Becoming Sarah - By Miranda Simon Page 0,17
together into a dark, crowded room throbbing to a DJ’s beat. Strobe lights threw out a dazzle of rainbow colors. So many people, such loud music – I’d never been to a club before, only high school dances, and I felt out of my element. At the same time, though, I picked up on the current of excitement, the sense of possibility, and my body swayed in time to the music almost against my will.
“Come on, let’s get a drink,” Liza shouted. Aurélie took my hand and pulled me toward the bar.
I felt a stab of alarm. I’d had a beer once, at Maria’s house. We stole it from the fridge and shared it in her bedroom. We’d reeled around the room, flopped on her bed, and pretended to be drunk. But even then I’d had my qualms. Alcoholism was genetic. All my life I’d vowed I wouldn’t turn out like my mom’s.
Aurélie put her lips to my ear. “What are you having?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
She motioned to the bartender. “I’ll have a martini, and a cosmopolitan for my friend here.”
“No, Aurélie, I. . .”
She thrust the drink into my hand. Liza ordered and I paid for us all. I eyed my plastic cup suspiciously, then sniffed it. It smelled like grapefruit juice.
“Drink up,” Aurélie urged.
My head swam already from the pounding music, the bad news about Nick, and my hopelessly screwed up life. What could one drink hurt?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I took a tiny sip, then another. The vodka burned my throat a little going down, but the drink itself tasted cool and sweet. Better yet, it melted the lump in my throat and the knot in my stomach.
Nick, married? It had never even crossed my mind that he might be. In high school, nobody was married. They might see someone on the side, or cheat with some girl they’d met in online, but this seemed far more serious. Sleeping with a married man? How could Sarah live with herself?
She couldn’t.
That thought brought me up cold. I could hardly lay this all on Sarah when I had only myself to blame. I’d let my hormones lead me around by the nose, only to end up with an aching heart and smashed dreams. Next time, I wouldn’t be so naïve.
“Hey, look at those three guys over there,” Liza yelled over the music. “The one in the blue shirt’s pretty hot, and I think he’s checking me out.”
I looked. They were hot, all right, and they were eyeing all three of us. Liza grabbed my arm. “They’re coming over here!”
One of the guys – tall, with dark hair – leaned on the bar beside me and bared perfect white teeth. He said something I couldn’t make out.
“What?”
He leaned in. His breath tickled my ear. “What are you drinking? I’ll buy you another.”
His friends were already flirting with Aurélie and Liza. He smelled good, some expensively woodsy after shave. I opened my mouth to point out that I still had most of my first drink left, but when I glanced down I saw that the glass was nearly empty. “No thanks,” I said instead.
“Want to dance, then?”
I did not. While I’d gone to a few school dances, I’d stayed on the sidelines. Maybe as Sarah I was less clumsy and awkward, but I didn’t feel like testing that theory. I shook my head. “Not right now, thanks!”
“Then I hope you don’t mind if I just stand here and admire you.” He grinned. “I told my friends they had to let me talk to you first, since you’re the most beautiful girl in the room tonight.”
How could I not feel flattered? Here was a great-looking guy, presumably single, interested in me. I smiled back. It was all the encouragement he needed. He introduced himself as Chad. He worked for an advertising agency. He owned a Porsche. He liked German philosophers, wine tasting, and adventure travel. At some point, I let him buy me that second drink. Liza and Aurélie left to dance with the other two guys. Chad was telling me about his last kayaking trip in Malaysia. My eyes kept glazing over. The music was too loud; it hurt my ears.
Aurélie and Liza appeared next to me. “Come on,” Aurélie said. She grabbed my hand and dragged me away from Chad. “This place is boring. Let’s get out of here.”
Chad and his friends trailed after us. They thrust business cards into our hands. “Bo-oring,” Liza complained, when they were out of earshot. “I hear there’s a