Gagged(30)

“I’ll get you a drink,” he shout-says into my ear.

“No, you absolutely won’t,” I say back.

I’m smarter than that, with a level head on my shoulders. I’m a good girl who makes intelligent decisions. I’d never let a strange man give me an open drink because he might slip something into it. And I’d never run off with a strange man like Jasmine did, because he might slip something into me.

But I sure as hell won’t stand here with my hands shaking, nerves pulling my strings. So I order my liquid courage to get through this vigil with my wits intact.

And then I order another.

And another.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

AURORA





JASMINE SHOWS UP SOME TIME later, drunk, with James. When I ask her where they went, she turns and laughs. It should bother me (I’m usually like a protective older sister, which Jasmine says makes me adept at blocking cocks), but it doesn’t. Because by then I’m also halfway drunk.

“Are you shitfaced?” Jasmine shout-asks. I ask her to repeat it, and she does, shouting louder, but instead of answering I laugh because the question itself strikes me as hilarious.

“You are! You’re shitfaced!”

“I am not.” Then I hold my face straight for maybe five seconds, but it all falls apart and I practically spit in her face when I start laughing again.

“Can you believe this?” she says. “Best school party ever!”

And that, too, is hilarious, because this is a school party, and not in the way that people usually have college parties. This started as something officially sanctioned, with the big gay dean in his little bow tie giving speeches, with Gloria Denim from the counselor’s office who’s always reminded me of my elementary school lunch lady dressed in something from a thousand years ago — actually trimmed with lace — and there were parents clapping with well-bred applause. But now look what happened. I’m sure Jasmine and James ran off so he could finger her at least, and it doesn’t bother me as much as usual because what the hell, best official college party ever.

Jasmine laughs again. “Aurora, you are toast! I’ve never seen you drunk!”

Probably because I’ve never been drunk. Just like I’ve never been laid. I’ll graduate with honors, but there’s no question I failed college.

“If I’m drunk, it’s only because you drove me to it. I was worried about you.” I try to make my voice hectoring, but it’s all so hilarious. I’m sitting at a table near the edge of the dance floor, alone with like five empty glasses in front of me. Jasmine and James are standing, and James suddenly doesn’t strike me as threatening at all. For some reason I look from his pretty smiling face to his dress slacks, wondering what it was like for Jasmine to drag him off and whip it out. Sometimes I wish I was bold. Sometimes I wonder if life is passing me by.

“Come on, Aurora.” James holds out a hand for me to stand. I realize he’s got this boyish look, and now I think he’s perfect for Jasmine, and I wonder what my problem was, trying to keep them apart. I’m such a pain in the ass. I never have any fun — and worse, I never let the people around me have any fun. Hey, Aurora, let’s see if we can sneak into the club with our fake IDs! But I never wanted to go. I didn’t have a fake ID, and even when my friend Monica’s brother was working the door to Mr. Mustard’s and we all could have got in anyway, I still wouldn’t leave the house. I was sure I’d be caught, and wasn’t that kind of girl.

“Come on where?”

“Let’s dance!”

I try to protest, but James pulls me to my feet and drags me on to the dance floor. It’s loud, and the music is thrumming the floor underfoot. When I try to get away, Jasmine is behind me, pushing me forward. She’s grinding against me like a man, and I can feel her hips on me, breasts pressing against my back. James is in front of me, smiling and dancing. He’s lost his jacket and tie, and I can see his collarbones. I want to touch them. I want to stop being the dead weight for once.

So I move a little. And then I move more.

When Jasmine starts to hoot, I feel encouraged and dance a bit harder. I’m usually too reserved, though I do like dancing. Somehow I don’t care. Jasmine is all over the place and so I figure I might as well be too, and then I see a few other people who are all sort of watching me, watching us, so I let my hair down and really start thrashing about, trying on my new club girl persona. And when that goes over well, I rub my hands down my front like Jasmine keeps doing, like a full-body caress, and that makes the room cheer even harder.

The crowd parts a little. I see Caspian, at the floor’s edge, sitting in a chair with one leg crossed over the other, his suit still fully composed and immaculate, a drink in his hand. As my eye goes to him, suddenly fearless, I scan the line of people who’ve stepped aside between us. Who are they? Are these people really in my classes? I look around, but now I’d swear I only know Jasmine.