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Then he nods and opens the door wider, letting us enter.
“It’s a great party,” Sydney says, smiling and tugging on my sleeve. “Come on.”
She steps inside, and I follow cautiously, arms wrapped around myself, unease curling in my gut.
In retrospect, I should have expected this. I knew what was coming, but my mind had cheerfully disconnected the nightmare from the fantasy of finding Jarett again.
Smoke curls in the spotlights, and to the thump of a heavy beat, bodies move, jerk and twist, the light catching on their faces, their hands, glowing lines on their clothes.
A round bar is set up in the middle of the vast space, luminescent, a glowing donut galaxy floating in space. We wade through the writhing, dancing crowd, heading toward it, and the glazed smiles and dazed eyes I notice in passing don’t bode well.
Oh yeah, lots of drugs here.
Jesus. A rave party.
“Syd, wait.” I hurry after her, catch her elbow—but a shove from a guy passing by loosens my grasp. “Don’t you dare go off and leave me.”
But of course she can’t hear me. I can barely hear myself think in the deafening beat of the electronic music, and the thump of hundreds of feet jumping and stomping and shuffling on the floor.
Crap. This is my fault, for agreeing to come along.
Just don’t let her out of your sight, I order myself. Not for a second. Stick to her like a tick, don’t let her take a step alone.
You’ve got this.
But as it turns out, I don’t even have to try. Sydney turns and waits for me to catch up, then hooks her arm over mine and drags me to the bar where we leave our jackets.
And then we dance.
We dance and dance and dance, only stopping to grab a drink, and then returning to the beat.
It’s like the past few weeks haven’t happened. It’s fun, swaying together with my bestie, doing moves that have nothing to do with the music, turning and dancing back to back, flirting with strangers with that feeling of security that comes from knowing you have someone you trust right there, ready to pull you away if things go south.
It rocks. It’s so awesome, and I’m so frigging happy I could cry. The worries slough off me like dead skin, and I’m light like the smoke rising toward the ceiling. The world is set back to rights, and I’m at the center of it, dancing and laughing.
It feels as if life is back to normal, that it was off-center and is now sliding back into place. A ritual of friendship we repeated too many times to count since we first met back when I first moved here.
At the same time I met Jarett—but I won’t think about him, about coming here hoping to see him, about what we did last time we met at the frat house.
Better this way. No drugs, no danger—no Jarett.
I should be glad.
I am glad.
Sydney pulls on my hands, and we spin together giggling, a circle of perfect synchrony, an eddy of light.
Eventually, she drags me back to the bar where she convinces the bartender to get us new drinks—a beer for me, a vodka shot for her.
As I settle on a free stool, she leans in to shout in my ear.
“Just going to the bathroom! Be right back.”
I nod, and smile, and watch the bartender unscrew my beer and pour her shot, until my fuzzy brain catches up.
I said, don’t leave her alone for a second, the little voice of reason in my head says.
But she’s only going to the bathroom.
