“Only when I’m buzzed,” I explained. I lit two cigarettes and passed one to Seth. We smoked with the windows down and threads of icy air cutting through the car. I didn’t care. The cold, the buzz, the way Seth pushed his Bentley to eighty—none of it bothered me. I needed a release after the memorial.
Matt was right. That had to be the toughest part of our whole charade. And it was over.
“DJ, will ya?” Seth tossed a white jack onto my lap. I plugged the cord into my phone and searched for a good song. Was it wrong to listen to something happy?
I chose “Nara,” the theme to Cold Case. No vocals, just a haunting melody that spiraled upward and almost out of control.
That was how I wanted to feel: almost out of control.
“Too cold?” said Seth.
“I like it.”
“Good, me too.”
We smoked second and third cigarettes. I finished off Seth’s flask. He laughed when I returned it empty.
I was in the zone, playing all my favorite songs by Radiohead and Elliott Smith, and I barely noticed when we pulled into a crowded parking lot.
“Let’s go, little bird.”
“Don’t call me that.” I unplugged my phone. “Where are we?”
“Outskirts of Trenton. Come on.” Seth bummed another smoke off me and we climbed out of the car. The cold felt amazing. The night’s momentum, greased with alcohol, pulled me along at just the right pace.
Seth caught my hand and guided me toward a large building with dark windows. People stood outside smoking and laughing. This was a bar, I realized, or a club. Cool. My postcollege life had been pretty straitlaced, and I missed this scene.
“You all right?” Seth led me past a bouncer.
“I’m fine, no worries.”
Jeez, we got inside so easily. One moment I was standing in the cold, the next I was in a chic low-lit club with hardwood floors and a semi-industrial look—brick walls, exposed pipework. A crowd filled the floor. Toward the front of the room was a stage studded with speakers and washed in blue light.
A DJ called out from a booth I couldn’t see. “My man Seth is finally in the house!” The crowd cheered. I blinked up at Seth. “Here’s one more song and then I’m off, thank God.”
The volume amped up. I recognized a remix of … “Come & Get It” by Selena Gomez? I must have been drunk; it actually sounded good.
The crowd swirled around us and colored lights strobed overhead. A petite brunette with a buzz cut appeared out of the throng. She and Seth hugged.
“Steffy, hey!” Seth shouted to be heard.
“Hey, baby, who’s this?” The girl smiled at me.
“Oh, this is Hannah! Take care of her, yeah? I’m doing three songs and leaving—” Seth held up three fingers emphatically. “We didn’t get to practice! I had the thing for Matt!”
“Oh, yeah, the thing! Oh, my God!” Steffy hugged Seth again. Her arms lingered around his back. “Okay, get going! Wiley is going to kill you!”
Seth smiled at me. I smiled back at him, though I was confused as fuck. Maybe Seth was a DJ, but who the hell schedules a gig after his brother’s memorial?
“Cool?” Seth shouted.
“Yeah,” I mouthed.
Seth vanished into the crowd, leaving me with Steffy. I turned my uneasy smile to her.
“Cool! I’m Steffy! Okay, drinks!” Steffy hooked her arm through mine and dragged me to the bar. Her pupils were dilated, a thin rim of iris visible. She was rolling, I guessed.
Two screwdrivers later, I found myself at the foot of the stage with Steffy. Shaggy-haired band guys were messing with mike stands and cables. They did a sound check and the crowd went crazy, pressing against us and screaming.
“Oh, my God, finally!” Steffy squealed.
I laughed and let the crowd jostle me.
The stage darkened, then blared with orange light. A man jogged to the mike. “Okay, without further fucking ado”—the crowd laughed—“give it the fuck up for Goldengrove!”
I blinked against the bright light. Goldengrove? I tugged Steffy’s arm.