Violet whistled. “That skirt is highly inappropriate. And so is that navel-bearing sweater. What has brought about this sudden change in my friend? Could it be Brando Fausti? Could it be Ace Mcafee? Is it the sinful chocolate cake? Or is it the scrumptious cinnamon bun? I should probably change Brando’s MO to something Italian. Like gelato. Or gelato with sinful chocolate cake.”
I looked down at my sweater. I looked even further down at my skirt—it landed way above my knees. “I just want to have some fun.”
She fell to her knees and thrust her hands toward the sky. “Thank you! Thank you!”
I laughed and helped her up. “Let’s get a drink.”
She thrust a hand to her heart. “I thought I’d never hear those words from Scarlett Poésy. Some man has ticked you off and is bringing out the wild child in you. One of them made you take the proverbial chill pill. Sandy has chilled!” She made her voice sound goofy. “Which one was it? The Gin Blossom ticket-giver? Or—” she dropped to sotto voice “—the ‘get in my car now’ hottie?”
“Neither,” I wrapped my arm around hers.
“Liar.” She hit me with her hip. “But at this point, I don’t give a damn who it was! I just like that a wing has been set free from the tragic cage.”
We both howled at the same time, something we used to do before my life had turned dark.
I was pleasantly surprised to see that Friday’s party had tripled in size—it seemed most of the school and beyond were not as daring as I was, seeing as I had been to a party on a Wednesday too.
Violet directed me through clusters of people laughing or being obnoxious. A small group of people danced to Aerosmith. A few were making out to Aerosmith too. A guy standing against Jiggly Seller’s car whistled as we approached. Violet and I tucked our heads together, laughing.
It was no surprise that Jiggly Seller had the largest quantity of alcohol in the closest radius. He had a hat that read “Illegal Peddler” atop his head and a shirt that read “From The Prohibition” covering his scrawny chest.
“What’ll it be?” He stuck his head out of the rust-colored Ford Taurus, looking around like he was being watched before his attention settled on me. He looked me over from head to toe and then whistled. “Never mind. I know I haven’t seen you here before so this one—” he glanced at Violet “—these two are on me.” He sat back in his car and, a moment later, handed us two red cups filled with foaming beer.
We toasted, smiling and laughing our way to a spot by the fire. I took a wooden crate and she took the one next to me. I guzzled my beer—actually liking the taste of it—while Violet watched with a knowing smile on her face.
It didn’t seem long before pleasant warmth seemed to radiate through my body. I could have easily float, float, floated up to the sky filled with bright white stars. A few guys had taken seats around us, offering us more drinks, and a few more asked us to dance.
I was having much too good of a time to dance, but I did knock back a tall can of beer in record setting time. I had never been drunk before, but I was finding that it was all that it was cracked up to be.
Violet snatched my hand, pulling it to her mouth, using it as a microphone. “Let’s dance, Sandy!”
I listened to the music for a beat; another Aerosmith song. I could have kissed the DJ. I agreed to her dance request. The sadness that I felt every time I put on my pointe shoes ceased to exist in this state. The alcohol had numbed every sense, every nerve, every feeling. The temperature outside could’ve been hot or cold; nothing seemed to register or matter. I just…was.
To the delight of the crowd of guys that had huddled around us, Violet and I danced together. Circling, swinging our hair back and forth, twirling, and—I can’t lie—in my obliterated state, there was a bit of gyrating going on. This mostly from Violet.
When I compared the kind of dance we were successfully pulling off and the kind of dance that existed in the dance studio, mostly classical ballet, I caught the giggles. It felt freeing, fun. But then something else happened to me—