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“Let’s get you a drink.” She grabs my forearm to guide me to the wine cooler that’s filled with random drinks in the kitchen.
“You like vodka?” Lacey grabs a vodka bottle out of the cooler and hands it to me. I have the reflex of uncapping the bottle and sniffing it. My nostrils burn at the scent.
Jesus.
“I guess…?” I cringe, and Lacey laughs.
“The look on your face. I’m not going to make you drink it plain.”
She’s not?
“Come on.” She leaps to her feet and heads for the fridge. “Bloody Mary all right?”
This one is a no-brainer since I’ve had this drink virgin at my dad’s restaurant more times than I can count.
“Absolutely.” I nod, and Lacey pulls tomato juice out of her fridge door. I watch as she gets to work, biting my tongue when she pours a little bit too much vodka in there for my taste.
She tops it off with a celery stalk, wedging it onto the rim of the glass, and hands me the drink.
This is weird.
Being here.
Being offered my first real drink by Lacey Mattson.
I can’t help feeling like I should be doing this with Aveena… but then again, my best friend promised herself to never drink after witnessing her father’s struggles with booze.
I used to praise her for it, admire how she refused to make the same mistakes as her dad, but now? I realize I’ve been beating myself up for wanting different things. I thought if she didn’t need alcohol, or boys, or parties in her life, I shouldn’t either, but…
Maybe I should be free to decide what I do and don’t like for myself. Free to make my own mistakes and learn from them.
Lacey claps in excitement and singsongs, “Try it. Try it.”
I cave to her request and bring the drink to my lips. The first sip is overwhelming, the underlying taste of vodka stronger than anticipated, but I quickly adapt.
“Is it good?” Lacey questions.
“Delicious. You’ve got skills,” I compliment, and she flips her hair over her shoulder for effect, making me chortle.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you to my girls.” Lacey takes my arm again, ushering me to the living room, where people are dancing carelessly. My legs weigh a thousand pounds when I see Brielle, Louise, and another cheerleader named Hadley chatting from afar.
This is it, isn’t it?
The part where they humiliate me in front of everyone?
“Found her,” Lacey informs the girls.
Brielle and Louise transfer their focus onto me, the shock in their gazes a clear sign that they weren’t expecting to see me here.
“Everyone, this is Diamond.” Lacey drags a sip of rosé right out of the bottle. “But she’d rather you call her Dia.”
Louise’s mocking scoff drives my heart to my stomach. “And I’d rather drink spit than be a part of this conversation.”
Then she walks off.
So… safe to say she’s not the forgiving type?
No one speaks for long seconds.
