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“Well, this isn't
exactly
how I planned to spend my Wednesday night,” Bennett says when we get inside the club. It was free to get in, because we arrived before eleven, and instead of getting yellow bands like most people, our hands were marked with do-not-serve-them-because-they're-babies black
X
s. But, according to Tree, that doesn't seem to matter much.

“Not a fan of country music?” I ask him as I watch Treena peer around for Trey.

“Dead tractors, broken hearts, and missing dogs? Not so much.” Just as he says that, a song comes on about a sexy tractor, and I start laughing. The club is big and loud, with lights beaming down onto the dance area. We're on the outskirts right now, looking at the dancers. There are tables and
a few bars around us, boxing in the dance area where, currently, everyone is doing a very choreographed line dance. I feel like I'm in a musical.

“Do you think people practice before they come?” I ask, pointing.

“I know I do,” Bennett says, and I laugh. I notice a few people in the front, leading the line, so I guess they teach it as the songs play. It all seems so forced; how is this fun?

“Trey!” Treena shouts, and we turn around to see Trey walking toward us, with girls on both sides of him.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” Trey asks, reaching out to her. The backup girls look at each other, then eye Treena. I can see what she meant earlier—the girls are gorgeous.

“Your friend Brad said we should come,” she says sweetly, reaching up to give him a kiss.

“Awesome,” he says, and I'm not sure if it's sarcastic or if he's really pleased to see her. “Come on, let's get you a drink.”

“This is going to be an interesting night,” Bennett mumbles, and I nod.

A few minutes later, Treena is holding two red drinks and pulling me into the bathroom.

“What's up? And, um, why are we going into a stall?” I ask, as she closes the door behind me.

“Trey has a fake ID, so he was able to get us these.” She hands me my cup. “But since we're underage, we can't, like, drink them out there. So. Drink,” she says, and starts chugging.

I look at Treena, high school good girl Treena, never entertaining the thought of drinking, and shake the image out of my head. Because that's not her anymore at all. And as I raise the cup I realize it might not be me, either. I take a sip of the drink, and it's fruity and cold. I look at her, and then back at where I am. “This is a little extreme—we're in a bathroom stall, standing over a toilet, and secretly drinking. Something is wrong with this picture.”

Treena shakes her head. “Yeah, what's wrong is you're not drinking.”

I place the cup to my lips again, and drink.

Treena is laughing by the time she's done. “Ugh, brain freeze.”

“Ugh,” I say, finishing off my drink. I don't feel any different yet, but knowing I will in a little bit, like I did last night, is oddly . . . freeing.

“Okay, let's go back out,” she says with another giggle.

Trey and Bennett are by the bar—Trey surrounded by more girls and Bennett standing next to him, also talking to the girls, with his hands in his pockets. Treena magnetically attaches herself to Trey's hip, and I find myself next to Bennett, of course.

“Have fun?” he asks with a grin.

“Loads. Trey has an ID, apparently.”

“Oh, I know. And with great power comes great responsibility . . . which he does not have.”

“Spider-Man?” I ask.

“Uncle Ben, but yeah, Spider-Man.”

“You are such a dork,” I say.

“Hey, you knew the reference.”

I smile, and awkwardly look down. Behind me, I hear Treena laugh, and turn to see her trying to command attention among the other blond girls, who, at least to me, don't stand a chance. Treena is just so much more of everything. I notice Bennett looking, and ask, “So where's
your
flock of women?” I gesture toward the array standing around Trey and Treena.

“Left them at home. It's exhausting bringing them around, you know? Someone is always hungry, someone always has to use the bathroom; I mean, come on.”

I laugh and start to feel the alcohol seeping into my body. My face feels lighter again, brighter. I'm getting used to the feeling. I look over at Treena again to see how she's doing, and she's lapping up the attention, basking in Trey's glow, and I shake my head. She's going to get hurt. I just know it. Then I look over at Bennett, who's staring at me, and I feel brave. I feel stronger. What was it Jessica said about my mother—why paint an orange when you can paint the sky? I want to paint the sky.

