–Irish proverb Sherry is grinning as she leans into the bar—granting the bartender, who brought her band aids for her blisters, a better view of her cleavage—but her smile vanishes the moment she sees my face, confirming I must look as shaken as I feel. “What’s wrong?” she shouts, plunking back onto her stool hard enough to make her breasts threaten to bounce out of her top. “Nothing.” I shake my head. “I just want to get out of here.” “What?” Sherry squints, as if that will help her hear me. It’s quieter by the circular bar than out on the dance floor, but still way too loud. Every thump of the bass rips through my head, pounding what’s left of my brain, after I realized I was dirty dancing with Gabriel Alexander, to mush. Fucking Gorgeous Gabe, one of the many privileged assholes I wasn’t sorry to see the last of when I dropped out of Christoph Academy, kissing my scholarship goodbye. As far as actions went, Gabe wasn’t particularly memorable. Sure he was spoiled, entitled, goofed off during study hall, and had no clue how hard most people have to work to scrape by, but he wasn’t any more obnoxious than the other private school twerps.
