Page 76 of If This Gets Out

“That’s it,” I say, as I pick up a mini bottle of Fireball. “I’m calling a truce. We need a night off.”

The others are all watching me now.

“There’s no way you can drink that without choking,” says Angel.

I close my eyes for a second, and let it pass. If I snap back, this will just go on and on.

“Maybe we can’t leave the hotel,” I say, as I twist the bottle open. “But we can still have fun here. Plus, Chorus is paying.”

“I’m in,” says Angel. “If there was any doubt.”

“You sure about this?” asks Jon.

To answer him, I lift the open bottle and take a shot.

Oh my god. This was a mistake.

Itburns.

I cough and splutter, and the others all laugh at me while I thump my chest to get the burning to stop.

“Here,” says Ruben, grabbing a can of Diet Coke from the mini-fridge and pouring it into two glasses. Then he takes the bottle of Fireball from me and pours what remains into the cup, before giving it back.

I take a sip. I can still taste the whiskey, but it’s nowhere near as overwhelming as it was before. It’s actually nice now.

“Better?” he asks, as he makes his own.

“Much.”

“Admirable attempt at taking charge,” he says. “I was intimidated until the shot.”

“You were not.”

“No, not really, but youarecute when you try to be bossy.”

I grin, already a little woozy from the shot.

“And I’m in,” says Jon. “I can’t handle this sober.”

“Amen,” says Angel.

“Who’d have thought,” says Ruben, as he starts massaging the top of my head. “All we had to do was hook up to get them to get along.”

“Maybe we should’ve done it sooner.”

“You,” says Angel, pointing to me before taking a vodka shot. He drinks it like water. “Stop being adorable and start playing music.”

“On it.”

I load my Spotify. I’ve been listening to a compilation album of B-sides and rarities by one of my favorite bands, which isn’t really the best hype music. What I want is a song we can drink to that lets us forget everything. I end up picking a hyperpop song I know Angel loves. I hit play.

“Nice choice,” says Angel, who starts bopping along. “Seems like you havesomegood taste.”

“Hah.”

Ruben sits down beside me.

“You failed, by the way,” he says, keeping his voice low.

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