“Want to dance?” I ask him.

“I don't think I can,” he says, looking at the still-choreographed routine.

“I can't, either. Let's look stupid together,” I say, and he gives in.

“If you say so.” He takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. We stay toward the back, away from the group of good dancers. At first we try to keep up—three steps to the right, three to the left, turn, turn, clap, toe, heel—but after a while we give up, and as I feel a whirl around me, I know I'm feeling good. I'm feeling different. I'm feeling lighter.

I bump into him, and we both laugh. He takes my hand and twirls me in a circle, completely abandoning the routine, and I come in close, then back out again. I spin into his arm, so I'm wrapped up in him with my back to his chest. He puts his other arm around me and I close my eyes, moving in time with him, feeling his weight against mine. I turn around, still linked in his embrace, and stare up at him. He's so close, and his eyes are hesitant. But I'm not.

The song ends and another one comes on, but I don't care—I don't move. The world is spinning around us, but we're on solid ground. A force pushes into me, and I spin around as a guy trips by.

“Ouch,” I say, rubbing my arm.

“You okay?” he asks, taking a step back from where we were and shaking his head.

“Yeah, fine,” I say, and I want to ask, “Where were we?” but the words don't come out.

“Hey!” I look over and see Treena beckoning me.

“Oh, um, I should—”

“Yeah, I'll be right here,” he says, pushing his hair back and leaning against the wall.

I walk over to Treena, upset with that guy for knocking me back, and frustrated with myself for not doing anything.

“Nothing between you guys, huh?” Treena asks, giggling.

“We're friends,” I say again, this time joining in her laughing.

“Well, you should go for it,” she says. “Kiss him! I dare you to kiss him. Trey!” she calls, looking toward him. “Maude's going to go make out with Bennett.”

“Tree!” I yell.

“Good. Dude needs to get some action,” Trey says, and I blush uncontrollably. “Here,” he says, handing me another cup.

“Do I have to run to the bathroom again?” I ask.

“Nope, just soda,” he says with a wink. I take a sip. Definitely not just soda.

“How much have you had to drink?” I ask Treena.

“Oh, you know,” she laughs, and I know it's more than the one drink we had together. And I'm starting to wonder if she drank
more
than the one time she mentioned to me when I first arrived.

“And everything's okay?” I ask, glancing at Trey, then her.

“Everything is great,” she says, smiling, looking at Trey, who's also looking at another girl. But maybe that's just them. Maybe he's only talking to that girl, and it's innocent.

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “I'm going to go to the bathroom, cool?”

“See you in a bit,” she says with a wink, and I leave. I finish my drink quickly, then, inside the restroom, stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes look deeper, my face seems paler, but it's probably the lights. The me in the mirror is spinning a little bit, but I feel good. I feel brave.

I can't help but think I look more like my mother here, and maybe it's just because I know more about her. She might have come here. No, she wouldn't have come to a country music club. But she would have gone to a club. To a party. She would be the one turning heads. She would have been confident and in control.

Maybe I do have a little bit of that in me.

I leave the bathroom with one destination in mind. I locate Bennett easily—right where he was earlier. But to my dismay, that same pixie-haired girl from the dorm party a few days ago is talking to him.

I straighten up and walk right toward them.

“Hey,” I say, eyeing her, then glancing coyly at him.

“Hey,” he says, automatically putting his hand around me, on the small of my back. Like I'm with him. My face heats up, and I can't suppress a smile.

“Hi, Maude,” she says. “Was just stopping by to say hi—ugh, I was dragged here by my roommate.”

“We were, too,” Bennett says with an exaggerated eye roll, and I nod in agreement.

“Well, giddy-up, I'll talk to you guys later,” she says with a quick wave. She walks away and I turn toward Bennett.

“Hey,” I say, looking up to him.

“Hey,” he says simply, earnestly. No joke, nothing.

“Having fun?” I ask, cocking my head to the side and letting my hair spill over my shoulder.

