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“That has to be it,” Angie said.
It was.
The building was huge and clearly abandoned, but the graffiti-covered door was wide open, and the music pounded like a heartbeat into the night. As we got closer, I could feel the vibration of the bass from my chest down to my toes.
Well, at least they didn’t have frostbite in these nearly naked sandals.
“Ten bucks each,” said the doorman, who I recognized as one of the linemen on the Belmont Prep football team.
“Come on, John. You can let us in, can’t you?” Angie whined, sticking out her chest as she spoke.
John shook his head. I had a feeling those weren’t the first ta-tas shaken at him this evening. “Nah. Ten bucks a pop, Ange.”
It was worth a try.
Inside, the building was packed, and the air was heavy with sweat and cheap booze. At least two hundred people were dancing and grinding up on each other in time to the music pouring from speakers set up all around the periphery, all controlled by a DJ spinning vinyl on a pair of turntables set up on a rickety stage. To the sides of the makeshift booth, a few kids, one or two of which I recognized from school, were mouthing lyrics to themselves, clearly getting ready for the inevitable battle that always took place at parties like these.
Hands were roving, mouths puckering, bodies heaving. Sex was in the air, thick and overt. This definitely wasn’t a place for wallflowers.
I considered turning around. I could still go back to my typical night. Help Nonna with the girls, do a little extra studying, and maybe pop in a movie with Kate. It wasn’t too late. Almost no one had seen me yet, and therefore no one would laugh either if I cut and run with my tail between my legs.
But then I thought of Michael and the way he’d snapped at me earlier. And I decided that something out of character, something unsafe, was exactly what I should be doing on a Friday night of my last year in high school. Preferably as soon as possible.
“Let’s get a drink,” Linda shouted over the music, gesturing toward a line of people waiting for red Solo cups. There were several stands like it set up throughout the party, each manned by two people—one to serve drinks, one to collect the money.
We pushed our way through the crowd, and I couldn’t help but feel multiple pairs of eyes looking my way. I’d wanted this, hadn’t I? For once, I wasn’t the practical older sister, Nonna’s good girl, straight-A student, blah, blah, blah. Right now, I was the object of desire. It was exactly what I wanted.
That was when I finally smiled.
We waited in line until we found Robbie Caldera—one of my middle school classmates—poured a neon-orange liquid into the red Solo cups, while his buddy collected three dollars to put into a Ziploc bag.
“Yo, Lea fuckin’ Zola!” Robbie crowed when he caught sight of me, his eyes the size of stoplights. “Damn, that is some dress, there, mami. You look stupid hot!”
“Thanks,” I said, preening a little. “What’s in the cooler?”
Robbie offered a sly smile. “Jungle juice. It’s a mystery. Little of this, little of that, you know. You want?”
I shrugged. What the hell? I was already in Rome. I might as well do as they did.
We handed over the cash, and Robbie eagerly handed over the drinks.
“Bottoms up, babies,” Angie called out, and together, my friends and I downed our first lethal cup.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, I was practically on the floor. It’s not like I’d never drank before. My grandparents never shied from letting us kids taste a bit of wine here and there with dinner. But for the most part, I avoided alcohol, too conscious of the fact that it had cost me both of my parents.
For the first time, I finally understood why people liked it so much. The vodka—or whatever the hell was in this so-called Jungle Juice—had gone straight to my head. I was feeling damn good.
“I’m gonna go dance,” I called to my friends, leaning over the table to shout in their ears.
Linda looked up from where she had been flirting a little too much with Robbie. “Wait for us.”
But I was already heading toward the dance floor in front of the DJ booth. Dancing was one of those things I’d mostly done alone. Sure, Kate and I had done the requisite “choreography” to Janet Jackson and Mary J. Blige when we were kids. But these days, I didn’t really let loose in a house where everyone loved to tease and where I had to maintain at least some authority.
Right now, though, I didn’t care what anyone thought of me. My body felt loose, my limbs light, as I moved my hips to the latest dancehall beat. I felt no shame in shaking my ass like those girls on MTV I’d always made fun of. For once, I could be like those video girls.
So this was why people liked to party. For the first time, I really got it.
