Page 18 of Ruthless Chaos
Tara chuckles, fanning her fingers. “You nervous?”
Sucking in a breath, I catch my bottom lip between my teeth. “Is it obvious?” I know I’m a bad actor.
She nods, then laughs and leans in closer to me.
Quickly, I rack my brain for an excuse. “They don’t have parties like this in Vermont.” That’s believable, right?
“Partying is in my blood,” she exclaims, shimmying her shoulders. “But your first college party is always different. I think I was nervous for my first SFU party too.”
My anxiety dissipates a little. “Really?”
“Of course!” Tara hooks our arms together and we start walking again. “There’s no way to know what to expect.”
We’re silent, and the sounds of our heels on the road and the conversations from the students around us punctuate the flurry of thoughts rushing through my mind. Tara’s words are helping. Ifshefelt that way, maybe it’s normal to have feelings like this.
“Here’s my advice,” she starts speaking again when we’ve almost joined the huge crowd of students pulsing to the dance music booming from the huge speakers dotted around the party.
I can barely hear her, so I move my ear to her mouth.
She continues. “Just don’t think about it too much. Have a drink and just do what feels right. It’s a party. Enjoy it.”
I nod and smile.
Even if I could express how I truly feel to Tara, I don’t think she would understand.
She seems so full of life, so free-spirited. I doubt she can grasp what happens to a person who hasn’t had any freedom their entire life. Trusting myself to figure out what to do in this situation doesn’t seem safe.
I’ve spent so long wishing I could be free that I never really gave thought to what it would be like when I actually was.
Tara’s hand moves to grip my wrist.
The two of us weave through the swaying crowd, dodging arms and torsos.
I can barely see where she’s leading me since there isn’t much lighting around apart from glowsticks, the moon and the strobe lights around the DJ. Even though it’s an open-air event, the air is thick with the smell of sweat, perfume, and a musk I can’t put a finger on.
Just when I think I’m the cusp of sensory overload, Tara yanks me into a clearing within the crowd. Taking a breath, I look around to find that we’re on the outskirts of the thickest part. There are still people around, but at least I have space to stand without bumping into them.
I’m glad that it’s a bit too dark for me to see their faces clearly.
The last people I want to see are those girls from earlier. I would probably lose all the confidence I built up on the walk over here. How many people here think of me the way they do?
Tara tugs on my hand again.
“Now, let’s go get you a drink.”
Alcohol. I’m not sure how that part of the equation slipped my mind. The closest I’ve ever come to a drink is the rum cake Dolores would make for me on special occasions.
I force a smile. “Order me your favorite,” I say.
Luckily, Tara doesn’t seem to give it a second thought. We join the line for drinks.
The bar is an elaborate log structure adorned with colorful string lights and two long counters with a dozen bartenders. It’s far enough from the DJ that my ears feel like they’re getting a break.
It’s also just a stone’s throw from the edge of the forest that encircles the entire lake.
Tara is bopping to the beat as we move up the line. By the time we make it to the front, she’s holding her dress in place so her breasts don’t make an unwanted appearance.
The bartender’s much older than us, a middle-aged woman dressed in all black with her auburn hair in a ponytail and a stern look on her face. For a moment, I wonder if she’ll ask if I’m old enough to drink.
