mischievously.
“No!” I gasp, folding my arms across my chest.
She sighs. “Fine then. Look good for me. I’m the one who has to stare at your raggedy-ass face all night. Just a little bit of mascara…” she comes over to me and begins prodding at my face and shirt. “And maybe a cute top, and a skirt, and some lipstick…”
“OK, OK!” I bat her hands away. I know Lacey well enough to know, she doesn’t quit. Better I save us both the hassle of her bugging me all night. “I give up. Do whatever you want to me!”
“That’s what all the boys say.” Lacey winks.
Since I’m already buzzed on the beer, and I figure we have a long night of drinking ahead of us, I convince Lacey to trade the Bug for a pair of bicycles. We ride into town, unsteady on the rusted old frames, making wide loops on the empty road.
“You should have told me about the biking part before we got dressed!” Lacey huffs along beside me, her short pink sundress hiked up high as she pedals.
“Like that would have made a difference,” I laugh. “You didn’t bring anything that hits past your thigh!”
“Yeah, but maybe I wouldn’t have worn my lucky thong.” She shoots back, sticking her tongue out at me.
“Guess my panties aren’t so boring now,” I tease, sing-song. We’ve already fought about my dull taste in underwear. Lacey brought a backseat full of clothing—enough to last a month—and she insisted on dressing me up in a short, white denim mini and colorful print tank. She layered my wrists with metallic bracelets that jangle in the night, and finished off the look by scrunching my damp hair into loose ringlets, and painting me with blusher and gloss.
When I saw the result in the mirror, I have to admit, I was pleased. If I’m going to venture back into town again, there’s nothing wrong with looking good for it, I decide.
Now, as we reach Main Street and cycle down to the harbor, I feel my nerves kick, all over again. I can already hear the music and laughter from the crowd down by the docks, and I wonder if Emerson is among them, knocking back a beer with friends. Or worse, a girl.
“Don’t make that face!” Lacey cries, “That face is banned tonight, you understand?”
“It’s my face!” I protest weakly.
“Yeah, and you look like you’re heading in to have Marta rip hot wax of your va-jay-jay.” Lacey retorts.
I can’t help but giggle.
“See? Better!” Lacey cheerleads. “Trust me, by the end of the night, I’ll have you forgetting this guy ever existed. Me, or tequila, anyway.”
We reach the harbor and chain the bikes up against a railing. I look around. It’s early, but there’s already a huge crowd. Music is blasting loud, with food stalls and tables set up serving fresh shrimp and crabcakes. There’s a makeshift bar with beers and liquor, and the party continues all the way across the harbor: boats playing more music, lights strung up along the dock. I see locals, and unfamiliar faces; tourists and college kids, and families too. It’s a real party, and I can’t help but feel a small sense of anticipation.
Then my eyes catch a face in the crowd: a dark-haired girl dressed in tiny cut-off shorts and a black bikini top. She’s draped over a skeevy-looking guy, doing shots. I freeze.
“Fuck,” Lacey feels me tense up beside her. “Is he here?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s just his sister.”
I’m about to turn away when Brit’s eyes meet mine in the crowd. Her face goes dark. She shoves the guy aside and marches over towards us.
I feel a flutter of nerves. I always got on fine with Brit—but that was before I skipped town, and broke her brother’s heart. The gangly teenager I knew back then has been replaced by this curvaceous girl with kohl- rimmed eyes and a nose-ring—and murder in her eyes.
She reaches us, glaring.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Brit demands. Her voice is loud and accusing, and the people nearby turn to stare.
I blush. “Hey,
“No!” I gasp, folding my arms across my chest.
She sighs. “Fine then. Look good for me. I’m the one who has to stare at your raggedy-ass face all night. Just a little bit of mascara…” she comes over to me and begins prodding at my face and shirt. “And maybe a cute top, and a skirt, and some lipstick…”
“OK, OK!” I bat her hands away. I know Lacey well enough to know, she doesn’t quit. Better I save us both the hassle of her bugging me all night. “I give up. Do whatever you want to me!”
“That’s what all the boys say.” Lacey winks.
Since I’m already buzzed on the beer, and I figure we have a long night of drinking ahead of us, I convince Lacey to trade the Bug for a pair of bicycles. We ride into town, unsteady on the rusted old frames, making wide loops on the empty road.
“You should have told me about the biking part before we got dressed!” Lacey huffs along beside me, her short pink sundress hiked up high as she pedals.
“Like that would have made a difference,” I laugh. “You didn’t bring anything that hits past your thigh!”
“Yeah, but maybe I wouldn’t have worn my lucky thong.” She shoots back, sticking her tongue out at me.
“Guess my panties aren’t so boring now,” I tease, sing-song. We’ve already fought about my dull taste in underwear. Lacey brought a backseat full of clothing—enough to last a month—and she insisted on dressing me up in a short, white denim mini and colorful print tank. She layered my wrists with metallic bracelets that jangle in the night, and finished off the look by scrunching my damp hair into loose ringlets, and painting me with blusher and gloss.
When I saw the result in the mirror, I have to admit, I was pleased. If I’m going to venture back into town again, there’s nothing wrong with looking good for it, I decide.
Now, as we reach Main Street and cycle down to the harbor, I feel my nerves kick, all over again. I can already hear the music and laughter from the crowd down by the docks, and I wonder if Emerson is among them, knocking back a beer with friends. Or worse, a girl.
“Don’t make that face!” Lacey cries, “That face is banned tonight, you understand?”
“It’s my face!” I protest weakly.
“Yeah, and you look like you’re heading in to have Marta rip hot wax of your va-jay-jay.” Lacey retorts.
I can’t help but giggle.
“See? Better!” Lacey cheerleads. “Trust me, by the end of the night, I’ll have you forgetting this guy ever existed. Me, or tequila, anyway.”
We reach the harbor and chain the bikes up against a railing. I look around. It’s early, but there’s already a huge crowd. Music is blasting loud, with food stalls and tables set up serving fresh shrimp and crabcakes. There’s a makeshift bar with beers and liquor, and the party continues all the way across the harbor: boats playing more music, lights strung up along the dock. I see locals, and unfamiliar faces; tourists and college kids, and families too. It’s a real party, and I can’t help but feel a small sense of anticipation.
Then my eyes catch a face in the crowd: a dark-haired girl dressed in tiny cut-off shorts and a black bikini top. She’s draped over a skeevy-looking guy, doing shots. I freeze.
“Fuck,” Lacey feels me tense up beside her. “Is he here?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s just his sister.”
I’m about to turn away when Brit’s eyes meet mine in the crowd. Her face goes dark. She shoves the guy aside and marches over towards us.
I feel a flutter of nerves. I always got on fine with Brit—but that was before I skipped town, and broke her brother’s heart. The gangly teenager I knew back then has been replaced by this curvaceous girl with kohl- rimmed eyes and a nose-ring—and murder in her eyes.
She reaches us, glaring.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Brit demands. Her voice is loud and accusing, and the people nearby turn to stare.
I blush. “Hey,
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