Page 46 of Race to Me

We walk past a keg, surrounded by the football team chanting some mantra over and over. “Birthday girl is here!” Kate screams, and they rush over and grab me. I recognize a few from the team, but the others are unfamiliar to me. I laugh when Brett comes up, throwing me over his shoulder and proceeding to hold my dress down so no one can see my ass when they drag me to the keg.

“You thirsty?” Brett asks. I can barely hear him over the thumping music and cheers of those around.

My eyes widen as a guy is lifted from the keg, he wipes the foam from his mouth and beats his chest twice before moving out of the way. Immediately, I’m squeezing Brett’s arm. “No freaking way!” I protest out of embarrassment, but they aren’t having it.

I worry about my dress and the fact that I have no idea how to do a keg stand, but Brett pulls my dress down tight as two other guys help to flip me over. I would usually complain about their hands on my ribs. It hurts, but I’m numb. Kate snaps a photo, and I get about three seconds in before I spit beer everywhere.

I wipe the spilled beer from my chin and catch my footing. Being upside down made the blood rush to my head. I can’t help but laugh as Kate follows behind me, doing the keg stand like a pro.

One game of beer pong later, and me and Kate are on the dance floor.

The alcohol hits me a little harder than usual, considering I’ve barely eaten. Not that my usual party is spent drinking, or that I’m a heavy drinker in general but I’m positive that out of the handfuls of times that me and Kate have snagged a bottle of wine from her parents and drank while watching rom-coms that I’ve never got this tipsy, this fast.

But normally, we’ve eaten copious amounts of junk food, something to quell the alcohol.

I stumble to the crowded staircase where people and empty cups fill the sticky, carpeted steps. Against my better judgment, I unlock my phone. The first thing I do is check my texts. There’s one.

Foster: ‘Did you make it home okay?’

I snicker at his words. He sends me away, then texts me to make sure I’m okay? I’m so sick of this back and forth, but even I have to admit it’s refreshing being able to not just take it. I can also dish it back out at him.

Me: ‘I’m not home.’

Three dots show up and then disappear. I decide I shouldn’t be sulking in the corner, so I slide my phone back into my bra, the only place I had to put it in this tiny dress.

My body moves with every exciting beat from the catchy music. I’ve done it; completely lost myself to the hum of the lyrics and the dance moves that Kate and I attempt to make. I would say I feel complete, but there’s a stinging pain in my chest that I can’t seem to shake.

A Taylor Swift song comes on, and me and Kate sing along without a care in the world.

“My boobs are vibrating.” I slur, practically falling to the floor with laughter.

Kate responds, “You’re getting a call.”

“Hey there, Ghost.” I slur his name as I step out of the make-shift dance floor and answer.

Foster grunts out, “What do you mean you’re not home? Did your fancy car break down?” I can fully imagine the grin on his face, the deep dimples, the tan skin against a bright smile ... Shit.

“Um, why does it matter where I am?” I slur, pouring another red cup of flat, warm beer and guzzling it down before I have time to think about it.

He chuckles, then his tone becomes serious. “Wait, are you drunk?”

“You were in my bra.” I giggle, not sure why I said that.

Brett walks over, clutching a water bottle. He tries to hand it to me before he looks down and pulls me to his chest. “Fuck, Skyler! Your dress is practically falling off.” His hands clamp down on the top of my dress and he pulls it up, checking to make sure it’s covering everything.

I should be embarrassed, but I just laugh. Then, I hear yelling in my hand. Oh shit, that’s my phone. It’s Foster.

“Freckles!” He’s not yelling, just talking really loudly.

I cup my forehead with my hand. “Hiiii!”

Foster sighs into the phone and Brett steps away. I travel to the front porch so I can hear him better. “Where are you?” he barks.

I’m lost, I want to say, but I don’t. “Out,” I respond.

“Obviously,” I can hear the sarcasm through the phone. He adds, “You know, your smart mouth is going to get you in trouble one day.”

“What kind of trouble?” My voice is high pitched, and I bring my bottom lip between my teeth.

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