“Um. That sounds great.” The truth is that I have no idea what pakora is.
“My next class is this way,” Jodi says, gesturing over her shoulder and taking a step in the opposite direction. “Just remember to text me when you get to the bar tonight.”
I frown and call after her. “Wait! What’s tonight?”
Jodi stops and turns back to me. “Remember that party I told you about?” She blinks and waves her hands dismissively. “I know, I know! It sounds like it’s going to be some horrible thing with a bunch of jerk-off athletes, but I went last year and I swear that it was a ton of fun. You’ll like it. We’ll dance!”
“Sorry,” I mumble, trying to mentally backtrack through our conversation. Dance? “I missed that earlier. Where is this party?”
“It’s at a little place called Dirty Ernie’s. Just look up the address and meet me there around ten.” She rocks back on her heels and spins away, calling back in a sing-songy voice, “And text me!”
***
I’m not going. Not a chance.
The only thing I have in mind for tonight is changing into a stretchy pair of yoga pants, eating a bag of microwave popcorn for dinner, and spending at least four solid hours vegged out on the couch watching bad reality TV. I figure that I’ll text Jodi in a little while and explain that something came up. Since she has the sight, she probably already knows that I’m going to back out.
When I walk in the townhouse, Mara is on the phone. The guilty shadows under her brow and the way she jumps when I close the front door give her away immediately.
I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at her. This is our sister-speak for: I know that you’re talking about me.
“Mom,” she mouths as she hands over her cell phone.
To prepare myself, I close my eyes and breathe in and out through my nose three times. It’s a technique my therapist suggested utilizing in stressful situations.
Feeling slightly calmed, I bring the phone to my ear and clear my throat. Before I’ve even managed to get out a greeting, my mother is already launching into her standard I’m worried about you spiel. This is what she’s like. I swear that every time we talk, my hackles go up and I start pacing and gnawing on my bottom lip.
“No, that’s not true,” I say, thrusting my hand in my hair and shooting Mara an I’m-going-to-kill-you look. At least she has the decency to stare at the floor in shame because it’s clear that she’s been reporting every single detail of my unsociable activity to our mother. “I’m doing fine and no I don’t need you to make an appointment for me.” I pluck at the bottom of my tank top and take a deep breath. “I’m actually going out with a friend tonight. Believe it or not, she’s one of Mara’s sorority sisters…”
That’s how I wind up sitting in the passenger seat of Mara’s car in a pair of tight jeans and more make-up than I’ve worn in over a year.
“You sure you’re going to be okay by yourself until Jodi gets here?” Mara asks as she pulls the car into a small gravel lot at nine thirty. She’s dropping me off on her way to meet up with her sorority sisters. “You can always come out with me instead.”
My stomach feels knotty, but I take a deep breath and open the door. “No, I’m good.”
“Wait. You have some frizzies.” Mara reaches over and runs her fingers over the hair that I’ve braided and draped over my shoulder. “And would you remind Jodi that if she misses more than three chapter meetings she’s going to have a fine? She’s not off to a great start.”
“Will do.” I flash my sister a wobbly smile and step out of the car into the balmy, humid night. The heavy Florida air clings to my skin like a slick layer of lotion that never seems to dry.
Dirty Ernie’s is a small brick-faced building stuck between a hipster record store and an artsy coffee shop that I vow to check out later. I slip the strap of my purse over my head so that it crosses my chest and I sidle my way through a few clusters of people standing out on the sidewalk smoking. A big, brawny bouncer checks my ID at the door and encircles my wrist with a neon green wristband that lets everyone know I’m a lame underclassman.
Inside, the bar is pretty much the way that I feared it would be—crowded and loud. I’m standing on my tiptoes searching the sea of heads for one with blue streaks when I’m jostled from behind.
“Oh shit!” Some guy turns his upper body to face me. He pulls his dark eyebrows together and grabs at my bare arm with rough, calloused fingers. “I didn’t see you standing there. Sorry.”