Lights Out | Daniel Diaz

La Vida Nocturna

I collapse onto the cushioned bar stool by the counter, praying for the ground to swallow me whole. The crowd stares, unabashed and awed. Their curious eyes had followed me all the way from the dance floor where I'd just danced like I never expected myself to. As embarrassed as I am, I try to keep my composure, and I'm thankful for the colorful lights that hide my blush.

Everyone eventually looks away, and I comfort myself with the idea of spending the remainder of the night in the bathroom, making friends with drunk girls crying over their exes. Unfortunately when Jane and Veronica amble towards me, I know they'll never let me do that.

"So," says Veronica pleasantly, occupying the stool to my left, "were you ever gonna tell us you can dance?"

I groan, and Jane pats my back. "You did really well, Liana, honest."

I don't reply and bury my face in my arms. When I look up again, I see how wild the dancing crowd looks from a distance. It's like a mosh pit, but there's dancing and the smell of alcohol lingering in air. Based on how drunk everyone is, no one will remember my performance tomorrow. They might get flashes of it in the morning while they're hungover, but that's about it.

The idea calms me.

I decide to order a margarita to make sure I don't remember anything tomorrow either. Jane and Veronica will be remind me of it, of course, but if I can forget about this public humiliation for even an hour it'll be worth it.

Veronica whips out her iPhone 11, and for a second my heart drops to my stomach because I think she might have recorded me. But when I look over her shoulder, I see she's looking at her Instagram story of her, Jane and I clinking our glasses of champagne just an hour ago before we went sprinting off to the dance floor. As if our faces weren't clear enough, she tagged both me and Jane.

"You hid the story from my mom, right?" I ask nervously.

"Obviously," she says, her Spanish accent showing. "I'm not trying to blow your cover. We still need to have a sleepover at your place. Can't have your parents storming into the house, lecturing us about clubbing and why we shouldn't do it."

I don't think that my parents will manage to catch a flight from New York state and fly all the way to Mexico in less than two hours to crash our sleepover, but Veronica has the right idea. Their two week vacation will be cut short if they find out I'm out drinking instead of keeping an eye on my fourteen year old brother, Blake. Though he's not the most responsible, I'll admit he can take care of himself. For one night, at least.

He promised not to snitch on me, bless him. I had to bribe him with Burger King and a new Marvel comic book, but it was worth it.

I smile at Veronica. "Good to know you've got more common sense than Jane."

"Look," Jane grumbles from beside me, "just because I accidentally let it slip that we skipped school that one time in front of my dad doesn't mean—"

She launches into a rant while Veronica and I struggle to stop giggling. It works for a brief time until we catch each other's eyes and burst out laughing. Jane pauses to glares at us, even she's suppressing a smile. I suddenly realize, as I laugh with my friends in a pleasantly tipsy state, that I'm happy with my life. The joy doesn't last for long, however, because I begin to wonder whether I look like a wreck or not.

Bringing out a compact mirror from my handbag, I click it open and blink. What I see sobers me up completely.

My hair, that I'd dyed ombre last week, is as messy as I'd anticipated. I wouldn't have believed I straightened it tonight if I didn't have a fresh burn on my right ear to serve as a souvenir. That's not all, to my dismay. The longer I look, the more my grimace deepens.