Chapter Five

Saturday - November 4, 2017 - 7:46 p.m.

It was nearing eight o'clock as Zara and I made our way down the desolate strip that served as Chamberlain's downtown region. Still unaware of our destination, I was growing more eager with every passing second to see where she was leading me. The mention of "blue lagoons" still lingered in my mind as I scoured every crevice of my brain to uncover any possible meaning.

An eerie chill washed over me as I peered through the windows of the black, barren shops surrounding us. Only a handful of cars lined the street. The sole source of light in the vast expanse of darkness was the flashing red light of a four-way stop in the distance; the scene resembled something out of a Steven King novel.

And I thought this place was depressing during the day.

I was slightly taken aback that Zara had led me here of all places. Downtown Chamberlain was no Times Square, and it definitely wasn't the place to be on a Saturday evening. The nightlife in this pitiful town was virtually nonexistent—all the decent hotspots were located miles away in the neighboring towns—and entertainment options were extremely limited for anyone who didn't own a vehicle.

The road we walked along now consisted mainly of rinky-dink mom-and-pop stores—at least the ones that had managed to survive the wrath of the brand spanking new WalMart Supercenter that had popped up in Cameron a few months earlier. Most of them closed up shop by seven p.m., rendering Main Street a somber, lifeless stretch as soon as the sun disappeared for the day.

Finally, we reached what appeared to be the only open establishment along the street. It took me a second to realize that it was one of the local bars.

I glanced up tentatively at the dingy emerald awning and blazing neon-blue sign that flashed Brewhouse. My gaze then traveled back down to the area outside the entrance, which was littered shards of brown glass and mangled cigarette butts. I peered through the narrow, grimy windows to find the place packed with people.

A booming clamor mixed with the fiery guitar solo of Barracuda flooded my ears as a couple of middle-aged men stumbled out the door, puffing on their vaporizers and blabbering about yesterday's Bull's game.

Zara turned to me, a mischievous smile forming on her face. "Here we are."

I didn't know what to say, unclear of what exactly her plan entailed. "You do know this is a bar...right?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, pulling out a compact mirror and giving her hair a brief comb with her fingers.

Fuck. Now I knew why she hadn't disclosed our destination upfront.

There was no way we were going to get away with this. We were only seventeen, for Christ's sake, and although Zara looked somewhat old for her age, I had little to no confidence in this stunt playing out in our favor.

My feet remained frozen to the sidewalk as she began walking towards the door. I couldn't bite my tongue any longer.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked, trying to keep my tone as soft and casual as possible so as to conceal my apprehension. "My friends can totally get us alcohol. I'll text one of them right now!"

I whipped out my phone and began frantically drafting a text to Olivia, desperately hoping she would agree to this alternative plan.

"What's the fun in that?" she asked, an air of innocence in her voice. "We'll be fine. My sister said this place is a total dive. Trust me, they probably don't even bother carding." She held up her phone and examined her reflection in the screen. "Just remember: L-S-D."

"L-S-D?" I clarified, my head throbbing with confusion. "Like...the drug?"

She giggled, shaking her head and holding up three fingers. "Looks. Smell. Demeanor."

She pulled out the lilac perfume bottle and shot a final gust to her neck, giving me a couple spritzes as well. A sweet, citrusy fragrance filled the air around us.

"Perfect," she said, stowing the bottle back into her bag. "You've got the looks. You've got the smell. Now all you have to do now is act natural."

She gave me a reassuring wink before turning around and approaching the entrance.

No matter how much effort I exerted, I couldn't bring myself to follow her. It was like my feet were superglued to the sidewalk. A tense knot of fear wriggled in my stomach as I tried to process the millions of thoughts currently racing through my mind: What if they bust us? What if they call the cops? I didn't even have a fake ID! And I couldn't even begin to envision the cruel and unusual punishment that would result if my parents ever found out about this.

Zara was only a few inches from the door before she noticed I hadn't moved. She walked back over to me, gently taking both of my hands into her own. Somehow, the rapid tempo of my heartbeat was already starting to ease itself.

