Aimee: I

Tara sat at my desk with her tongue poking out in concentration as she armored her toenails in coral pink polish. She’d shown up at my house that morning to lament the end of summer, the end of languidly hot days in the pool and being forced to run the gauntlet of last-spurt, dying-breath parties. Everyone had been trying to wring more life out of this final week, like blood from a stone, and I felt like the only person who was actually happy to see these insouciant weeks come to a close.

“This colour makes my toes look big,” Tara commented suddenly, stretching out one lean leg and wriggling her toes at me. “Come here and look. Do they look fat?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, a note of impatience in my voice. Tara looked up at me and I saw the mischief glinting in her dark, slanted eyes. She wrinkled her nose playfully.

“Be a good friend and tell me my toes look skinny.” She grinned, one of her manic grins that made me feel like I was the science project to her mad scientist.

“Your toes look skinny,” I said mockingly, smiling despite myself. “Is this all you want to do today?” I’d expected more from her. Tara was like a hurricane in a bottle. Containing her, as I’d learned long ago, was impossible.

Tara twisted the lid back onto the nail polish bottle and stood up, being careful not to smudge the applied coat. “My friend from that super strict boy’s school invited me to some party over on Riverside.” She smirked at me, apparently expecting a certain reaction. Riverside was the rich neighborhood, where the roads were practically paved with gold. My parents were ambitious social climbers and they would laud any connection I had with Riversiders.

“I guess you’re gonna make me go,” I said with a sigh, turning away from her to open my laptop. The bed bounced as Tara clambered up beside me, pressing her chin against my shoulder and smiling sweetly up at me.

“Only because you wouldn’t make me go alone,” she said. I smiled, ignoring her as I scrolled through my Twitter feed, deliberately focusing on my computer screen rather than my friend. “Aimee! Pay attention to me, won’t you?”

I pursed my lips to keep from laughing and shrugged her chin off my shoulder. I could just imagine the pout on her lips as I studiously pretended not to notice her. Eventually she got sick of that game and she all but tackled me. “You’re coming to the party because I say so!” she shouted, shrieking with laughter as I struggled to free myself from her surprisingly strong grip. She clung onto me like a barnacle on the bottom of a ship and I gave in, laughing breathlessly.

“Fine! Whatever, just let me up, you freak.” I wriggled helplessly. Tara patted my head consolingly and released me, jumping up and going to my closet. “What are you doing now?”

Tara turned to face me, her eyebrows quirked at an indignant angle. “Trying to find you something to wear!”

* * *

Tara wouldn’t relent until I’d done everything she told me to. She convinced me to curl my hair, put on make-up, and wear the shortest dress I owned. I compromised by wearing a light cardigan over top that hid my cleavage, and by doing my make-up as naturally as was possible. Tara, on the other hand, did everything the opposite. Everything about her was loud, bold, and beautiful.

At least we had some fun getting ready. My parents wouldn’t be home until late that night; dad was working overtime on a homicide case at the precinct and mum had meetings all night. There wasn’t much wiggle room in their schedules, but that was fine with me. Tara and I turned the stereo up loud and danced and sang around the house while we got dressed and ready to go out.

I wasn’t much looking forward to the party; I could practically envision how the whole night would go. Tara would branch off within five minutes of arrival and find some boy to flirt with and tease all evening, and I’d be left sitting on a couch somewhere on my own, trying not to get in anyone’s way.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like parties, or going out, but sometimes it was exhausting. The perfect night for me would be staying in, ordering some pizza, and watching a movie. So far my summer hadn’t involved anything like that. With Tara for a best friend, it was always non-stop.

Tara and I walked to our friends houses, rounding them up for the night. Tara had organized everything with them and we caught a ride with Josie Garland’s older brother, who never minded hanging out with high school Juniors. Grant had just recently turned twenty and he’d always been really nice to me in the past. Josie was one of my oldest friends, besides Tara. Her best friend was Katie de Silva, a lithe blonde girl on the hockey team at school who was best known for picking fights on the field. The four of us, and Josie’s brother, arrived at the party in Riverside around nine o’clock.

I had no idea whose house I was at, and I didn’t recognise most of the people inside, but that didn’t faze the other girls at all. Tara pulled me along, shoved a cup of room temperature beer into my hand. We were there for about half an hour before Tara shouted across the room when she spotted someone she knew.

