Epic Adventures of Lydia Bennet (9781476763248) (18 page)

“Nice to meet you, Violet,” Denny said.

“Likewise. I can easily say you are my favorite of the three people I've met so far tonight,” she joked. “Oh, I almost forgot. There's a reserved table up front. That's for you guys. If anyone's there, just get Chris to yell at them.”

“I thought you didn't know we were coming?” Mary asked.

“Well, yeah, but I hoped you would,” Violet said. “See you guys after the show?”

She squeezed her way through all the people and we grabbed another round of drinks before committing to doing the same. And then, realizing that it had gotten even more crowded, we grabbed an extra round so we wouldn't have to fight our way back quite as soon.

For those of you playing at home, that's:

Denny: Rounds 2 and 3

Mary: Rounds 2 and 3

Lydia: Rounds 4 and 5

But beer basically doesn't even count as alcohol anyway, so why keep track?

We finally made our way up to the reserved table. Pros: no one had ignored the sign and tried to sit there, so we didn't have to get Chris. Plus, it was literally right by the stage. Cons: it was way too far from the bar than I enjoyed . . . and we had a front-row seat for Eddie and Todd's show. Which is undoubtedly why Mary took the seat that let her face the exact opposite direction to talk to us.

“So now that we're done with that sidetrack extravaganza, tell me everything!” Denny said. “I can't believe you guys are getting out of this godforsaken place.”

“You don't even live here,” I pointed out, even as my heart pounded at the turn the conversation was taking.

“This town, my town . . .” He waved it off. “Everything in this area is all the same. I can only pray I make it out one day, too.”

You know those cement trucks that are just constantly turning and turning so the cement doesn't dry out as it's being transported?

Yeah, pretty sure one of them was driving around in my stomach.

“Well, we're looking for a third roommate, if you feel the inclination,” Mary suggested.

“Ha. I wish. Maybe someday,” he said. “Anyway, seriously, tell me all your plans. I want to hear everything.”

I was really glad Mary actually liked Denny, because that meant she actually talked. Which meant I could actually get away with not talking. First, the last thing I wanted on a fun night out was to be constantly reminded of all the things I had planned on but wasn't going to be able to do. And B, I had enough of a buzz going that I was worried if I tried to join the conversation, I'd let the truth slip.

Maybe beer does count as alcohol.

And maybe I shouldn't have skipped dinner.

And maybe I should've actually not screwed up my life.

Here we go again.

Rather than tuning out Mary and Denny completely, which would have probably resulted in having to listen to the galactic warfare that was Eddie and Todd's synth duo “music,” I came up with an absolutely flawless plan during their conversation.

“San Francisco?” Drink.

“Lizzie?” Drink.

“College?” Drink.

“Plans?” Drink.

“Future?” Drink.

“A,” “the,” “of,” “and,” “but”—drink.

I suppose you could call it a drinking game, but I preferred to call it Lydia Bennet's Miraculous Method of Coping with Inevitably Disappointing Everyone Yet Again.

Hey, it did the trick. And so did the alcohol.

By the time Mary was telling a surprisingly intrigued Denny about the pros and cons of the various neighborhoods in San Francisco, I was way less tense and a little more fuzzy-headed, but the cement truck rolling over my internal organs had given up, which was nice.

“So Violet's moving up to San Fran, too?” Denny asked.

“Yeah, the band is going to record. Expand their audience. All that stuff,” Mary said.

“Uh-huh,” Denny said. “Well, it's cool you guys are moving to the same place.”

“We're not— I mean, it's not like that, it's just this weird coincidence,” Mary stuttered.

“It's a cool coincidence, then,” Denny amended. “You'll have someone to hang out with.”

“I already have Lydia,” said Mary.

And the truck sputtered back to life.

I think Denny said something else about Mary hanging out with Violet, but I'd mostly stopped paying attention.