"Cassie," she said calmly, "I wouldn't have brought you here if I thought it would get you in trouble. Trust me, everything will be fine." An infectious smile illuminated her face, and my lips couldn't help but dip into one of their own. "Now, let's go have some fun."

The tranquil comfort in her voice combined with her unwavering optimism—as misplaced as it might have been—caused my trepidation to melt away instantly. A fierce confidence suddenly ignited inside of me, as if I'd been replaced by a whole new girl—one who lived life in the moment, one who took wild risks just for the sheer thrill of it. A girl who didn't let the fear of consequence or regret prevent her from having a good time.

With this newfound exhilaration rushing through my body, I marched up to the door with Zara, and the two of us made our way inside.

The second we stepped in, I understood exactly what Zara had meant by "dive." In fact, that seemed like somewhat of an understatement.

The place looked like one of those abandoned buildings featured in a BuzzFeed article, and something told me the county health inspector may have skipped this place on his last run. The wooden tables scattered throughout the joint were stained and decrepit, and a thick layer of umber rust crept up the legs of the bar stools, making its way towards the ripped leather tops. The stale, rancid odor trapped in the air indicated years of cruel subjection to cigarette smoke, along with a clear lack of ventilation.

From the inside, I realized the dim lighting wasn't so much an intentional feature, but merely the result of various burnt-out bulbs in the shabby flower-patterned lamps that hung from the ceiling. It was so dark in here that I couldn't make out a single face of anyone around me.

And if I couldn't see them, that meant...

We might get away with this after all.

Zara scooped up my hand and guided me through the noisy crowd towards a vacant booth in the back.

It was an ideal spot for us, cooped up in a dark corner, far away from the roaring drunks sitting at the bar and the thirty-something hipsters swarming the open area near the front that served as the dancefloor. We were safe back here.

"I'll be back," Zara said, maneuvering her way towards the bar amidst the chaos.

The sudden vibration against my thigh made me jump. I jerked my phone from my pocket and glanced at the screen.

Brandon: 1 new message.

Shit, shit, shit, I though, swiping it open.

T-minus five minutes. Your popcorn is waiting ;)

A surge of panic rattled through me. Our movie night had completely slipped my mind.

I took a deep, methodic breath as I scrambled to devise a Plan B.

I couldn't just leave Zara here all by herself without seeming rude. Besides, the thrill of being in an actual bar was so stimulating that I really had no desire to leave. Maybe I could meet up with Brandon later. After all, it was only eight p.m., and I'm sure we wouldn't be here for too long. If I left in an hour, I could make it Brandon's around nine.

Running a little late. I'll be over ASAP. Extra butter, please!

As I pressed SEND and glanced back up, I could see Zara's slim outline making her way back to the table. In her hands were two slender glasses of liquid as bright blue as Caribbean ocean water, a lemon slice perched on the rim and two plump cherries floating in the middle. There was a satisfied grin on her face as she placed one of them down in front of me.

"My good lady," she announced in a comically formal tone, "I present to you, the blue lagoon."

"Holy shit," I said, unable to take my eyes off of the aesthetic beverage. It took everything in my power not to whip out my phone and snap a pic for Instagram. "This looks amazing!"

I had a difficult time containing my excitement. This was mainly due to the fact that Zara had managed to order us drinks without being escorted away in handcuffs, and because after nearly an hour of anticipation, I'd finally learned what the hell a blue lagoon was.

"These babies a real hit back in Cali," she said, raising her glass and clinking it against mine. "To new friends."

A smile lit across my face.

New friends. It had such a nice ring to it.

As I took my first sip, a multitude of emotions raced through my mind—all of them positive. It was a flavor combination like I'd never experienced before. The taste was so heavenly that it was nearly impossible to describe—the flavor largely resembled lemonade, minus the overwhelming tang, with hints of fresh orange peel a few spritzes of lime juice. Whenever I took a sip, I could just hear the pacifying waves of the ocean, the faint cries of seagulls in the distance, feel the tropical breeze drifting through my hair.