“Surprisingly, yes. Which I never thought I'd say at a place like this.” He smiles, leaning against the wall. His hand drops from my back and I furrow my brow in frustration. So I move in closer, facing him, only a few inches away. “How is the couple doing?”

“We don't have to talk about them,” I say, shaking my head and walking closer until we're basically touching. I put my hands on the wall, on both sides of his waist.

“Okay,” he says nervously. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What's your . . . favorite comic?” I ask, going for his interest.

“That's like asking my favorite child, if I had children,” he says, and I don't move, so he answers, “Probably
Blankets
, this graphic novel about growing up and falling in love and family and stuff. I read it last year, and it really felt . . . real, I guess.” He's babbling; I'm making him nervous. I never knew I had the power to do that. It fills me up and pushes me forward.

“It sounds good.” I lean closer to him. “I have a confession for you,” I say, and he hesitantly asks, “What?”

“I read
Sailor Moon
.” I smile.

“I
knew
you were holding out on me.” He grins.

“There's more,” I say. “I was a Sailor Scout for Halloween last year.”

“NO!”

“Ask Treena,” I say. Our school had a dance, and it was kind of lame, but we got to dress up. That was the best part.

“Which scout were you? Let me guess. Brown hair . . . Jupiter?”

“Correct!” I grin.

“You probably should have brought the costume. I'm just saying. . . .”

“I didn't know I'd meet you,” I say, looking him right in the eyes. He looks at me like he's trying to figure me out, like he's debating what to do, so I take a leap and lean forward. I feel his hands rise to my shoulders, then slowly make their way down to my wrists.

“Maude,” he says gently.

“Yes?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and leaning in.

“Maude,” he says again, a little stronger, grabbing hold of my wrists. “Not . . . now.”

I freeze in place. “What?”

“Not now,” he sighs. “This isn't . . . this isn't the right time.” His voice sounds strained.

I recoil, feeling my cheeks redden. I thought he wanted this, too. I thought he was hinting at it. He danced with me; he put his hand on my back. He was close all week. And now, when we have a chance, no?

“Then when is the right time?” I ask, crossing my arms
in front of me. “When I'm gone?”

“No, it's not like that,” he says, rubbing his face with his hand.

“Then what is it like?” I ask, frustrated.

“This isn't you,” he says.

“How do you know this isn't me?” I ask. “This could be me.”

“But it's not.”

“Then tell me—who
am
I? Because I'm
dying
to find out,” I say sarcastically.

“Well, right now, you're drunk. And we aren't going to do anything when you're drunk.”

“You liked me last night when I was drinking,” I point out.

“And I didn't do anything then, either.”

“And when I'm sober?”

“What, did you want me to just start making out with you right before you met Jessica? Because that might have been awkward,” he says, biting back at me. I purse my lips and shake my head. Why is this so hard? Why can't I even do this right?

He sighs, and puts his hands on my arms again. I step back, away from his embrace. “I do like you, but not like this. You haven't acted like this all week, and now, after finding out about your mother, you start . . . changing? The short skirt, the pushiness? It's not you.”

“Well, maybe it is.”

“And maybe it's not,” he says, and I shake my head again.

“You're just scared,” I say, not sure what he might be scared of, but feeling it's the right thing to say.

“Yeah, I am, and you know that. I thought you got it.”

“And I thought you got me,” I say.

“I thought I did, too,” he says, and I frown at him, squinting my eyes until he's merely a blur. What was I thinking, anyway? Who does he think he is, telling me who I am, or who I can be? I can be or do whatever I want.

I turn around and though I hear him call my name, I ignore his voice. I have a new destination in mind.

I'm shaking by the time I get to the bar. It's not the one where Trey and Treena are sitting. I don't want to talk to them right now, see them in their happiness.

I know the bartender won't serve me, but that doesn't mean they won't serve anyone else around. I spot a guy who has a wristband, and he looks at me appreciatively. He looks familiar, and I realize it's Trey's friend Brad. I stand up straight, chest out, and lean casually on the bar, hiding my one
X
-marked hand behind my back.