“You’re gonna love this guy,” Tara told me, talking loudly so as to be heard over the music. I didn’t recognise the song, but there were people all around dancing – grinding, really, to the heavy and erratic rhythm of the song.

“Who?” I asked Tara, trying to see who she was waving over. A tall, skinny guy with shaggy black hair soon appeared and grabbed Tara in a hug. She squealed and hugged him back, apparently delighted.

“I was starting to think you weren’t here!” Tara said. “Learn to text back, you dumbass.”

The guy smirked and kissed Tara on the cheek, and I saw the blush instantly creep across her cheeks. She looked at me suddenly and grabbed my arm. “Aimee, this is Brandon. He’s my friend I told you about, the Riversider.”

“Christ, is that all I am to you?” Brandon said with a snort. “Hey, sweetheart. Nice to meet you.” He held his hand out to me and out of polite instinct I shook it. When his hand closed around mine he lifted it and kissed my knuckles. I pulled my hand back in surprise, and he laughed boisterously.

“He’s very affectionate,” Tara explained with a tolerable smile. “Hey, show me around, alright?”

Brandon immediately toted Tara off to another part of the house and I struggled to follow them through the press of the crowd. Eventually I lost sight of them and with a roll of my eyes I changed direction and headed back outside for some air. It was stiflingly hot inside the house. I leaned against the porch railing and scowled. My prediction of the night had come true. My friends had left me behind already.

Raking my hands through the curls of my hair, I pulled apart my hairdo without a second thought. There was a black hairband around my wrist so I grabbed it and gathered my hair into a messy bun. Looking around, I saw that there were some people outside and on the front lawn. There was a group sitting down, talking, and passing around what was probably a joint. Then I saw Grant, standing with a couple guys that might’ve been his age.

I bit my lip, uncertain of what to do. I didn’t really want to go back inside, and Tara wouldn’t notice I wasn’t with her for a while, if she did at all. Honestly, I just wanted to go home.

Hesitantly making my way over to Grant, I hovered around hoping he’d notice me but he was too interested in his friends and what they were saying to realise I was there. Finally I walked right up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked surprised to see me, but he smiled nonetheless.

“Aimee.” Grant said my name with warmth. “What’s up? Did you lose your friends?”

“More like my friends lost me,” I said with a smile. “I, um…” I trailed off momentarily as I looked around at Grant’s friends. They didn’t seem to mind my interruption, but I didn’t exactly feel comfortable. “I was hoping you might drive me home.”

“Home? Already?!” Grant gave a bark of a laugh. “Nah, come on Aimee, the night’s still young.”

I blushed, wishing he’d just agree and take me home. “Um, I’ll ask someone else then…” I turned and was about to leave Grant alone when he reached out to grasp my arm.

“Alright, alright,” he said, as though acquiescing was a huge inconvenience. He gave me a grin, though, to show he didn’t mind all that much. “You don’t mind sharing the car with my friends, do you? We were on our way to another party anyway.”

“It’s fine,” I said, relieved to be getting a ride. Grant let me have the front seat and his friends piled into the back. I was utterly silent as Grant pulled away from the curb. Reaching into my bag, I took out my phone and quickly texted my friends to let them know I was going home. Relaxing a little, I watched the street roll past.

Once we got on the highway Grant started going faster and his friends demanded the radio be turned up. The car was filled with the noise of some dubstep song that made the car doors vibrate.

“Fuck, you’re going so slow man,” one of Grant’s friends exclaimed from the backseat, reaching forward to clap Grant on the shoulder. “Don’t want your little girlfriend thinking you’re a pussy, right? Speed up!”

I shifted nervously in my seat, glancing sideways at Grant but deliberately not meeting his eye. He was grinning and I felt the change in speed as he accelerated. He was going too fast for my own comfort, but he was a confident driver... we’d be fine. His friends laughed and applauded jokingly.

“Sorry about them,” Grant said to me, having to shout over the noise. “They’ve been drinking.” He glanced into the rearview mirror and his expression changed from amused to annoyed. “Guys, what the hell? I told you not to smoke in my car.”

