Read Online In Real Life by Jessica Love - Free Book Online Page B

school.”
    â€œAww, too bad,” he says. “I was gonna ask if you went to school with her. Mercy Jordan?”
    I shrug. “Nope. Sorry.”
    He hands the license back to me and smiles as he wraps a paper wristband around my arm. “Oh well. Have a good time.” Then he turns to face Lo, who is right behind me, and he takes her ID.
    Oh my God. I can’t believe that worked. I used a fake ID at a casino in Las Vegas on spring break and got away with it. Who am I right now?
    I snake through the ropes and linger around the still-empty merch table outside the door to the House of Blues with Grace, waiting for Lo. I try to update Grace on my success, but she elbows me. “Keep cool until we get inside.”
    The bouncer guy seems to be staring hard at Lo’s ID and asking her questions. Oh crap. I’ve been so worried about getting caught myself, I didn’t even think about her and her stupid non-Mexican photo. I chew on my lip and try to look nonchalant, like a perfectly legal girl waiting for her perfectly legal friend, but inside, my stomach is doing a gymnastics routine and I’m imagining Lo being carried through the casino and tossed out the front doors.
    â€œWhat year did you graduate?” the bouncer guy asks. Thankfully, Grace made us practice this sort of question in the car. He frowns at her answers, but his eyes flick up at the line of people growing behind her. He scowls at the line, scowls at Lo’s ID, scowls at Lo—but then he hands her card back, slaps a wristband on her, and waves her through.
    â€œWhat happened?” I grip tightly to Lo’s arm, flooded with relief that she made it through the gauntlet to stand next to me.
    â€œDid you see that?” she asks, keeping her voice low. “I thought I was busted for sure. He was sketching on my ID so hard.”
    â€œI told you you should have picked a girl who was actually Mexican.”
    â€œBut this girl looks more like me than the Mexican girls!”
    â€œWhatever. It worked. Did you hear him asking me if I knew his cousin?”
    â€œI’m proud of you for coming up with that story about moving there after high school,” Grace says. “That ability to lie under pressure is a super-marketable Bad Girl skill. Now, let’s go!”
    The three of us walk into House of Blues, and I stop in my tracks as I’m assaulted by all the colors and sounds in the restaurant area. “Wow,” I say. “Look at this place!” The walls are covered with kitschy signs and sculptures and decorations that look like something you would use in a voodoo ritual. Loud pop-punk music blares from the speakers as people eat dinner and drink. We make a left to walk down the stairs under bright lights that spell out SAY YEAH, and I grip the railing, white knuckled, because my legs are shaking even harder now than they were outside. The downstairs space—stage against the back wall, bars lining the other three—is already starting to fill up with people sipping drinks and chatting with each other in groups in front of the stage area, even though Nick’s band is the opening act and he told me he didn’t expect anyone to show up for them. Moxie Patrol, the headlining band, isn’t on for a few more hours, and Nick said they’re the ones people care about.
    But I don’t care about Moxie Patrol. I only care that I’m inside the same room as Nick Cooper. I’m going to see Nick in person before the night is over.
    There had been a merch table outside the doors, but it was just loaded up with boxes that contained T-shirts and CDs from tonight’s bands. I didn’t see Nick there, or anyone I recognized from his pictures online, so now my eyes dart from crowd to stage in search of him or someone who looks familiar from the many photos he’s sent me. My heart pounds and my face heats up like it’s on fire. I’m not sure if it’s better if I see