Because that's what it came down to, didn't it? I was letting Mary down both financially and in terms of having a roommate she knew wouldn't cannibalize her in her sleep, but I was also letting her down as her friend. Yeah, she might hang out with Violet, but . . . she
knew
me. It was different. And I just tugged that rug right out from under her.

Except she still didn't know it.

“Um, so, about that . . .” Mary started.

“I'll be right back,” I announced, abruptly pushing my chair back. “I just remembered I was supposed to call Cody about an assignment. Anyone want another drink?”

I looked down at the table. They were both on their first of our double rounds, whereas my beer bottles were both empty.

“I think we're good,” Mary said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah! Totes!” I hoped my voice didn't sound as high-pitched out loud as it did in my head. “I'll be back before the band comes on.”

I didn't wait for a response before taking off and heading straight for the bar. Even with a little bit of fuzz in my brain, I ducked and weaved like the pro I am, making it to Carter in record time.

“Same?” he asked when he saw me.

I really did want to step outside for a second, get some air, and I didn't feel much like shotgunning a beer, so I ordered a shot of tequila instead. The party liquor, right? How do we turn this into a party? Gotta shake this stupid guilt off before the band comes on (the real one, that is), and I don't know any better way to do that than alcohol.

I threw back the shot and let the liquid burn as it slid down my throat. It felt nice. Not caring is nice. Not being emotionally invested is nice. Letting go of my emotions and resolving to just not have them is nice. But everyone has to feel
something
, and if that something for me is alcohol, well, that's . . . nice.

The distinct lack of sweaty body scent and shitty cologne once I made it back outside was also nice. The air was crisp, like it might rain any minute. There was no loud, crappy music from Eddie's band. No unwanted body heat pressing in toward me from the tightly packed crowd. No Mary, explaining the future we weren't going to have.

I sat down, tucked in an alcove on the other side of the line of Mechanics' fans.

I sat down, and my resolve to avoid everything that was proving unavoidable tonight came down with me.

I have to tell Mary. I have to tell Mary, and I had to tell my parents, and Lizzie, and even Jane, and Ms. W. I messed up, and the clock is running out for me to tell them myself before we get to the awkward “Oh, the car is packed? Great. Um, no, I'm not bringing anything. Ha-ha, yeah, that is weird. Actually, you know what's even weirder . . .” stage of the whole thing.

Suddenly, everything I'd been putting off for the last ten days hit me all at once.

When should I tell them? And how? And what will I say when they ask what I'm going to do next? Am I going to apply for spring transfer? Do I even want to major in psych anymore? My grades are so mediocre, and they were even when I really
was
trying my hardest. And if I can't even get higher than a C—if I can't even write a stupid application essay—how could I possibly finish a psych major? Grad school? All the things that come after? How could I help anyone?

I sat there, bombarded by all these questions, until my head ached from the mental exertion. And yes, maybe a little bit from the alcohol.

A million questions, and no answers.

Well, no answers except “not tonight” and another beer waiting for me inside at the bar.

“Hey,” a voice barked out, startling me out of my (increasingly fuzzier) head.

I looked up quickly enough to notice the parking lot was
spinning. Was that another new feature they added for the Mechanics' shows?

Crap. The show.

“You can't sit out here.” I finally realized the voice talking to me was the other bouncer who had been working with Chris earlier. I squinted at his name tag, trying to make out the letters and finally coming up with
Scnnholh
. “Gotta get up.”

“Just taking a breather,” I mumbled, steadying myself before putting forth the effort to try to, you know, stand.

“Yeah. Can't do that,” probably-not-actually-Scnnholh repeated. “Cops come by, they think drunks are hanging out in the parking lot. Doesn't look good.”

“I'm up,” I said. It was half-true. I think. At any rate, at some point within the next second or five, I was full-fledged standing.

I headed back toward the bar, hoping I hadn't missed too much of the show and that Mary wasn't pissed. Not that it really mattered, considering how pissed she was going to be at me forever and ever amen once she found out the truth. But if I was going to reveal all in the somewhat-near future, then tonight I was still going to party. I need more drinks.

