Page 25 of Fame & Rhythm

The music crashes back over me as I push through the doorway, but I don’t stop until I reach my corner again, dropping onto the red leather seat. I swipe at my cheeks with the sleeve of my black lace dress, trying to pull myself together.

No one notices.

Of course they don’t.

Everyone’s too busy being seen, laughing too loudly, playing their parts. The party carries on like nothing just happened, like I’m not sitting here trying not to fall apart on my own birthday.

My gaze drifts to the table beside me, where a celebrity couple is deep into their drinks, already tipsy and ordering more. The waiter sets down a fresh round, and the woman barely glances at it before turning back to her conversation.

My eyes linger on the glass.

Amber liquid, catching the light.

I’ve heard alcohol takes the edge off. Takes the weight out of moments like this, makes everything feel a little less sharp.

Maybe that’s exactly what I need right now.

Because all I want is for this feeling—this whole damn night—to stop pressing in on me. I glance back at the people in front of me, and no one even seems to realize I’m here. Casually, I look around the room so I don’t draw attention to myself, and when I’m sure no one is watching, I make the fastest decision of my life. I grab the woman’s glass and bring it to my lips.

The smell alone is enough to make me hesitate.

I glance around for Dad, but he’s too busy talking to Johnny to notice me, so I pinch my nose and tip the whole lot back in one go.

At first, it’s just cold.

Then the taste hits, and it is absolutely foul.

I gag, sticking out my tongue as I slam the glass back onto the table, fanning my mouth furiously. A second later, the burn kicks in, hot and sharp, crawling down my throat and setting my whole mouth on fire.

My eyes widen.

Water.

I need water.

Fast.

I push to my feet, but the room tilts ever so slightly beneath me, my head going a little fuzzy.

Oddly enough, though, I don’t hate it.

I make my way to the bar, order a glass of water, and drink the whole thing in seconds. It helps, but only a little. My mouth still tingles, and even though that drink tasted disgusting, some reckless little part of me wants another, so I turn and scan the room.

There are tall tables everywhere, all with unattended drinks sitting on them while their owners laugh, talk, and pose like they’re in a magazine spread.

It would be stupidly easy, right?

So that’s exactly what I do.

I wander over behind the latest movie franchise heartthrob, who, frankly, is nowhere near as attractive as people seem to think, and linger there until he throws his head back laughing at something someone says. In one quick movement, I steal his short glass, the one that looks like lemonade with a wedge of lime, and slip away as if I belong.

This time, I only take a sip.

It’s still strong, but not terrible.

In fact, it’s actually kind of nice.

I take another mouthful, then another, drinking faster now in case anyone notices. A light buzz starts to build, warm and fizzy, and I can’t tell whether it’s the alcohol or the thrill of sneaking around taking people’s drinks, but either way, my mood starts lifting.