Page 55 of Petite Fleur

But no, instead, I'm here, starving.

I shouldn't complain; my friends have never demanded I go out with them, but this kinda sucks.

The only reason I haven't snuck off and gone home is because my apartment is seven miles away, but my birthday is in five minutes, so I hope the rumor is true about your first birthday shot being free.

If not, I have $5 in my bank account, and I'm hoping that's enough for their cheapest shot and a small tip.

My whole group is already on the dance floor with drinks in hand, clinging to each other as they sway to whatever this terrible music is blaring in here.

They're already a mess of sweaty bodies in the middle of the dance floor, and the smell of sweat, liquor, and pot is filling this small space to create a putrid smell.

Is this what partying smells like?

Who likes this?

Better yet, why did I agree to this?

I ignore all the commotion and make my way toward the bar, having to push through the crowd until the bustle of the bar takes over the crowd of dancers, and the bartender gives me a short nod of acknowledgment.

That's fine; I can't order for five more minutes anyway.

When he finally focuses on me, I feel awkward and out of place. "Hi, I was wondering if it's true that your first legal drink was free?" I ask kindly.

Maybe it's just the loud music, but I swear I thought I heard this guy huff at me.

"Nope. Order something, or stop crowding my bar." He says gruffly.

“Oh, sorry. How much is the cheapest shot of either rum, tequila, vodka, or whiskey?” I ask.

Now, there's no mistaking it: this man rolls his eyes and gives an unmistakable huff. “Bottom shelf is $9.” He replies.

Crap.

Okay, no big deal, just find someone from my group and let them know that I'm going home, so nobody worries.

It'd be nice if someone offered to leave with me. The buses are already closed for the night, I can't afford a taxi, and I'm seven miles from home.

"Maevey!" Someone shouts from the center of the room.

I plaster on a fake smile, turning to see Jessica beyond hammered and stumbling over to me. "Buy me a shot, Maevey!" She slurs.

I catch her before she can fall into me, but she spills her fruity pink drink on my white dress.

Wonderful, I've never worn this, and it's probably ruined.

"Jess, I think you've had enough." I tell her, but that just makes her pout. She gives me some kind of drunken version of puppy dog eyes and a pouty lip.

Even if I could afford it, it's my birthday! Why wouldn't she buy me a drink?

Luckily, Sean comes and plucks her away before I have to respond to her demand, leaving me to attempt to wash the alcohol off of my dress before it stains.

I rush to the bathroom and grab a paper towel to start blotting the fruity pink drink off my dress's beautiful lace.

This sucks…

I hate it here.

I hate people.

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