I felt this new bouncer stick his arm out in front of me and block my way into Carter's. Didn't see it. But that must've been what it was.

“Line's back there.” He nodded toward a group of about a dozen (okay, somewhere between three and twenty) people who were still waiting to get in.

“Are you serious?” I asked, dumbfounded. “I was just in there. You just saw me.”

“Yeah, then you came out.”

“So you're not going to let me in?”

He gave me his best
Are you deaf?
look and my shoulders sagged. Or they may have already been pretty sagged. Come to think of it, I wasn't even sure they were still attached to my body. Limbs are weird.

It was almost laughable. I couldn't get into college, and now I couldn't even get into a stupid
bar
.

I shook my head, slowly, so irritated with myself, and tried to consider my options when Chris popped his head out the door.

“Let her in,” he said. “She's with the band.”

“She's drunk,” Scnnholh replied.

“Better drunk inside with her friends than drunk wandering outside alone.” At least Chris had some common sense. I decided he was half-forgiven for screwing me over with Just Dance. Besides, maybe karma would have pity on me if I bestowed forgiveness on someone who had wronged me once everyone else found out how I had screwed up.

Smiling my thanks at Chris, I squeezed past him and Scnnholh and back into Carter's.

The Mechanics show was in full swing, but I had no idea how far into it they were. I made my way back toward our table, grabbing an abandoned half-empty drink off the bar as I went. I didn't have the patience to wait for Carter; what's it matter whose beer I'm drinking, anyway? I got closer to the front, catching glimpses of Violet's hair and Gen's metallic-wrapped drumsticks, Duke's stickered bass and . . . well, I'm sure Jones was up on the stage somewhere, maybe blurring together with one of the others—yeah, I think I saw a hint of white shirt—and finally made it to where I'd left Mary and Denny.

“Everything all right?” Denny yelled over the music.

I nodded and took a swig.

Mary frowned in my direction. “You missed like half the show. What happened?”

“I told you, I had to talk to Cody.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. Cody.”

And just like that, I felt my attitude shift from worried that Mary would be upset with me to annoyed that it was the case.

“What does
that
mean?”

“Thought you wanted to come to the show and hang out, that's all.”

“I'm here, aren't I?”

“Are you?” she shot back. I got why she was upset, and I also knew that she'd drop it if I did. But somehow my irritation with myself got mixed up with unwarranted irritation with her for being irritated with me for the same reasons I was irritated with myself.

“I didn't
have
to come out tonight, did I? But I did. Because
you
asked me to.”

Mary lifted one shoulder and turned back to the show, but I was already locked in. Too late.

I moved closer to her so she'd have to pay attention to me and not the song.

“Look, I'm sorry I wasn't here for the whole show. I'm sorry the night hasn't been as super fun as we wanted it to be. I'm sorry I was outside,
talking about my schoolwork
”—the lie didn't even faze me as it shot out of my mouth—“instead of in here listening to you drone on about the safety ratings of a neighborhood 3.2 miles away from Lizzie's office. But sure, get mad that I can't do everything exactly as according to some half-imaginary plan.”

“Forget it,” she said.

“Forget what? That you're upset with me over something stupid? That I ‘screwed up'?” Okay, maybe I was mixing events together in my head now. But like I said, I was fuzzy, and I was on a roll that, apparently, couldn't be stopped. “Party girl Lydia. Disappearing Lydia. Worst cousin Lydia. That's what I do, right? That's why you're upset? I didn't live up to your expectations, even for the night? Maybe I'll just drop out of school and do something as ‘frivolous and immature' as your BFF Violet.” I threw back what Mary had once said about the idea of pursuing songwriting, before she actually started hanging out with the band.

Something snapped in Mary when I said that. Her eyes flashed, shot to Violet rocking out onstage, before she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away from the front.

Whoa. Slow down there. Drunk girl walking.

She stopped in the mouth of the hallway to the back—just private enough that she could yell over the band and actually proceeded to do so.