“I’ll wind down the window,” one of his friends said and I twisted around to see what they were doing. One of them had taken out a joint and was lighting it while the other cracked open his window enough to let the cold night air in. It gently tugged at my hair but it wasn’t too bothersome. What really made the situation uncomfortable was the acrid smell of weed that suddenly rose up as Grant’s friends started smoking and sharing the joint with each other.

“You want some?” asked the one who sat directly behind me. He held the joint out to me and I shook my head, turning back to face the front.

I was starting to realise getting a ride from Grant without my friends around was a bad idea. These guys were a lot older than me, and Grant was going faster now. The car was speeding down the quiet highway and when Grant took a corner too fast I gasped and was tossed to the side, smacking my head against the window.

“Sorry,” Grant called, but he laughed anyway.

“Can you slow down?” I asked, my voice shaking. I rubbed my head and tried to keep steady, one hand clutching my seat for support.

“Why, are you scared?” Grant said, smirking, and I opened my mouth to answer but I understood how futile my complaints would be. His friends were being loud and obnoxious in the back seat, and Grant had a look in his eyes like he wanted to impress them by being as loud and obnoxious as them.

“Pull over,” I demanded, as forcefully as I could manage. “Let me out! I want to get out of the car.”

Grant gave me a look like I was getting on his nerves. He didn’t slow down. “Twenty more minutes and you’ll be home, chill out.”

“No, it’s not safe,” I snapped. “Pull over, for fuck’s sake!” I tripped over the swear word, but I felt scared enough that it felt natural to say it, to emphasise my point.

With a groan, Grant roughly pulled the car over into the parking lot of some bar and stopped suddenly, throwing me against my seatbelt. “Go on then,” he said. I don’t think he expected me to actually get out, but I yanked off my seatbelt, snatched up my bag, and clambered out of the car.

Grant’s friends were laughing, smoking, and one of them was opening up a beer can. “You can’t stay here,” Grant said, leaning over to talk out the window. “Get back in the car.”

I glared at him. “Not a chance,” I mumbled, looking around to catch my bearings. The noise from the bar wasn’t so reassuring, but it was brightly lit and it was the only place along this street where I might feel safe. A sign above the door said Dark Horse Bar.

“Whatever,” Grant said, throwing the car into gear and tearing out of the parking lot with a spray of gravel from the tires. I winced, dodging the small stones as they spat out from beneath the wheels. Grant’s car quickly disappeared down the street and I sighed heavily, hiding my face behind my hands for a moment.

A few tears sprang into my eyes but I wiped them away, only then realizing I’d probably smudged my mascara. Growling a few uncharacteristic curses under my breath, I walked up to the door of the bar and pushed it open. The smell of beer, liquor, and cigarette smoke was strong inside but after a quick and fearful survey from the door I could see I might be okay there.

2: Succor

Aimee: II

The Dark Horse Bar was clean, and no one seemed overtly dangerous or scary, but I wasn't sure if I was the best judge of such things. I sat down at a table close to the door and fished out my phone, pursing my lips in vexation when I saw there was no service here. I couldn't call my friends, or my parents—though the idea of telling mum and dad what happened wasn't a pleasant prospect—and without a way to contact anyone to pick me up I'd be screwed.

Gathering my courage, I stood up and approached the bar. There was a woman with olive skin and heavily tattooed arms serving drinks behind the bar, but when she saw me she waved me off. "Sorry, love," she said, a British drawl to her accent. "I'm a bit busy. Colin, get out here and help."

I bit my lip, waiting for someone to come over and wondering what I would say when somebody did. A voice behind me made me jump. "Damnit, girl," the man growled, ambling around the bar. "I hired you so I wouldn't have to work so hard all the bloody time." This man was British, too. Where the girl's accent had been charming and elegant, the man's was clipped and rough.

When he looked at me I felt rooted to the spot as though my shoes were made of concrete. He was... beautiful. Even with the scowl firmly fixed on his face, I could still tell his face was perfect. I laughed suddenly, as my nerves got the better of me.

The man merely glowered even more, leaning forwards as though to intimidate me. "What's so funny, lass?"

"I'm- sorry," I stammered. "It's just been a long night... I, uh... can I use your phone?"

