Page 59 of The Last Special Thing

“You’re going to tuck these under your tights. No one will notice.” His voice was low as he placed the bag in her hands.

Amelia froze, and he folded her fingers around it.

They hadn’t talked about this part. She knew they would be taking ecstasy, and had been exhilarated by the way Art spoke about how happy she would feel on it. But, sneaking it in?

His hands stayed over hers, a plea in his gaze.

“A hundred other girls are doing this same thing tonight.” His voice was soft. “It’s our best option.”

She took a deep breath, and he let go of her hands.

“Where did you get these?” she asked.

“Oh, they are totally safe. I tested them.”

“You tested them?”

“Sure did, Princess.” He rubbed a finger against her cheek. “I would never put you or anyone else in danger.”

“Okay.” She willed her heart to steady.

Gathering her courage, she separated from him. After she rounded the corner, she walked through the automatic doors into the store. Reyna and Madisson emerged from the bathroom, arms interlocked, barking with laughter.

She tried to smile at them as she walked past, but a bitterness grew in her stomach about Art’s unilateral decision-making. She wanted to be carefree like Reyna and Madisson.

Amelia locked herself in the bathroom. It was tight, the wall had brown stains, and a mirror was missing. The right place for this activity.

She pulled out the ziplock bag of pills, then slid down her skirt and fishnets. She placed the bag between her fishnets and underwear. Unless she was getting a strip search, there was no way to tell she was smuggling them in. Like a felon, the thought crossed as a joke, but without Googling the answer, which could incriminate her if things went south, she was almost positive a bag full of illegal substances was a felony. An unshakable weight pressed against her chest.

Once they were back in the car, Art resumed the music. Amelia stayed quiet. One wrong step and her whole future could be in jeopardy. He squeezed her knee, an acknowledgement that he knew what he was asking of her.

Amelia parked at the hotel, within walking distance of the venue. They followed a trail of mermaids, circus animals, and characters from Alice in Wonderland who spilled into the streets. All of life’s misfits had a place. Amelia had felt torn between her put-together life and the excitement of who she wanted to be. The rave was where it intersected.

They passed under a twinkling yellow archway that separated reality from imagination.

Fortunately, Art was right, as he usually was about these sorts of things, and security was a breeze. The line moved quickly as the girls filed together. The boys were ushered into a second line. Amelia hadn’t brought in a purse to search, so she walked through and then stood with her arms raised like a football post, her phone in her hand. A female security guard patted her down carelessly.

The beat of the music reverberated through the ground beneath Amelia’s feet. Art gave her a nod as he waited with the group, and she beelined for the rows of porta-potties.

Costumed attendees filtered in and out. She walked into one, flipping the lock. Pulling down her layers, she removed the bag from its hiding place. With clammy hands, she plucked a green pill and chomped it into pieces. Art had advised it was quicker for the drugs to take effect that way. Her face distorted in disgust at the chalky taste. He had also said that most people preferred to swallow it whole and let it take its time rather than deal with the taste. Amelia was not one of those people.

She exited the porta-potty with the ziplock bag balled up into a fist. Three steps later, Art caught her by the waist and pulled her into him. She slipped the bag back into his prisoner’s pocket.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured into her hair. Goosebumps rose along her skin, and her guard dropped. It would all be okay, as he had promised.

Within ten minutes, the group smiled guiltily at one another.

The rave was reminiscent of a theme park. The first activity was the giant swings.

Amelia and Art buckled into the blue and red harnesses next to each other, hands gripping the chain links as they were pulled into the air. Higher and higher they went, the ground shrinking beneath them. Everyone below was dressed up and happy.

Art had assured her it would not be like the salvia. He promised her profusely that she would be able to feel it; she would recognize that she was on drugs. He told her she would love it.

He was right about it all.

As the swing reached its peak, so did Amelia. The ecstasy took hold of her while they were high in the grey-blue sky. The air was lighter, the sounds richer, the lights more vibrant. She released her grip and stretched out her arms like a child pretending to be an airplane. Art mimicked her, arms outstretched, laughing as they soared higher. She wasn’t sure if it was the whip of the wind or pure bliss from the drug, but tears slid down her cheeks.

After the swings, Art and Max led the group to one of the massive stages, where oversized metal boxes vibrated with the bass of the techno. Max lifted Madisson on his shoulders. In Amelia’s chest was an unexpected pang of happiness for Madisson. She was supported, lifted by Max. Reyna trailed behind the double-stacked couple, eyes wide and pupils dilated. In slow motion, she flicked her toes out with each step, twirling, then continuing.