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Taken from the University Gazette
“Free drinks for Henry! All night long,” Rush shouted, slinging an arm over my shoulders and fisting his other hand into the air victoriously as a crowd of fellow band players cheered us on.
My face heated in bashful delight as I glanced at everyone who’d showed up at the bar to celebrate because of me. Then I glanced down at the fake ID Rush had set me up with. He’d planned for everything.
As soon as the director had announced me as the new trumpet section leader, set to take Baxter’s spot, Rush had been a flurry of excitement, making sure tonight was epic.
“We’re going to get you so damn drunk and happy,” he told me, shaking my shoulder enthusiastically. “You’ll be hitting on every woman in this place before the night’s over.”
“Oh, ho!” I cried, laughing and trying yet failing to picture such an outcome. “I’d like to see that.”
“You will, buddy. That’s a promise. Because, check it out, the first round of shots are here.” He hollered a shout of joy as a waitress arrived, bearing a tray full of tiny glass cups overflowing with tequila.
“Here you go,” Rush said, passing the first one to me. Then he patiently made sure everyone else had a drink as well. “And, Reuben?” he said, lifting up onto his toes to see toward the back of our group. “You want one too?”
I glanced over, catching sight of my fellow trumpet player. Reuben had told me congratulations after the director’s announcement but he’d been strangely quiet since then. Which was unusual. Reuben wasn’t the quiet sort.
Made me wonder if he’d had his heart set on filling Baxter’s spot himself and was taking my victory—ergo, his loss—hard.
“Sure,” he answered somewhat stoically as he waded through people to reach Rush and fetch his shot. My stomach tightened with sympathy.
It wouldn’t have broken my heart if I hadn’t been chosen today. I had three and a half more years of this; I was okay with slowly climbing my way up. I knew Reuben was a freshman like me, but what if he’d really been counting on getting that spot? I kind of felt bad, wondering if it was my fault that he seemed so down.
But as soon as he took the shot, he met my gaze and grinned wide, making me think I’d been wrong about my theory.
“To Henry,” he called, lifting his cup, then slinging it back and swall
owing the contents whole.
Everyone else repeated after him, chugging.
My chest swelled with pride and appreciation for all the awesome, supportive bandmates I had. “Thank you, guys,” I said, feeling choked up.
“Oh, damn. Don’t you dare cry,” Rush ordered, pointing at me. “Just drink already.”
So I did, coughing and gasping as soon as I swallowed the mini cup of liquid fire. My friends laughed and slapped me on the back as my eyes watered—from the drink, not my emotions.
“That’s it. You need another,” Rush decided when I shook my head, trying to shake off the alcohol’s bite.
So they got me another. This time, I pinched my nose closed while I tipped my head back because I figured it had to help with the burn. And strangely enough, it did.
Everyone made fun of me for it, but I didn’t care. I held my nose through the next shot and the one after that, a new person paying with each round. And the plugged nostrils seemed to help with every gulp.
My friends also made sure I drank twice as much as they did.
Meanwhile, the world went nice and hazy. And extra funny. I laughed at pretty much everything everyone said, and they laughed at what I said.
It was a good time all around.
Until a blur of light hair across the bar at another group’s table caught my attention. I glanced over because anything blonde caused me to double take these days. When I saw her, my jaw nearly sagged to the floor.
God, she was pretty.
“Holy shit,” I slurred, grabbing on to Rush and blinking because she had to be a mirage.
“What?” he asked, turning from the dude he’d been talking to, to pay attention to me.
“That’s her.” I pointed. “I mean, isn’t that her?”
