Page 11 of Idaho

"Do you ever do anything besides study?"

I looked up from where I was seated on my bed, books and my laptop spread over the comforter and grinned at the girls. "Not really," I admitted.

"We should go out," Jo said. "Do something fun."

"What did you have in mind?"

They both shrugged and flopped down onto my bed as well. We'd all gotten closer in the last week. They were both sweet and funny and I loved hanging out with them. But that mostly consisted of us spending time here together when they weren't with their boyfriends.

"We could go to a bar," Brittney suggested.

I wrinkled my nose at them.

They laughed. "What do you have against bars?" Jo asked.

"Nothing particularly." I sighed, and straightened up. "I haven't ever been to one."

The looks they gave me were pure shock. "Never?"

I shook my head. "My parents kept me on a tight leash."

"That's it," Brittney said. "We're going out. You can't come to America and not hit at least one bar."

"Get dressed," Jo ordered.

Looking down at the school work I had, I sighed. There was a lot to do, but I was feeling restless. "Fine," I said. "I'll go."

They jumped off the bed, squealing as they ran to get ready. Laughing, I went to my closet and flicked through the clothes hanging there. There were dresses, skirts, blouses, but I knew this was a casual thing. Most American women seemed to wear jeans or leggings and I wanted to fit in. My father would lose his mind if I went around wearing the tight leggings so many girls here favored, so I went with jeans and a cute, flowy top, and a pair of high heels.

A whistle came from behind me. "Girl. Those shoes have red bottoms." Jo was looking at my heels with lust in her eyes.

"They do," I said with a grin. "Want to borrow a pair?"

"You have more than one?" she gasped. "Yes, please." I tossed her over another pair and she sat on the bed and tried them on. "A little big, but I don't care. I'll shuffle all night if I have to."

I still hadn't admitted to my roommates who I really was. They had questions, I could tell. About Thomas. About the money I had, though I tried not to flaunt it. But they were still being polite enough not to ask.

A car horn blared outside. "That's Brad. Come on!"

She grabbed me by the arm and I had just enough time to scoop up my purse before she pulled me out of the room. We all piled into Brad's car. Jo was sitting up front while Brittney, Paul, and I were in the back seat. It was a tight squeeze, but I didn't care. Excitement filled the air as we drove. I hadn't bothered buying a car yet, and I wasn't sure I would. I hadn't done much driving, since we usually had cars and drivers back home who took us from place to place. Thomas insisted on driving me everywhere here. When I offered to take the bus he'd nearly had a heart attack.

Once we parked, we went into the bar and I looked around. It was all dim lighting and loud voices. There were TVs playing over the bar top, but you couldn't hear them over the din of the place. People were laughing and drinking and seemed to be having a great time. They took me to the back, where there were some pool tables.

I mostly watched as the others played, and drank different sugary drinks that Jo insisted I try. Soon enough the alcohol had my head spinning. Because I never drank, I didn't have a tolerance built up and it didn't take much to get me drunk. It wasn't that I didn't like drinking. And I didn't have an aversion to having fun, but I just had never really been allowed to. My father was very strict and it was drilled into our entire family that we must behave like ladies and gentlemen and do the family name proud. I rolled my eyes as his stern voice echoed in my mind. I loved my father. He was the one I had always run to when I was scared, but I also resented the rules he placed upon me.

"Hi, Beautiful."

I looked over at the man who was standing near me, grinning. "Hi," I replied.

"You want to dance?"

I frowned and looked around him. There was no music playing and nowhere to dance even if we wanted to. "No, thank you."

"Come on. We can make our own music together."

I wasn't used to pushy men. The few who were my age who managed to make it past security—and my father—knew to be respectful. I didn't want to sound rude, but I was more than a little drunk and didn't want to do any kind of swaying. "No, thank you," I repeated.

He leaned closer and I edged away as his stale breath wafted over me. "Come on, Beautiful," he said, his voice slurring. He was drunk too, though I wasn't sure how much that mattered when he was being so pushy about wanting to dance with me.

---