Under the Lights by Dahlia Adler

Author:Dahlia Adler
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Spencer Hill Contemporary
Published: 2015-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

If anyone asks me tonight how long it took me to get ready, I will blatantly lie. I can’t even remember when I last spent so much time on my hair and makeup when there weren’t any shiny statuettes being handed out on stage. But by the time Bri texts to tell me she and her Jeep are out front, I’m feeling pretty damn good about the outfit Ally helped me pick out over Skype. I know I look hot in this shade of purple, and given that I’ve been too anxious all day to eat a single bite, I look extra thin in a dress that’s wrapped around me tighter than a bandage. My hair’s so shiny I can see dimensions of my reflection in the mirror, and third time was the charm for finally nailing sexy beach waves the way my hairdresser, Isaac, has tried to teach me a zillion times.

I don’t even know what I hope will happen tonight, but it does feel like my very last night of freedom, and for that, I wanna look good.

Thankfully, my parents are at my aunt and uncle’s tonight—I can’t deal with my mother eyeing me like I’ve dressed for Satan worship—so I let myself out of the house slowly, giving Bri time to appreciate me from tousled head to sexy-sandaled toe. But there’s no reaction at all—no whistle, no admiring once-over, not even a “Looking good.” Just a slightly impatient-sounding, “Ready?”

“Yeah.” The word sticks in my throat, all excitement rapidly draining out of my system.

She pulls the car out of park and starts off toward Sugar, a club I’d never go to if it hadn’t been arranged by the reality-show clan. It’s the first time she’s ever driven me anywhere, and I wonder if maybe she’s just a nervous driver, like I am. But her clenched jaw doesn’t look particularly fearful, and her eyes don’t dart around anxiously or anything.

I’m pretty sure she’s just avoiding eye contact.

I take advantage of that to do my own once-over, but I can’t see much. She’s wearing a leather jacket that covers up her outfit, and the combination of the night’s darkness and the brightness of the neon lights makes it hard to see her face in any detail. Finally, I feel pathetic for staring, and I sigh and look out my own window.

But when we pull up to a red light a few minutes later, I can’t help it anymore. “Did I do something?”

“Nope.” No eye contact.

I bite my lip while I wait for more, but more never comes. The light turns green, and she hits the gas.

“You’re really just going to sit there being passive-aggressive all night?”

She snorts. “No. I’m going to be passive-aggressive for the length of this drive, and then I’m going to get wasted at the club and find a nice young man to drive me home.”

For some reason, the “nice young man” part feels like the sharpest stab wound of all. “What the hell, Bri?”

“What?” she asks innocently.

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