“As long as I’m not the one sleeping on the floor, I’m fine,” Juliet announces and starts to unpack her bag.
“This is going to be a fun night,” Juliet says in front of the bathroom mirror.
The three of us cram ourselves into the bathroom and share it. Unfortunately, there are only two plugs—one short of how many we need. Tea is blow-drying her hair and I’m flat-ironing my hair. Juliet, who’s planning on curling hers, waits patiently for her turn while applying false lashes.
Both Tea and Juliet came on this trip prepared. Not just in terms of the clothes they had packed, but also with their makeup kits. Juliet’s makeup bag can be a whole separate carry-on bag. Tea’s isn’t so big, but it unfolds, and once it’s all unfolded, it puts mine to shame.
I only packed a small Ziploc bag of what I’d need. Now, I’m starting to think that I need a lot of more. After Juliet and Tea unpack their supplies on the counter, it looks like the backstage of a Victoria Secret show. They both have so many tools and brushes that I don’t even know what they’re all for.
“So, you know they have eyebrow extensions now, right?” Juliet asks Tea.
“Yes, I know. I saw it on Instagram. Aren’t they amazing?” Tea asks.
“I’d love to get some. I think I over-plucked mine a little bit in high school.”
They both stare at their eyebrows in the mirror. I’m suddenly become super self-conscious of my own eyebrows. Perhaps they’re not up to snuff.
“Well, not everyone can have naturally beautiful brows like Alice,” Tea adds.
“I know, right? They’re amazing!”
I roll my eyes. “A few years ago, they were too bushy, but now they’re apparently just right.”
“Well, a few years ago, everyone was wearing low-rise jeans and showing their hip bones and now it’s all about high rise,” Juliet says.
“Yeah, that’s the cool thing about fashion. It changes all the time,” Tea adds.
“That’s also the stressful thing about fashion,” I add. “It changes all the time.”
I free up one plug for Juliet to plug her curling iron into and go to the living room. I don’t contour my face—just put on some foundation, eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow, and lipstick. That’s enough for me.
There’s a knock at the door. When I open it, I see Tanner with a bag of alcohol and a case of beer. Since he’s the only one of us who can legally drink, he was sent out to get everything for the pre-game.
“Pre-gaming is about to commence!” Dylan announces.
Pre-gaming is a very important tradition in college. Since most of us aren’t legally able to buy drinks, we use the time before we go out to get a little drunk. Plus, the drinks are way cheaper this way. Dylan asks everyone what they want. I ask for a martini. Forty-five minutes later, just when we’re all ready to leave and I’m finally done with it, I’m already feeling like I had a little bit too much. Unfortunately, I keep drinking.
18
I open my eyes. My head is pounding as if someone is smashing on drums with all their might a millimeter away from my eardrums. A sliver of light peeks in through the blackout curtains and my eyes can barely handle it.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. My throat itches. I cough and feel the nightstand for something to drink. My hand lands on a glass. I bring it to my lips and then take a sniff.
Please don’t be alcohol, I say to myself. It’s not. Just water. Whew. I drink the whole glass. Finally, I manage to open my eyes a little wider. The room is pretty dark, but the light still pierces my eyes as if it’s a sword. I cover my eyes with my arm and look around.
Where the hell am I?
I’m sitting in a tall bed. There are suitcases all around. And French doors across from me. The place does not look familiar, however.
My eyes dart to one side and I spot the bathroom. Carefully, I get up and walk to the bathroom. I don’t put on the lights, but I do look at myself in the mirror. I’m a mess. Not even a hot mess. My hair is completely out of place. Crumpled and sad. My makeup is all smeared and I have ugly raccoon eyes. I wipe my mouth—lipstick residue comes off on the back of my hand.
“Where is this?” I whisper.
My eyes adjust to the muted light enough for me to stop protecting them with my hand. I look around the bathroom. It’s familiar and foreign at the same time. I feel like I’ve been here before, but not often. This is not our bathroom back at the dorm. Then I see it. My tiny, bright pink, travel-sized flat iron. It hits me. I’m at the hotel. We’re in Atlantic City. For some reason I’m in the room. Weren’t Tea and Tanner supposed to sleep here?
I come back into the room. What the hell am I doing sleeping here and everyone else sleeping there? I search my mind for answers, but it all comes up blank. I can’t remember a thing.
“Oh, shit, why is it so bright in here?” I hear someone say.
The voice startles me. It’s quiet, but it’s definitely not coming from the outside.
It’s coming from the bed.
Please don’t be Tanner.
Please don’t be Tanner.
Please don’t be Tanner.
When he moves the cover from his face and sits up in bed, I see that it’s not Tanner.
It’s Dylan.
“Dylan? What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Stop yelling! My head is killing me.”
I give him a moment to collect his thoughts. He gets up and pulls the blackout shades shut. The sliver of light is gone. My head feels a little better.
“What are you wearing?” Dylan asks me.
I don’t know. I didn’t even think to look. I look down. For some reason, I’m wearing a white bathing
