I avoid Alex the next few days. I don’t sit next to him on the bus or in classes, look at the floor when I pass him in the corridor.

It feels wrong, so wrong. Not to have him around as I go about my day, not to see his smile greet me at the bus stop in the morning and instead stand several metres away, looking at my shoes, feeling his glances on my skin.

It’s constantly on my mind, what happened, and more than once I find my finger hovering over the small telephone icon, about to call Alex. But I don’t. Because it wasn’t me who did something wrong. Okay, yes, I reacted too harshly to what he said, but still…

What he’s asking of me seems ridiculous. While I can’t deny that I don’t know Claire that well, I also can’t see a reason why she would mean any harm to me. And if she did, why she hasn’t acted on it yet? She had plenty of opportunity, moments when I was vulnerable. She could have humiliated me in the changing rooms, could’ve said all these things that I know would hurt me. She could have never taken me in to begin with, leaving me to face those boys in the class below, my anxieties, life on my own. But it’s not only that she hasn’t done anything to harm me. She has done the exact opposite, which only make Alex’s words make even less sense.

If I had so many good reasons not to believe him, not to want to trust him on this one thing, why couldn’t he just tell me?

I tried paying closer attention, since the fight. I observed her from the corner of my eye in class, as she was taking notes or intently staring at an equation, thoughtfully gnawing at the end of her pencil. I paid close attention to everything she said, searching for a higher purpose behind her words, anything that could make me like Alex less or just do anything. But all her words do, all her words did, was make me feel better.

At some point I even muster the courage to ask her where she and Alex had really met and why he didn’t like her.

For a moment, when she hears my words, she seems sad. But then she nods, like she doesn’t quite understand, but still accepts it.

“It’s complicated, Lena,” she says then. “It’s a long story and really it isn’t mine to tell. I’m sorry, but the two of you will have to sort this yourselves, whatever it is.” Then she pauses for a moment, giving me a thoughtful look. “Do you want to delay the visit to the club, maybe? Wait until things have calmed down a little? I mean, sure, free entry is tomorrow, but even if you were to pay, it’s not that much. We could always go another day. I just thought-”

But I shake my head decidedly. “I want to go.”

Mika and Emma won’t be coming, unfortunately. Both had something come up and Emma especially is very displeased at the prospect of having to go to a restaurant with her aunt instead of witnessing my first time at a club.

It’ll be fine, though, Claire says, because if I end up liking it, she’ll provide ample opportunity for repetition. And if I don’t like it, they’re not missing out on much anyway.

Mika offers to send along her older brother for safety, but Claire declines. We’re going to be fine; she’s been to the club on her own and nothing happened.

Come Friday, once school has ended, we I don’t head home first, but immediately accompany her to her place.

After a short snack, we head up to her room and she tries doing a little homework together with me, but I can’t really concentrate so instead she begins showing me outfits and telling me all about the different styles I could go for.

It kinda enters my head through one ear and leaves the other side immediately after. I try concentrating, I really do. It just… doesn’t quite work.

If Claire notices, she doesn’t say anything about it. After some time she has me help her pick an outfit out of maybe a dozen and that at least I manage. It’s just visual after all.

When it’s my turn, I simply go with one of the outfits Claire showed me before. A silver tube top that barely covers the strapless bra I borrow from her and wide, dark, cargo pants.

Claire gives a squeal when she sees me emerge from the closet and sits me down in front of the mirror to do my make-up. I just nod when she asks me whether she can go all-in and she gets to work. It takes some time. For easily thirty minutes she fusses over my face and hair before she’s happy and tells me to look in the mirror.

I look different. My cheekbones look bigger, my nose thinner, my eyes bigger and the green irises are much more visible, somehow. My hair is in voluminous locks, artfully draped over my naked shoulders.

It’s different but beautiful. It’s beautiful but… different.

Claire notices my lack of enthusiasm.

“Don’t you like it?” she asks earnestly, looking me straight in the eyes.

I shake my head hurriedly. “It looks great, it’s just…” my voice trails off and she takes my hand in hers.

“If you’re not feeling well we can just stay in and watch a movie or something. Or I can drive you home if you want that.”

For a few seconds, I hold her gaze. Where’s the manipulation, Alex? I can just say yes and I’m out. In what way is she not being nice, in what way isn’t she respecting my borders or feelings?

I shake my head. Fuck it.

“No. No, I want to go. Just a little… messy in the head? Nothing some alcohol and music couldn’t fix.”

She breaks into a grin and I mirror it.

Fake it till you make it.

“That’s my girl!” And she gets out a bottle from one of the drawers.

-

By the time we arrive at the club and queue up, I’m laughing again. I’m drunk. I can still walk in a straight line, but that’s about it. My pronunciation is a little off and I don’t even care because it’s funny. Even before entering the club, I know this was the right decision. I’m going to have fun and Alex can’t keep me from it.

I asked her why we had to drink before going into the club and she said that drinks were expensive. Plenty of guys would likely be more than willing to pay for our drinks, but we wouldn’t be accepting any of those. Too dangerous, she said and neither of us are interested anyway, so why bother? If anything, we’d pay for drinks ourselves, but drinking isn’t the point of this anyway.
Dancing is.

The queue is long, as predicted by Claire, but it doesn’t feel long before we’re let in. The evening air is pleasantly warm against my almost bare torso and Claire and I talk to some girls in front of us. I’m not quite sure what we’re talking about, but to be honest I’m not sure anyone participating is, so I just laugh along when it seems appropriate.

