“What’s wrong?” Sammi asked, clocking the pretense etched across Brinton’s face.
“Nothing,” Brinton answered. Silently, she admonished herself for lying. Sammi had gone out of her way to make her feel welcomed.
However, being the only person who looked like her in a room meant being forced to shoulder unprovokedexpectations the moment she opened her mouth. Judgements that sank her like boulders, grounding her so she didn’t feel too empowered to speak up or levitate above the status quo.
And standing in that room, full of peering eyes, beneaththatflag, felt equally suffocating.
Brinton’s father’s mantra slipped into her mind:Swallow what hurts and move on.
Sammi’s eyes softened as she stepped closer, a bulldozer to the walls Brinton intended to erect around her heart.
“Hey, you can trust me.”
Selfishly, Brinton wanted that too. But trusting someone still felt foreign. So did having friends. Sammi’s eyes gleamed so earnestly that Brinton wanted to believe her. She sucked in a deep breath and dared to try.
“I’m worried that it’s not exactly safe for people like me to be…here,” Brinton confessed, the words tumbling out in a single rush. She pointed to the telltale flag.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Sammi said, voice wavering. “I can’t make up for the ugly in the world or the valid pain you feel, but I swear, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Brinton started to pick at another sore patch on her thumb, but stopped herself. “Not to be all bleeding heart, but outside of my sister, I’ve never had anyone look out for me.”
Sammi took Brinton’s hands in hers and squeezed. “In this town, we look out for each other. If someone breathes too loudly near you, you tell me, got it?”
Brinton squeezed back.
Sammi nodded. “Now, let’s get you lit like a firefly on the Fourth of July.” Dragging Brinton by the hand, she led the way to the crowded bar, which parted like the Red Sea.
“First thing to know ’round here is how to shoot whiskey,” Sammi said, a spirited twinkle in her eye.
A bartender with a dark, slicked-back man-bun, tightblack T-shirt, and footballs for shoulders appeared at the counter. He grinned wide. “What can I get y’all?”
“Two shots of Jack, please,” Sammi said lightly. “And let’s keep them coming all night.” She handed him a hundred-dollar bill from her tiny red purse, but he shook his head.
“You ladies are far too pretty to be paying for your drinks.”
Sammi shrugged, pleased with the proposition. “Well, if you’re gonna twist my arm about it.”
Man-Bun winked, then swiftly slid the shots before them. When they tipped them back, Brinton gasped at the burning sensation engulfing her throat. Sammi grinned like it was heaven’s nectar.
“Second thing to know is how to line dance,” Sammi said, swishing her hips in time to “Austin” by Dasha.
Brinton could feel the liquor’s warmth in her marrow, but she wasn’t crazy. The choreographed poetry happening on that dance floor was an entirely different level of dancing. What if she looked stupid? What if Jamie saw her and laughed?
“I can’t do that,” Brinton shouted over the music.
“You know the Electric Slide?”
“Yeah, but?—”
“Then you can line dance.”
Sammi leaned over the bar, immediately catching Man-Bun’s attention.
“Honey, we need a couple more shots.”
Another shot and many songs later, Brinton and Sammi were deep in the crowd. Brinton was a quick study, picking up the steps and howling gleefully as she kicked, spun, and two-stepped.
When she fumbled, the women around her cheered her on anyway, and the men hooted and hollered each time all the girls swiveled their hips in unison.
