

”Come to the bathroom with me,” she slurred.

”No way. I'm not going through that crowd again. Go. I'll be here, finis.h.i.+ng my drink.”

I wondered if Sara would ever notice that, in the two years we'd known each other, I'd gone to the bathroom with her twice. Minus the times I knew she'd need someone to hold her hair back for her-the true sign of a great friend.

I'm not a go-to-the-bathroom-in-a-herd kind of girl, I guess. I'm more of a totally-not-a-surprise-I-only-have-two-friends kind of girl.

Which meant those two friends were extremely important to me. Now that one of my two friends was at home, happily married and boring, it meant my protectiveness was focused solely on Sara. Especially near the end of the night, after she'd picked out the guy she was going home with.

So when my friend decided to drown her intelligence in liquid courage, it became my responsibility to make sure her lapse in judgment didn't end with her in the wrong guy's lap.

Sara leaned in. Probably to whisper, but I cringed at the volume of her voice and her boozy breath. ”Watch him for me, Andi. Don't let him get away.”

I sloppily saluted her and nodded. ”I'm on it.”

”But not him.”

Big sigh. ”No, Sara, not him.”

As soon as the crowd had sucked her in and I couldn't see her anymore, I turned toward her new playdate and dropped my mask of drunkenness. ”I'm going to need to see a picture ID and a major credit card.”

He squinted and leaned closer. ”What?”

”She's not a wh.o.r.e, so you can stop looking at me like that.” No, she was much cheaper than that-she was going to do him for free. ”But I still need to see your ID and credit card.”

”Why?”

”Because I'm not going to let my friend go somewhere I don't know with a guy she doesn't know.” He stared at me, not comprehending that I was totally serious. ”I'm not here to judge anyone, but I need to know she's safe. So if you're planning to screw with her, I want to know who you are and where you live.” I was always surprised by how many men would hand over their credit cards. Sadly, it might be a direct reflection of Sara's taste in men, but I didn't judge that either. All I wanted was to know my friend wasn't walking off with a guy who was a serial killer, or a rapist, or had thirty cats-Sara was allergic to all of the above.

Once I'd made it clear to a guy that I could-and would-find him if he decided to cause any trouble, and if he was still standing there when Sara got back from the bathroom, I knew my friend would be okay. The major credit card was just a joke. A bad one, considering I was the one making it, but if you can't laugh at your own felony, whose can you laugh at?

I typed his name into my phone, did a quick search through a few databases, and then held it up to show him.

”You're supposed to update your address with voter registration every time you move, Matthew Hadley. Did you know that?” I clicked a few more times. ”Who's Rebecca Holt? She doesn't like you very much, does she, Matthew? Seriously, she wrote an entire blog post about you last November.” I tsked. ”Bad breakup, huh?”

His jaw dropped as I quickly scrolled through all the information a suspicious computer geek could find in 3.6 seconds. Nothing too terrible-besides breaking up with Rebecca by text, of course. But since Sara probably wouldn't even give him her phone number, that jerk-move could be overlooked for the evening.

When Sara came back, I pulled her to the edge of the dance floor and pretended to dance, which was basically step-touch, step-touch. Seriously, my version of 'dance like no one is watching' isn't for the squeamish.

”You sure about him?” I yelled at her.

”Yes, Mom. I'll be fine.”

I loved the girl, but I worried. She hadn't always been like this. It was a fairly new thing, actually-sometime in the last year anyway. We'd never talked about it, but I didn't need an advanced degree to know she was using booze and s.e.x to cope with something...badly. Whatever it was had changed my behavior, too-I'd added her to my list of things to be paranoid about.

”I'm meeting Emilia for breakfast at Morning Grill,” I said. ”You'll need food, so meet us there.”

”Okay. Are you staying here for a while?”

”No. I think I've had enough.” We walked back to her suitor of the night. I gave him a warning glare but spoke to Sara. ”I'll be calling you first thing in the morning to see how you are. You better answer your phone. Have fun!”

I took a cab home. Alone. Then I made myself a drink and had wild, meaningless s.e.x with myself all night long.

2.

Andi

Morning Grill was packed by the time I got there the next morning. All I could make out was a dramatic wave and Emilia yelling my name from a table in the back.

I slid into the seat across from her and patted Sara on the shoulder. ”Have you guys been here long?”

”Not too long. I had to wait for a table to open up.” Emilia adjusted her ponytail and nodded toward Sara. ”And Grumpy got here just before you did.”

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