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She digs into her own bag and pulls out something that looks like a handkerchief. Or a rag. And tosses it my way.
“Wear this top. It’s better than what you have on.”
I dutifully pull my T-shirt off and replace it with a skimpy little tank top that barely covers my breasts.
She rolls her eyes. “The bra. Take the bra off.”
I look down. If I take off my bra, I will be quite… exposed. I mean, covered-up enough for a club, but not enough to go anywhere else.
Which, I guess, is fine. If these girls have their coochies almost hanging out, I guess I can have my tits almost hanging out.
“Okay, girls,” Vivianne says, looking in the mirror one last time.
I stuff my money, ID, and passport in the back pocket of my jeans, and swipe on some red lipstick. The only lipstick I own.
“Abby, did you put your passport in the safe?” Sabine asks.
I feel my back pocket, where my passport is safe and sound. If there’s one thing my father drilled into my head before I left Miami, it was to never, ever be without my passport. He might be a pain in my ass, but this advice sounded solid.
“No, I’m good,” I say, heading for the door.
Let’s get the party started before I change my mind and spend the night at the Airbnb reading a book on my phone, waiting for the girls to return.
But Vivi grabs my arm. “No! You cannot bring your passport to the club. It will get lost for sure.” Her eyes are wide with fear.
I look at her tight grip on my arm, and then at Sabi, who nods, and points to the safe.
“I… I think I’ll keep mine on me. I’ll just be really careful.”
The sisters look at each other and simultaneously shake their heads. “No,” Sabi says, holding out her hand. “We cannot let you do that. It would be crazy.”
“And stupid,” Vivi adds. “It will be crowded and anyone could steal it from you. You brush up against someone on the dance floor andpoof!it’s gone.”
Well, shit. I’ve already defied Dad by getting on a plane and leaving Madrid, so what’s one more broken rule?
“Fine,” I say.
I walk over to Sabine and look inside the safe, which holds their French passports and her laptop. I toss mine inside, and she slams the door shut.
“What’s the code? You know, to get it back open?” I ask.
“Easy,” Vivi answers. “One-two-three-four.”
Really? Like that’s not the first thing any thief would try. But whatever.
After about fifteen minutes of the club, my head is pounding from the throbbing house music, the pot smoke in the air, and the smell of hot bodies grinding against each other in the unairconditioned space.
But hey, I’m living my best life.
I leave the dance floor and push my way up to the bar, ready to order a beer, which I can do since the drinking age in Spain is only eighteen. But before I can, Vivi appears with her sister in tow, smiling broadly, sweaty from dancing.
“Oh my god, don’t buy a drink,” she says, shouting over the house music. “Here. Look what someone gave us.” Three tiny pills sit in the palm of her hand.
Oh, for Christ’s sake.
I don’t know shit about drugs. Except not to take them.
“What is it?” I ask.
