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“No,” I told her. “You didn’t.”
Then I went in to get scoliosis-tested, and it turns out I don’t have scoliosis, so that was one success. But also I wasn’t wearing a bra today, which Lizzie Reardon noticed as I was putting my shirt back on after the scoliosis test, so by the end of the day, everyone at school had heard that I was probably a lesbian. Because if there’s one thing we know about lesbians, it’s that none of them wear bras.
Anyway. I’ve had worse days in my life. But not many.
I needed Start that night more than I’d ever needed anything. I needed excruciatingly loud music, I needed strangers, I needed darkness.
It felt like it took my family forever to fall asleep that night. Neil woke up crying from a nightmare, and then right when I was about to leave the house, Steve came all the way downstairs to double-check that he’d remembered to turn off the oven. (He had.) I’d already put on my shoes and was standing by the front door, so when Steve saw me, I had to immediately pretend that I was double-checking to make sure the door was locked. (It was.)
By the time everyone was tucked away in bed, it was twelve thirty, and I was fighting to keep my eyes open. I thought about not going out at all. But that wasn’t really an option.
At the last moment before I left the house, I went up to the attic and pulled my unicorn boots out of the garbage bag where they had lived since September. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to wear them. But I needed a little bit of magic tonight.
When I arrived at Start, Mel was standing outside, as usual.
“Hi,” I said brightly.
He frowned and looked me up and down, and I felt my heart sink. Was he going to ask again for my ID?
But all Mel said was, “Elise, honey. Did we or did we not already discuss fixing up and looking sharp?”
I tugged my hair elastic out of my ponytail and shook my hair out so it fell into tangled waves down my shoulders. “Better?” I asked.
Mel rolled his eyes. “Here we put in all this effort to provide you with a life-changing experience, week after week, and you can’t even put in the effort to change out of your Old Navy henley shirt? Come on. Meet me halfway.”
I kicked my foot out so that he could see it under the door light. “Unicorns?” I said.
Mel nodded slowly. “You look like a five-year-old, but at least you’re trying.” He opened the door for me.
“How’s it going tonight, by the way?” I asked, in what was meant to be a friendly way.
Mel rolled his eyes. “It’s a shitshow.”
I saw what Mel meant as soon as I found Vicky, hovering near the bar. “Thank God you’re here,” she said, grabbing both my arms.
“I know.” I laughed. “I feel the same way.”
“No, I mean, I need you.”
“That,” I said, “is amazing to me.” I looked around. “Where’s Pippa?”
“Where do you think Pippa is?” Vicky asked.
“Uh, I have no idea. With Char?”
“Char!” Vicky hooted like this was the most ridiculous idea ever. “Please. Pippa is there.” She jerked her thumb to point across the room, and when the lights flashed, I could see Pippa’s tiny figure crumpled on a bench against the wall.
“Is she asleep?” I asked.
“That would be fantastic,” Vicky replied. “If Pippa were asleep in the corner of Start, that would honestly be ideal. I dream of that day.”
“Vicky—” I began.
“She’s drunk,” Vicky snapped. “She passed out.”
“Oh.” I looked across the room again. I guess that made more sense; Pippa’s half-upright position didn’t seem to be that comfortable for sleeping.
I didn’t know much about drunk people. Neither Mom nor Steve drank at all. Dad usually had a six-pack of beer in the fridge, and some nights he’d have one when he got home from work, but some nights he wouldn’t. I knew that kids at my school went to parties and got drunk and sometimes passed out, because Chava and Sally talked about this a lot. But obviously I had never seen that behavior in action, since no one had ever invited me to a party.
“Shouldn’t you take her home?” I ventured.
“Absolutely.” Vicky adjusted her big feathered earrings. “A good friend would unquestionably take Pippa home right now. Actually, a good friend would have taken her home an hour ago, and would have held back her hair as she puked, and would have made her drink a big glass of water, and would have tucked her into bed, and would have sent an e-mail to her prof to explain why she won’t be in class tomorrow.”
“But you’re not doing that,” I ventured.
“Correct. Because, Elise, do you see that guy there at the bar? The one who’s paying for his drinks?”
I followed her gaze to see a guy who looked to be in his thirties, wearing a button-down shirt and big sunglasses. He was holding a soda can in one hand and a pink drink in the other.
“He is a booking agent,” Vicky went on. “He books Start, and he books rooftop parties all over town in the summer, and he books bands for two of the big clubs downtown. And he wants to talk to me about the Dirty Curtains. That’s my band. And I am not leaving here until that has happened. Do you think this makes me a bad friend, Elise?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know enough about friendship to answer Vicky’s question with any degree of expertise.
“I know how to be a good friend,” Vicky went on. “And I know how to be a good musician. I don’t always know how to be both at once.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said. “Pippa’s awake again, so I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. See?”
Vicky glanced across the room. Pippa had roused herself enough to talk to two guys. They were a lot taller than her, and she was standing up to speak with them, but she kept swaying and having to grab on to their arms to stay upright.
“Swell,” Vicky said.
The booking agent approached us then. He held out the pink beverage to Vicky, and she took it.
“Hello,” he said to me, holding out his now-empty hand to shake. “I’m Pete. Welcome to my club.”
“Elise.” I shook his hand and tried to avoid his gaze, like he would see in my eyes that I was only sixteen.
“Hey, Elise, I’m sorry to ask,” Vicky said, “but would you mind just giving us a minute?”
I smiled and moved away, but I didn’t really know where to go. I tried to dance by myself for a song or two, but it wasn’t as fun alone. I did a slow pass around the room. Char was up in the DJ booth, but he looked too busy to talk, and, anyway, I felt too shy to just go up there and start a conversation. I didn’t know how Pippa managed to do that.
Thinking of Pippa, I glanced over at her. One of the tall guys who had been talking to her now had her pressed up against the wall. He was grinding into her, holding her head upright.
I went back to the bar to find Vicky. She was with Pete still, but they’d been joined by another guy and girl, and Pete seemed busier talking to them than to Vicky. She stood a little bit apart, like she was waiting her turn.
“Vicky?” I said.
She gave me a quick smile. “Sorry to banish you earlier. I’m just trying to … I don’t know, if he would just talk to me…”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. It’s Pippa.”
Vicky looked over to where Pippa’s rag-doll body was stuffed between a wall and a guy groping her chest. “Shit,” she said, and in about two seconds she was across the room grabbing the guy, pulling him off of Pippa. I stayed a step behind her.
“Get your hands off of her!” Vicky screamed over the music.
The guy stepped back and Pippa sagged to the ground, unbalanced without his support.
“Whoa!” He put up his hands. “What’s your problem? She was fine with it. Right?” he said to Pippa. Pippa did not reply.
“This is not what ‘fine with it’ looks like,” Vicky retorted. “Girls who are ‘fine with it’ are able to keep their eyes open without help, and they can speak in full sentences. I guess you haven’t had much success with that kind of girl, and I can see why. You’re a pervert.”