“Maybe you want someone to see a little skin?” Matt asks.
My cheeks flare with heat, and I tip face-first into my bed to hide my reaction.
I’ve always had a crush on Dakota, but it was just a crush on a famous person. I could fill a book with all the crushes I’ve had on famous people. I really like having crushes, okay? But this is all too real suddenly. I’ve had a crush on Johnny for the last few years, and that always felt so much more terrifying than swooning over some random famous person, because Johnny could actually find out how I felt about him. But now that’s the case with Dakota too. She’s more than just a person on a poster, and whatever this is that I’m feeling for her is electric.
I’ve tried for the last few weeks to tell myself that it’s just the thrill of meeting someone I admire so much, but I think I’m just foolish enough to believe that Dakota has feelings for me too. And that thought alone makes all my feelings for her even more intense.
Ches rolls over on her side next to me and brushes a stray hair from my face as I peer at her from the corner of my eye. “Does it hurt?” she asks, like it might delight her just a little bit. “The crush?”
I prop myself up on my side and Matt wedges in behind Ches. I’ve never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and the only kisses I have under my belt are ones from each of them. We were fourteen, and they were just baffled when I told them I didn’t know if I liked girls or boys or both or all. They each volunteered to kiss me, like that might somehow settle it, but that only left me with more questions. The only thing I knew for sure was that I liked kissing but probably not with either of them.
“She’s such a big deal. There’s no way she could actually like me. Besides, I think what she really needs is a friend. And there’s Johnny too. You know I’ve had it bad for him for ages.”
Matt huffs. “Johnny’s been putting the moves on you slower than a turtle for the last three years. If he wanted all of that,” he says, motioning to my body like it’s something to be coveted, “he should have acted by now.”
Ches sighs and takes my hand. “He’s not wrong. But there’s also nothing wrong with taking it slow, I guess.”
Matt stands and whips a silk scarf around his neck. “Pfft. Slow? Dakota’s an Italian sports car and Johnny’s one of those old-timey unicycles. No competition.”
Ches lets him pull her to her feet. “Are you two done playing America’s Next Top Model or whatever? Can we get this show on the road?”
We trot down the steps and Grandma Lou has the three of us pose for a picture, like we’re going to the prom. Even though it’s against the laws of being a teenager, none of us protest, because this party is probably a bigger deal than our prom ever will be.
As we drive into downtown Minneapolis, hulking skyscrapers and fancy hotels stretch over us like the impossible structures they are. We circle the same few blocks over and over, shouting over one another as we hunt for a parking spot. Finally, Ches spots a five-dollar lot that we all agree is our least scary option.
We trudge the few blocks to the Tipsy Toad, and we each groan with exasperation the moment we see a very small but informative sign that reads Complimentary Valet.
“Should I go back for my car?” asks Matt. “Do you think it will be safe back there? The parking attendant looked like his brain was made of static.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” says Ches. “Besides, there were way nicer cars to steal in that parking lot.”
I shrug. “She’s not wrong.”
“I’m choosing not to be insulted by that,” he says.
We wait in a line of the hippest people I’ve ever seen gathered in a hundred-mile radius of Glenwood. Sometimes I feel so sequestered in our little suburb that it’s easy for me to forget that the Twin Cities can be pretty cool if you know where to look.
With just one person ahead of us in line, I text Dakota to let her know we’re here. For a quick moment, my anxiety spikes. What if we’re not even on the list? Maybe there was a mistake, or maybe Dakota forgot to add Ches and Matt to the list.
Ches elbows me in the ribs.
“Name,” the bouncer demands. I get the feeling it’s not the first time he’s asked me.
“Faith Herbert,” I tell him. “I should have plus two. Ches Palmer and Matt Delgado.”
He glances down at his list. “ID,” he says.
The three of us flash our ID cards, and he slashes big black X marks on the tops of our hands.
“Subtle,” Matt grunts as he replaces his ID in his wallet.
“What’s up with the Xs?” I ask.
“We’re minors,” Ches says. “It’s basically a giant neon sign over our head that says, ‘No Drinky Drinky.’”
Inside, Matt disappears for a moment and returns with three cups of fizzy water, one for each of us. He raises his clear cup with its thin black stirring straw. “To sobriety!” he says.
“Sobriety!” Ches and I echo.
My phone buzzes in my bra. (Screw absolutely every women’s clothing manufacturer that doesn’t include pockets in their designs.)
DAKOTA: Come find me by the velvet rope
“Ooh! Come on. Let’s go,” I tell Matt and Ches.
Matt shrieks with excitement. “Our patron Grover beckons! Exsqueeze you,” he barks at a flock of petite girls in short, stretchy dresses.
We weave through the crowd, the music—mostly techno remixes of pop songs—vibrating and strobe lights bouncing off the brick walls of the crumbling industrial building. At the back of the club, in a quieter corner, is a platform of small plush sofas roped off from the rest of the partygoers.
Dakota stands beside a tall bald man, and my heart stops. She wears a crisp, fitted, iridescent maroon suit with no shirt underneath the jacket. Whoa. She looks amazing. Delicious. Can you call people delicious? Is that appropriate? Whatever. I remind my heart to start beating again.
“There you are!” she calls, pulling me to her for an embrace.
As she steps back, she tugs at my wrist, and before I even know what she’s doing, she’s placed a black plastic band around my wrist that reads Production Only.
“Hey!” Dakota shouts over the music to Ches and Matt.
Matt holds out a hand. “We met, sort of. At the fair. Briefly,” he says. “I’m Matt. You have exquisite taste,” he says, motioning to her suit.
“And this is Ches,” I tell her. “What’s this for?” I ask, holding up my wrist.
“That’s the VIP band,” she tells me, and then looks to Matt and Ches. “I’m sorry. I could only get one.”
Then I notice the sign beside the tall bald man. VIP Access Wristband Required.
“Oh.” I shake my head. “I totally don’t need this. Maybe we could all just hang out here by the dance floor for a little while.”
Behind me, I can feel Matt and Ches shrinking back.
Dakota’s eyes dart around. “I know this is going to sound like I’m just really full of myself, but I really just don’t want to go out there and get mobbed by people, ya know? Maybe you could just hang out in the VIP section.” She looks to Matt and Ches again. “Just for a little while.”
Matt doesn’t say anything. It’s Ches who finally nudges me forward. “We want to dance anyway,” she says, and winks at me. “Text us if you can’t find us.”