Inside, the air is different. The air is thick with the smell of people, sweat, deodorant, perfume and alcohol. In the main room, the music is so loud that Claire and I can only communicate through gestures, but that’s more than enough.

Together, we head for the dancefloor and just begin dancing. There’s nothing awkward about it. I just dance and I don’t care that it probably looks shitty. My senses are comfortably numbed by the alcohol in my system and the music and I can just become one.

So it doesn’t need extensive training after all.

I don’t know for how long I dance. I don’t make eye contact with anybody, I ignore the moving bodies around me. It’s just the blared rhythm and I, the music, and my body.

When I eventually stop, I’m all sweaty and my legs and shoulders are sore. I’m tired but at the same time giddy with joy. It’s like after dance practice, only better.

I see Claire sitting by the bar, where the music isn’t as loud, where you can almost talk. Almost.

She waves as I come closer and exchanged a few words with the bartender. By the time I arrive, she has a large drink ready for me. Something very fruity that barely tastes of alcohol at all.

“YOU LOOKED GREAT OUT THERE,” she screams into my ear with a grin. Her cheeks are rosy and her skin glistens like she too has exerted herself.

I give her a grateful smile and nip at my drink.

“SO,” she screams. “HAVING FUN?”

I nod and give her a thumbs up, then we lean back against the bar and watch the flickering lights and moving bodies.

There are no worries. Right at that moment, I’m simply content. Content with the way my body feels, content with the way my mouth tastes of pineapple. No worries, until I go to the loo and come back and find Alex standing at the bar, right next to Claire.

They aren’t talking to each other, both pointedly looking the other way.

I give Claire a questioning look as I close in but she only shrugs.

What is he doing here?

I tap him on the shoulder and he jumps, turns, and just looks at me for a moment.

I furrow my brow.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

He recoils a little, but then straightens up.

“WE NEED TO TALK,” he yells and points where I just came from; the quietest corner of the club is by the restrooms.

I follow him. Not because I particularly feel like having an argument right now. It’s reflexive, almost and some part of me is probably hoping for an apology.

“So, what do you want?” I repeat when we stop in a dark corner where it isn’t exactly quiet, but at least quiet enough to easily understand raised voices.

“You need to come with me,” he says, pleadingly.

“Why?”

He halts and looks around. “Just… please come with me and tomorrow I’ll tell you everything you want to know, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t do it earlier, I- I was scared you’d hate me for it, okay? But now I’ve decided and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and I’m sorry we had that fight, you deserve to know.”

There’s a pleasant tug in my stomach. He apologised.

But then I remember what he told me. Question everything.

Promises. Promises, but no real explanation.

“Why not tell me now?” I ask suspiciously.

“You’re drunk.”

“Damn right I am. So?”

He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut.

“I’m not sure you’ll even believe me,” he says then. “I need you in your right mind for this. Please.”

For a moment, I stare at him, stunned. Seriously?

Then I nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He looks at me with a surprised but hopeful expression.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll talk tomorrow, once I’m sober. But until then, I’m staying here.” And I turn and begin walking back to Claire.

“No, you can’t- Please!” He catches up to me quickly and takes me by the arm.

I try to pull free, but his grip is strong. Not tight, but strong. Too strong.

I stop and turn.

“Let go,” I say flatly.

“No, it’s-” He pauses. “I’m worried, okay? I’m scared something could happen to you.”

“Let. Go,” I repeat, my tone turning to ice.

He opens his mouth, closes it, then loosens his grip.

“Please.”

I shrug his hand off. “See you tomorrow,” I huff and walk away. He doesn’t follow me.

-

Claire is waiting for me by the bar, guarding my drink.

“WHAT DID HE WANT?” she asks, but I wave it off.

I don’t want to talk about it.

She accepts it and hands me my drink. I down it in one go. I don’t care about the taste, I want the good mood to return.

She orders me another and I treat it the same. Then I get up and head back to the dance floor.

But the good mood doesn’t come and not too soon after, the additional alcohol kicks in.

Suddenly, the music is far too loud. The air is too sticky and hot to breathe. I feel nauseous. On my way to the loo I stumble and run into people several times. It’s only by chance that I don’t fall.

But there’s a queue in front of the door with the feminine figure on it. Why’s there a queue?

I try to walk past them and push through the door, but a hand shoves me away and I tumble and fall. I don’t even manage to land on my hands and knees, instead awkwardly landing on my butt and elbow.

Who did that? Why?

It’s very hard to form a cohesive thought, like my thoughts are strings and somebody’s tugging at them violently every time I try to grasp them.

There’s a hand helping me up, a strong hand pulling me to my feet.

Alex?

I look up at the person’s face.

No, not Alex.

But he’ll know where we’re going, right? He’s smiling.

I let him lead me away.

Suddenly, there’s shouting. A voice I don’t know, a person I don’t know. A flash of green hair. She’s pushing the guy away, shouting, hitting him until he lets go of me.

But why would she do something like that?

Wasn’t he trying to help me?

Hands catch me when there’s a sudden flash of dizziness and I lose my balance. Suddenly, the green-haired person is kneeling before me, asking me questions that don’t make sense to me, lightly shaking me by the shoulders. Then they take my hands and squeeze them gently.
I like the feeling. It’s… nice. Like the colour of their hair.