I was also delighted to find that this drink did not come with the scalding burn of alcohol I so intensely loathed. Then again, most of the alcohol I'd consumed up to this point in my life had consisted of straight liquor and cheap beer at underage house parties. The strange thing was, I couldn't even tell there was a drop of alcohol in this sugary infusion of paradise.

"How do you like it?" Zara asked curiously.

"It's...incredible." Even that word didn't do it sufficient justice.

Zara picked up her glass, downing the rest of it in one swift gulp. "Thanks so much for coming out with me tonight. My sister practically lives at this place, and I've been wanting to see what all the hype was about."

"You live with your sister, then?" I decided not to mention the awkward encounter we'd had upon my arrival.

She nodded, wiping some residual liquid from her perfectly outlined lips. "I've been staying with my aunt in Long Beach for the past couple months while my parents are away on business. That is, until last week, when she decided to take things to the next level with her three-month Match.com hubby in Arizona."

"She left town?" I asked. "Just like that?"

She nodded, an incredulous grin spreading across her face. "He convinced her she needed more spontaneity in her life, and she took the bait—hook, line and sinker. A part of me is relieved, actually. Let's just say Skype and FaceTime are not very conducive to intimacy, especially when you're sleeping in the next room over."

I almost spit out my drink in laughter.

"She was the closest living relative I'd had. Pretty much all of my extended family's over on the east side—Boston, Norfolk, Philly. So, it was either flock down to Phoenix with those crazies, or come and stay here with my sister. Looks like it's just the two of us for now."

"For now?" I tried not to sound like I was prying.

"Well, my parents have been in Maryland since April participating in an intramural research program at the National Cancer Institute. My dad's a neurosurgeon and my mom's a radiation oncologist. It's only a temporary gig, though. They'll be back in a few months."

As intrusive as I felt inquiring about her whole life story, I was so captivated by it. I'd never met someone with such an intriguing backstory, and for some reason, I wanted to know more. I had a strange feeling she could sense the curiosity in my eyes.

"I can't imagine what that's like," I said, taking another sip of my blue lagoon. "You know, with them being so far away and all."

In the dim light, I could just barely see her gaze shift off into the distance. "After my brother passed, it was like something was ignited inside both of them. They really wanted to make a difference for all the other sick kids out there, for their families too, no matter how much time and travel that required on their part. They refused to be those parents that sit around and wallow in self-pity, demanding answers from God or the doctors. My mom always said to me, 'Never let the darkness of the past blind you from the brightness of future.'"

"It's incredible what they're doing," I said. "They sound like great people."

A flattered smile filled her face. "So, what do your parents do?"

I always dreaded this question. It was so embarrassing revealing that your dad was the marketing manager for a children's toy company—somehow this vocation never seemed to woo people—and that your mom was essentially a nineteen-fifties homemaker with an online couponing blog.

"My dad works in advertising and my mom—"

"Excuse me ladies," croaked a hoarse voice beside us.

A scraggly looking man, who appeared to be in his early hundreds, emerged from the darkness and was now standing at our booth. I could just barely make out the beetle-browed expression behind the long, matted strands of gravel-gray hair that covered his face. He was holding something in his hand, though it was too dark to get a good look at it.

Shit. Shit. Shit. The game was up.

My eyes darted warily to Zara, and she responded with a placid look of reassurance.

"I have a question for you ladies," the old man hissed.

I remained calm—to the best of my abilities, anyway. I was certain he was here to ID us. For a millisecond, I contemplated pulling a Hazel and flashing a little skin to get my way. An attractive girl in a bar could get away with just about anything she set her mind to.

The man stepped in closer, roughly grinding a toothpick between his molars. "Would you two beauties like to open a tab?"

Zara instantly shot him a dazzling smile, then turned and locked eyes with me. "We'd love to," she said, reaching into her purse and handing him a credit card. "We'll take two more blue lagoons."

He scribbled something on his notepad and disappeared, the musty stench of stale tobacco floating away with him.