He was silent for a few long, tense moments. Which gave me the time to thoroughly scream at myself inside my head for being so stupid. A handsome man shouldn't have made me so nervous, especially one who was... so old. I thought he was probably about thirty, maybe older. I chastised myself yet again, telling myself that wasn't old at all.

"You gotta buy something if you wanna use the phone," the man said, looking away from me and glancing around the bar.

"I don't drink," I said stupidly. The man gave me a look that said, yeah, he thought I was stupid too.

"We serve soda," he replied slowly, as though to give me the chance to catch up.

I pursed my lips and grabbed my wallet from my bag. "A coke, then," I said, a bit harsher than I'd intended. When the man turned around to take a bottle of coke from the fridge behind the bar, I saw what I thought was a smile crossing his face. "Please." My belated manners didn't really accomplish anything, but he handed me the bottle and a glass and moved to another customer. Sighing, I poured some of the soda into the glass and took a sip. I lifted myself up to sit on the barstool beside me, nearly spilling my drink when the chair spun to the side unexpectedly. I made a strange squeaking sound and the man glanced back over at me, finally coming over again. He leaned his forearms against the bar and gave me a steady, calculating look.

"How old are you?" he asked.

I hesitated before answering. "Why?" I said, narrowing my eyes.

He seemed to find this amusing as he smiled again, a quirk at the corner of his mouth. Oh. He had a lovely mouth. I stared at his lips for a moment before I realised what I was doing and my cheeks flushed hotly. I tried to meet his gaze again but I was too embarrassed to keep eye contact so I looked down at the bar instead.

"It's obvious you didn't come here on purpose," the man said. "So, I'm wondering what happened that you ended up here. And I could get in trouble if an underage girl is served alcohol in my bar, so I'd like to be safe about it. How old are you?"

"Seventeen," I said. "I just need to use your phone so I can call somebody." I gave him a pleading look and was rewarded when he sighed and nodded.

"Fine, the phone's around the corner," he said, pointing.

I got up and thanked him quickly, hurrying over to the phone. I deliberated for a moment on who to call, but eventually I rang our neighbour Elinor. She'd lived next door to us with her parents since I was nine years old; she was now a grad student and an intern at the law firm where my mum worked. She used to babysit me, and she'd once told me that if I ever got in trouble I could call her to bail me out. After a quick talk with her, I told her where I was and begged her to come get me. Elinor, with all the kindness I expected, agreed to be there in half an hour. With that sorted, I returned to the bar and sipped at my coke. The man was busy across the room, serving drinks and chatting with people, but now that I had the chance I watched him curiously, without his noticing.

I was startled to notice that he walked with a limp, favouring his right leg over his left. My mind spun, dreaming up explanations for the limp. How had he hurt himself? Was he in an accident? And... why was I so interested? I scrunched up my face in annoyance and focused on my drink, ignoring the man until he came back to the bar and spoke to me.

"Did your phone call go alright?" the man asked.

"Oh, yes, thank you," I answered in a hurry. "My friend is coming to pick me up."

"Good to hear." The man nodded his head.

I remembered then what the other bartender had shouted to him earlier. "Colin," I mumbled, and he cocked a brow, giving me a weird look.

"Yes..." he said slowly, expectantly.

I cringed at my own idiocy. "Sorry, I hadn't meant to- I was just-" I didn't think I could continue, so I just shook my head and shut my mouth.

"Look," Colin said, "I don't want it said that I was rude to a girl who clearly isn't having a good night, so, um, is there anything you need?"

"No!" I said quickly, smiling at the kind offer. "I'm fine, really."

"Alright." Colin shrugged his broad shoulders and tapped his fingers against the bar in a strange rhythm. "I've gotta get back to it. If you need anything, just holler." He waved to the other bartender, the girl with the tattoos. "Ash, don't serve her alcohol. She's as underage as they get."

I blushed at that, but I felt weirdly happy. After the disappointments of the night, this kindness from a stranger was exactly the balm needed to soothe my hurts.

3: Amber

Aimee: III

I'd been waiting nearly ten minutes, drinking my coke as slowly as possible and entertaining myself by playing Angry Birds on my phone, before Ash sauntered over and grinned at me. "How are you doing?" she asked. "Colin leave you high and dry, did he?"

"No, of course not," I said quickly, feeling as though I ought to apologise for something. I buried that instinct as quickly as it came. Tara always said I apologized too much. "I'm waiting for my ride."

