“Hey, guys,” I said, nodding to them. My breath came out like smoke against the cold.
“We’re just waiting for one more person.” Cisco elbowed me in the side. I cocked my head and stared at him quizzically. “In the meantime,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small card, “you’ll need this.” He pressed the card into my hand and I looked down.
“A learner’s permit?”
“Correction, my sister’s learner’s permit. She got her license when she went to Michigan State. You look enough like her. For the rest of the night, you’re Angie Marie Fernandez. I forgot to ask you if you had fake ID.”
“Okay, I’m Angie Marie. And look, I’m still an Aquarius. That’s nice,” I said, smiling as I looked down at the card. Apart from the same dark hair, we looked absolutely nothing alike. I was mentally telling myself to get over my internal freak-out about going to a bar when I heard Cisco call to someone.
I looked up and saw a figure stroll over slowly from across the street. I really hoped my eyes didn’t look like the Frisbees they felt like.
I was suddenly very happy that I’d spent so much time trying to look my best. At Vincent Academy, Brendan Salinger looked like the hottest guy in school. Outside of Vincent Academy, he looked like the hottest guy in Manhattan. Maybe the state. It didn’t help my pathetic case that he was completely my type. I’d always liked dark hair. Brendan wore a dark T-shirt pulled over a long-sleeved gray one, and had some sort of leather cuff on his wrist. Of course, his hair was still messy. It was legitimately messy too, not that look-what-I-can-do-with-gel look. Total wash-and-go hair. I doubted he even owned any hair products. Brendan carried a black hoodie under his arm, and greeted Cisco with one of those one-handed, back-pump bro-hug things. What was the deal with those things, anyway?
Brendan bent down to kiss Samantha on the cheek and I was instantly jealous. I tried to remind myself that he likely just knew her from school—she graduated last year, after all.
Then, those green eyes were focused on me.
“Hey, Brendan,” Cisco began. “Have you actually met Emma yet?”
His eyes stared into mine. “Not officially.”
“Hey, what’s—uh, what’s up?” I tried to act nonchalant, but my voice cracked midgreeting.
Brendan’s eyes were so serious, staring at me, but a smile played on his lips—those ridiculously soft-looking lips!—before forming a short, curt greeting. “Hey, Emma.”
Cisco rounded us up and we walked down the block to a small dive bar, marked by a sputtering red neon sign reading Idle Hands in the window. The bouncer’s eyes flitted to my face briefly when looking at the expired learner’s permit. He rolled his eyes and waved me inside. No one else seemed to have any trouble either, so we headed into the slightly crowded, dark bar. An old Green Day song pumped out of the jukebox, and the crowd was a mix of underage kids downing pitchers of cheap beer and old men playing cards and drinking scotch. Peanut shells crunched on the floor under the heel of my boots, and I almost slipped on one, catching my balance just before I completely humiliated myself. I stopped to scrape the shell off as everyone else walked past me and filed in, one after another, at the bar along the wall on the left. Cisco was first, greeting a short, cute brunet whom I assumed was Gabe.
“Thanks so much for coming, you guys,” Gabe said with an anxious laugh. “Just remember, we’re really not that good. But hey, we get a cut of whatever the bar makes tonight, so as long as we don’t get booed off the stage we should be okay.
“And you must be Emma.” Gabe smiled, looking at me warmly as I was still trying to scrape the peanut shell off my heel. “I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you.”
“All lies,” I said, grinning. “I paid Cisco off.”
Gabe laughed, and said, “Well, hope you’re not expecting much tonight. We’re really not that good. So yeah, don’t hate me.”
I smiled back at him. After finally getting the shell off my boot, I looked around to hop on a bar stool and realized the only one left was between the wall and Brendan. Gulp.
“So, what do you do in the band?” I asked, stalling.
“Drums,” Gabe said, raising his voice over the music. “The band is just for fun. For now anyway, since we really do suck. Okay, round of shots anyone? I need some liquid courage.”
Everyone in the group agreed enthusiastically. Or should I say, everyone else. I stayed silent. Sure, I was no stranger to drinking. I’d had plenty of warm keg beer and Goldschläger at friends’ parties. But since the accident, I hadn’t done much other than nurse a light beer in a feeble attempt to show that I was still socially acceptable. And I had never been to a freakin’ bar before! Keansburg was way too small for that. Before I could even think, the bartender was lining up shots at the bar. I stood at the empty spot, between Brendan and the wall, and lifted the shot glass. Giving a wary glance to everyone, I made sure they weren’t looking and threw it over my shoulder.
I wiped my mouth and sucked on the lemon the way everyone else had, casting a look behind me to see if I’d hit anything—or anyone. The tequila had landed on the wall beside me—leaving a small swoosh on the pale plaster.
“All right, I gotta set up. See you guys in a bit,” Gabe said, flashing a big grin. “And seriously, we do suck. So don’t leave in the middle of it!”
“Do they really, or is he going to get up there and be the next Blink-182?” I asked, calling across to Cisco after Gabe was out of hearing range.
“Oh, they’re not good. He’s good,” he emphasized proudly. “But the band isn’t all that great.”
“They’re not that bad,” Samantha disagreed, lightly slapping her cousin on the shoulder. Cisco gave her a pointed look, and Samantha conceded. “Okay, they are pretty bad. Gabe is the only bright spot. Some of it might make your ears bleed. Nails-on-a-chalkboard time.”
She formed a claw with her hand and made a screeching sound and I winced, laughing. Brendan motioned for the bartender to come over and he threw down a black credit card.
“I got this round,” he said to the bartender. If Brendan noticed that the bartender’s jaw dropped a little when he got a good look at the card, he ignored it. “Round of tequila shots and whatever everyone else wants,” Brendan said. He then regarded me over his right shoulder.
“So, Emma, what would you like?” Um, how about you, shirtless? The minute Brendan talked to me, my brain felt like it exploded. What did he just ask me? Oh, yeah. Drinks.
“Just a beer, whatever, thanks.” I tried to sound casual as I absentmindedly dragged my necklace back and forth on its chain before tucking it back under my shirt.
“What’s that?” Brendan asked, pointing to the base of his own throat.
“Oh, nothing, just a charm necklace,” I said dismissively, smoothing out the neckline of the shirt. If I answered, then he’d ask about my brother…and my family…and he’d never want to talk to me again. He already knew I was lying about where I was from.
“You know,” he said, his voice low as he leaned in more closely. I could smell Brendan’s shampoo—it was a clean, fresh scent, like grass in the rain. “You don’t have to drink. I don’t care—I mean, no one cares if you don’t.”
Did Brendan see you throw the tequila over your shoulder? He doesn’t sound judgmental.
The bartender arrived with the shots and Brendan took mine, placing it in front of him.
“No sense in wasting good liquor. Or, as is the case here, very cheap tequila.” Brendan kept his eyes on me as he drained my shot, and I began to wonder if a beer wouldn’t be a good idea, just to calm my nerves.
I met his gaze. “I’m