"Don't worry," Zara whispered. "It's one of those prepaid VISA gift cards from the gas station. Those things are untraceable."

I leaned back against the padded booth and let out a silent exhale of relief. Even after my first drink, I could feel my head growing heavy, and my surroundings were becoming foggier by the minute. I couldn't tell whether my vision was dwindling, or if the wispy lighting and dense clouds of cigarette smoke had become more obscuring since we arrived.

"Congrats on surviving your first week at Chamberlain High," I said.

"Thanks! To be completely honest, I kind of love it here. It's a thousand times better than my old school."

Your old school must have been pretty shitty, I thought.

"I haven't really made any friends yet," she continued. "But it's no biggie. I'm sure it'll just take some time."

"I'm your friend," I corrected. "Sorry. That sounded less cheesy in my head."

She laughed, her eyes alight with excitement. "That's true. You know, I don't think we ever exchanged phone numbers."

I pulled my iPhone from my bag and handed it over. "Here. Add yourself to my contacts."

"Oh my God!" Zara exclaimed, whipping the phone around and pointing to my home screen wallpaper, which I'd recently changed to a photo of Brandon and I on the gymnasium stage during our cringy Homecoming acceptance speech.

"Isn't that the captain of the football team?" she asked in disbelief.

I gave a modest nod, thankful that the dim lighting hid my blush. "Yeah, Brandon Beckett. We're kind of dating."

"No way! I see him around school all the time. He seems really cool."

"He's a great guy," I agreed. "We should all hang out sometime."

The sleazy bar hop soon returned with two more drinks.

"Bottoms up," he uttered softly, setting them down in front of us and vanishing through a pair of swiveling doors into the back.

My second blue lagoon tasted even better than the first. It was like drinking liquid candy; I had to employ a substantial amount of willpower to keep myself from downing it in one gulp. About ten minutes had passed when I glanced down to find my glass already empty.

The night seemed to fly by after the second round, which ultimately led to a third, then a fourth, and, in the spirit of tradition, a fifth.

The two of us soon found ourselves immersed in a stimulating conversation featuring the most random topics, constantly catapulting off on new tangents until we were too confused to backtrack. At one point we'd been revealing our favorite movies, which somehow led to a fierce debate of whether Sylvester Stallone could beat Arnold Schwarzenegger in a bare-knuckle boxing match. This soon transformed into speculation of a conspiracy theory claiming that GMO's in food products are actually a covert means of world domination employed by the U.S. government to manipulate the feeble human minds and facilitate the rise of the New World Order. This then took a sharp turn, swerving into a discussion of YouTube beauty gurus with the highest net worth.

As we chatted the night away, I often caught myself smiling for no apparent reason, laughing at just about every word that came out of Zara's mouth—things that weren't even funny. I didn't want to come off as a nutcase, but I just couldn't suppress it. It was like some invisible dwarf was stationed at my stomach, tickling me mercilessly.

The strange thing, I realized as I began nursing my fifth blue lagoon, was that I didn't really care if I looked like a basket case. Attempting to appear sober required an extreme amount of effort—effort I wasn't willing to put forth. My mind was growing more numb by the second, and the world around me was beginning to feel like some sort of lucid dream. This was the most relaxed I'd felt in a while, the most fun I'd had since I could remember—perhaps in my entire life. In Chamberlain, a fun night out on the town was as rare as the Cardinals' making it to the World Series.

Something Zara had said yesterday had lingered in my mind the whole night: Fun is everywhere. You just need to find it.

At some point, I lowered my heavy eyes downward to check the time, blinded by the violent glare of my phone.

11:04 p.m.

We'd been here almost three hours, yet I didn't feel the slightest bit tired. All I wanted was to order another round, keep the conversation going, and revel in this euphoric haze for as long as I could.

Suddenly, the sound of a high-pitched shriek pierced the air around us.

I poked my head from the booth and caught a glimpse of a woman over by the jukebox. She was lying across the table on her back, her legs bent upwards, her black hair pouring over her shoulders. A man stood over her, burying his face in her navel.