Under the Lights

“You may be determined to tank your image, missy, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you take Zander down with you. You think you know better than me and you want to go to a club tonight? Fine. We can spin this whole thing into tonight making you realize just how much you’re no longer interested in this lifestyle.” She exhales noisily, and I know she thinks she’s just done me the world’s biggest favor. “But Bri, you are going to supervise, and after tonight, Vanessa, you will cooperate. Understood?”

Or what? hovers on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t dare say it. For one thing, my parents have drilled “Respect your elders” so far into my brain I don’t think I could talk back to anyone over thirty if I wanted to.

But mostly, all I heard was that tonight I’m going to a club with Bri. And though it makes every hair on my body stand on end to think about why, I can’t remember the last time I was this excited for anything.

* * *

If anyone asks me tonight how long it took me to get ready, I will blatantly lie. I can’t even remember when I last spent so much time on my hair and makeup when there weren’t any shiny statuettes being handed out on stage. But by the time Bri texts to tell me she and her Jeep are out front, I’m feeling pretty damn good about the outfit Ally helped me pick out over Skype. I know I look hot in this shade of purple, and given that I’ve been too anxious all day to eat a single bite, I look extra thin in a dress that’s wrapped around me tighter than a bandage. My hair’s so shiny I can see dimensions of my reflection in the mirror, and third time was the charm for finally nailing sexy beach waves the way my hairdresser, Isaac, has tried to teach me a zillion times.

I don’t even know what I hope will happen tonight, but it does feel like my very last night of freedom, and for that, I wanna look good.

Thankfully, my parents are at my aunt and uncle’s tonight — I can’t deal with my mother eyeing me like I’ve dressed for Satan worship — so I let myself out of the house slowly, giving Bri time to appreciate me from tousled head to sexy-sandaled toe. But there’s no reaction at all — no whistle, no admiring once-over, not even a “Looking good.” Just a slightly impatient-sounding, “Ready?”

“Yeah.” The word sticks in my throat, all excitement rapidly draining out of my system.

She pulls the car out of park and starts off toward Sugar, a club I’d never go to if it hadn’t been arranged by the reality-show clan. It’s the first time she’s ever driven me anywhere, and I wonder if maybe she’s just a nervous driver, like I am. But her clenched jaw doesn’t look particularly fearful, and her eyes don’t dart around anxiously or anything.

I’m pretty sure she’s just avoiding eye contact.

I take advantage of that to do my own once-over, but I can’t see much. She’s wearing a leather jacket that covers up her outfit, and the combination of the night’s darkness and the brightness of the neon lights makes it hard to see her face in any detail. Finally, I feel pathetic for staring, and I sigh and look out my own window.

But when we pull up to a red light a few minutes later, I can’t help it anymore. “Did I do something?”

“Nope.” No eye contact.

I bite my lip while I wait for more, but more never comes. The light turns green, and she hits the gas.

“You’re really just going to sit there being passive-aggressive all night?”

She snorts. “No. I’m going to be passive-aggressive for the length of this drive, and then I’m going to get wasted at the club and find a nice young man to drive me home.”

For some reason, the “nice young man” part feels like the sharpest stab wound of all. “What the hell, Bri?”

“What?” she asks innocently.

“Don’t ‘what’ me! You’re the one who came up with the idea to supervise me tonight. Why’d you even say that if you were gonna be so pissed to be here?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” she mutters. “A complete fucking idiot who will never, ever learn.”

“Learn what?”

We hit another red light, and then she turns to me, her gorgeous eyes blazing with fury. “To stop taking straight girls seriously who get off on flirting with the queer girl but really still want the boyfriend security blanket. Do you have any idea how shitty it felt to hear from my mom that you’re letting Zander put a fucking chastity belt on you? Pretty sure you had ample opportunity to tell me that yourself last night.”

“It’s not a chastity belt,” I mumble, as if that’s any sort of defense. She’s right. I know she’s right. But telling her just seemed so…meaningful, like I was looking for permission. “And anyway, it’s not like you don’t know I’m with Zander, or that your mom comes up with crazy stuff like this.”

“Are you ‘with’ Zander?” Bri’s voice is even more acidic than Josh’s when he asks the same question, and makes me feel a thousand times worse. “Because I saw the two of you in that meeting, and I saw the way you looked like you were gonna hurl when he said you guys love each other. Do you even know him?”