(Then) Lauren

The Smart Friend Part 2

June

"I can't believe you leave in 3 days," Lynn whines, checking her reflection in the crappy changing room mirror.

"I'm just glad that school is over," Liv says.  She's been pretending to be indifferent to me leaving for the last week. I try not to be irritated that a person that I've only really just started hanging out with (Lynn) seems more upset about me leaving than my best friend.

We walk out of the changing room to the pool, and after a few minutes of scouting, we even manage to find three chairs together. 

"Hey," Liv says suddenly.  "Tommy and his friends are here."  She's looking through her sunglasses across the pool, stealthily staring at her current crush and his friends from the football team.  "He's kind of skinny, ew."  Lynn and I exchange a look and roll our eyes.  Liv has always been boy crazy, but she's also far too shy to actually do something about it (and her mom is far too overprotective to allow it).   "His friend Kyle is kind of cute, don't you think, Laur?  He was in your physics class, wasn't he?"

Liv is always trying to push me at boys, and while there have been a few I've been interested in, none have been interested back.  And it doesn't matter, because I prefer to not really do that whole feelings thing.  Between my dad leaving when I was little, and the few guys that stuck around long enough for my mom to introduce me to, I've seen first hand how feelings can mess everything up.  That's why I prefer to think.  Facts won't lead you astray. 

"He's okay," I say back, noncommittally.  Of course, we're there less than 30 minutes before Tommy, Kyle, and their whole crew are swarming the area we're sitting in.  And very quickly after that, they're annoying the families around us by throwing a shrieking Liv and Lynn into the pool.  Of course.  I go back to reading my book while they splash around in the pool, but I'm suddenly aware of someone sitting down on Liv's now-vacant chair next to me.

"Not going in?" comes the voice attached to the body.  I finally look up, right into Kyle's eyes.

"Umm, maybe in a little while.  I'm almost done with my book," I reply.  I try to lower my eyes back to the book, hoping he'll get the hint. Instead, he peers with interest at the cover.

"I read that one last summer," he says, surprising me.  "I really liked it." 

Without looking back up at him, I sarcastically reply, "Wow, Jock Boy reads.  I'm impressed."

He laughs and stands, finally getting the hint.  But he surprises me again by lightly touching my hand as he walks past.  He stops at the foot of my chair and watches me for a second before saying, "You know, not everyone fits into the neat little boxes that you put them in."  And then he's gone.  I peer carefully over the edge of my book, watching him as he cannonballs into the water next to the group there.

Three days later, I'm hauling my suitcase up to the check-in counter, nervous about what the summer in Denver will be like.  I haven't seen my sister in over a year, since she didn't make it home this winter for Christmas.  I wonder what we'll do, what we'll talk about.  She was always the pretty one, I was always the smart one.  When people say we look alike we both act appropriately offended. 

Most of fears are pushed aside when I get to baggage claim after the flight and Amanda appears, squealing with excitement and hugging me tightly.  "I'm so happy mom let you come!" she shrieks.  "We are going to have an awesome summer!"  She helps me haul my suitcase to the car and we catch up on the way to her apartment.  Her apartment is small but bright and clean.  She shows me the tiny bedroom that will be mine for the next 6 weeks, and sits on the bed talking cheerfully while I unpack.

We spend a low key night together catching up, eating pizza and watching TV.  Amanda pours me a glass of wine, but I'm not a fan.  I mean, it's not like I've never had alcohol before, but wine is just not really my thing.  I sleep restlessly that night, trying to get used to the strange bed and the strange city sounds outside.

The next day, Amanda shows me around the city and tells me about her job and her friends and all the awesome things she loves about living out here.  I'm entranced.  The biggest city I've ever been to is Milwaukee, and while Denver isn't that much bigger, it just seems more...sophisticated.

Amanda regards me carefully while we're eating dinner.  "If I take you out," she asks carefully, "are you going to narc me out to mom?"

"Out?" I ask, confused.  "We were out all day, what would I tell mom about?"

She rolls her eyes.  "For a brain, you're not very bright sometimes.  Out out, like, to a bar."

"Oh!  Oh.  Umm, well no, I won't tell mom..." Even I know that I don't sound convincing.  I take a breath and try again.  "I definitely won't tell her, she'd probably insist that I was on the first plane back, and I'd never get to come out again."

Satisfied with that answer, Amanda says, "I know someone that can get you in, but you have be cool about it.  Don't act like a kid."  I'm offended by this.  I rarely "act like a kid" and she knows it. 

We head back to her apartment to get ready.  I knock on her door when I'm dressed and ready and she scoffs at me.  "You can't go out like that," she says.  "You look like you're in high school."

"I am in high school," I point out.

"I know that, genius, but you can't look like you're in high school."  She turns to her closet and starts rifling through.  She pulls out a couple options and I dismiss each one.

"You know I don't wear dresses, Amanda," I protest.  "I will let you put makeup on me, but I draw the line at wearing a dress."  She sighs and hands me a couple tops to choose from.  I let her pair a chiffon sleeveless top with a pair of shorts from my suitcase, and I talk her down from heels to flats.  Better than flip flops, she agrees.  After she puts some makeup on me and does my hair, I look in the mirror.  I'm surprised at what I see there.  I don't really look like I'm in high school anymore, and I almost look...pretty.

Amanda agrees.  "You look hot, little sister!" she exclaims cheerfully.  "Much better."  Easy for her to say.  I feel naked with this much skin exposed, even it's mostly arm and leg.  She finishes getting herself ready and we get in a cab.  I hope that I'll feel less self-conscious as the night goes on, but the further we get from her apartment, the weirder I feel.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask her, as we stand on the curb outside a completely sketchy-looking bar.  "What if I get caught?"

"You won't," she assures me.  "They don't really care about age here anyway, and I know the bouncer and the bartender that are working tonight.  Come on, come meet my friends."

I let her drag me towards the door.  We get past the bouncer with a charming smile and batting of eyelashes (Amanda's, obviously) and she hurries me towards the back of the bar.  A group of people at a table look up as we approach, and they greet Amanda cheerfully.  She introduces me to them.

"Little sister, huh?" one of the guys asks as though I'm not there, looking me up and down.  I feel like falling into a hole.  "How old is she?" 

"21, of course," Amanda says with a laugh and a wink.

She pulls me over to the bar and tells me to order whatever I want.  I don't want to get drunk in front of a bunch of older people that I don't even know, but I will never get through this night sober, so I get what Amanda gets, a vodka and cranberry juice.  The self-consciousness finally begins to fade as I drink it and get to know Amanda's friends.  A couple of the girls in the group compliment my hair, and chat with me about college choices.  They obviously know how old I am, but they don't make me feel weird about it.  Amanda shoots a reassuring smile at me every 10 minutes or so, and I slowly start to loosen up.  I let a little of my sarcasm out (the fun sarcasm, not the nasty defense-mechanism sarcasm), and soon a couple of the guys in the group are chatting with us as well.

I drink slowly, and build an enjoyable buzz without getting sloppy.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm less drunk than Amanda by the time we get in a cab on the way home.  "You did good, Lauren," she said, leaning her head against my shoulder.  "Who knew that putting on a little makeup and a cute top would turn you into a social butterfly?"