"Ah, I see," Ash said. "So, you're underage? What are you doing here, if I might ask?"

"I was at a party, with my friends," I answered. I wanted to talk about it to someone, and Ash seemed to be listening to what I was saying. A man at the end of the bar was trying to get her attention, but Ash ignored him. "I was getting a ride home from my friend's brother and he was going too fast. I was probably overreacting, but I made him pull over. This was the only place within walking distance."

Telling the story was embarrassing. I'd acted like such a child in front of Grant. He'd probably tell everyone how much of a baby I was.

"Well, sounds to me like you made the right choice," Ash said, nodding her head like I'd said something wise. "Getting into a car with a boy is trouble."

"Not every boy is like that, though," I said. Why was I arguing?

Ash laughed. "In my experience, enough are like that to make a difference." She paused, her expression drifting into thoughtfulness. "What's your name?"

I was too caught up on her statement, said with such confidence, to answer straight away. Maybe she was right... Grant and his friends had made me feel unsafe. That was trouble. "Aimee," I finally said, after Ash repeated the question.

She held out her hand and smirked. "Ashira," she said. "You can call me Ash."

I smiled back at her, jumping when the man who'd been trying to get Ash's attention suddenly stormed over to us and slapped his hands against the bar. "Do your fucking job," he snarled at Ash. She didn't seem bothered at all by his hostility.

"I am," she retorted, calm as anything. "Colin told me to cut you off."

The man swore. I looked at him from the corner of my eye, leaning away from him as far as I could without falling right out of my chair. His face was sallow and saggy, and there were burst capillaries all across his cheeks and nose, like little red squiggles under his skin.

"Get him out here," the man demanded.

"No," Ash said with a snort. "Go home, or go to a meeting."

Ash stared the belligerent man down, unflinching, and after a few moments, during which I swore the guy was going to make a bigger scene, he finally left with a few mumbled insults.

"Does that... happen often?" I asked Ash hesitantly.

"Not really," Ash replied, taking a tumbler from behind the bar and filling it with some amber-coloured liquor. I thought she was going to hand it to me for a second, but she picked up the glass and downed the shot in one swallow. "But it happens enough that I need a good drink afterwards."

She shot me a smile, then looked around the bar. "I've gotta make the rounds again," she told me. "Be safe, alright? Looks like the crowd's getting rowdy."

I looked at the people sitting at booths and tables and noticed she was right. How late was it? I looked at my phone to check the time and saw that it was nearly eleven. I wanted to be home already, curled up in bed and reading a book or watching a movie on Netflix, but instead I was in a bar alone. Not the night I'd been expecting.

I fiddled with the straw in my glass as I settled in once more to silently wait for Elinor. Ash was pouring drinks again and clearing empty tables of glasses. I couldn't see Colin anywhere, though I didn't look too hard since I was trying not to meet the gaze of any of the drunk strangers around me.

When Elinor finally got there, she hurried over, and relief at seeing my friend rushed through me. "Are you okay, Ames?" Elinor asked, giving me a quick hug.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said. "I just want to go home."

"Of course," Elinor said. She picked up my bag for me and led me to the door. It was obvious Elinor had left her house in a hurry. I could see that she was wearing cotton pyjamas underneath her coat. I felt a little guilty for having her rush over here, but I was so thankful she had.

"Oh, wait," I stopped at the door. "Can I say goodbye to someone?"

"Who?" Elinor asked, furrowing her brow in confusion. "I thought you were alone."

"The bartender," I said. "She was nice to me." I gave Elinor an apologetic smile and hurried over to Ash.

"You off, then?" she asked, having noticed that I was leaving.

"Yeah, I wanted to say bye. And thanks, for taking care of me," I said.

"Of course, babe." Ash beamed at me. "I'll let Colin know you got off safely."

I opened my mouth to say something, but couldn't think of any response to this. Suddenly I didn't want to leave just yet. Colin had been kind, despite his bluntness. But Elinor was waiting for me, so I just put on a smile and waved at Ash as I left.

I got into my friend's car, feeling safe and comfortable, but I realised that I'd felt the same way inside, when I was talking to Ash. Talking to Colin. I sighed. I'd never see them again, so I chose to put them out of my mind.