The music’s pumping, and I can’t lie, I’m starting to feel myself. I know my body looks good, even if these trunks are suffocating. I’m here to have fun, so that’s what I do. I let myself feel the music, and I start busting out my moves. I’ve gotta be careful I don’t bust outta these trunks, but the crowd’s really into my dancing, and I’ve only got a couple more minutes. What could go wrong?
“What do you think, Bainbridge? This guy’s got moves, right?” Whit asks the crowd as I dance around the stage. Am I wearing floaties? Yes. Is my nose covered in zinc oxide? Also yes. And this damn straw hat is getting itchy. It’s a look, for sure, but I’m owning it. As the crowd cheers, I let myself get into the music. Is it wise to twerk in these shorts? Probably not, but I’ve only got a minute or two left. What could go wrong?
“Alright, we’ve got $200, but you can do better than that, Bainbridge. Do I see $250?” As soon as the words are out of Whit’s mouth, a holler erupts from the audience. “$300? Now we’re talkin. Okay, gimme $350. Come on, BU, it’s for charity.”
The bidding goes to $500, and I can’t lie, it’s an ego boost. And yea, I’m flashing my best smile and showing off all my moves. I may not be the greatest dancer, but nobody seems to care. When a girl in the audience calls out, “Show me that bubble butt!” how can I refuse? Turning to face the back curtain, I give my ass a shake and when the beat hits, I drop it low. I hear hoots and hollers, and I’m digging this attention.
But that’s when I feel a slight breeze and realize my trunks have split wide open.
Did I mention these shorts are so snug I was forced to go commando?
“Oh shit,” Whit mutters. “Let’s close this out, shall we? Going once, going twice…SOLD!” Whit’s voice rings out above the din of the noisy auditorium. “Number 137, come claim your man-hunk of a prize over by the registration table. But remember, you don’t actually get to take this big guy home tonight. You can sort out all the date details, though, and maybe get the poor guy a pair of sweats? Ok, who’s ready for our next bachelor? I have it on good authority that Booker Zabek is taken, but he’ll happily treat you to a kale smoothie and bore you to tears with random hockey trivia. Now come on, who could resist that?”
The auction continues, and a volunteer directs me toward a set of doors in the back. It’s where people bought tickets early tonight and it’s where I’ll meet my date. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Maybe someone even half as pretty as the blond at the coffee shop. Maybe someone who loves hockey? Someone who secretly likes to game too?
What I’m not expecting is exactly what I see in front of me: Ollie Jablonski, my teammate, with the winning paddle in his hand.
What the hell?
10
Mel
Josie was right when she said I’m a social creature. I always have been. When I was five, my mother lost me in a department store. When she found me, I was having an in-depth conversation with a security guard about my brand-new patent leather Mary Jane’s.
I’ve been going to clubs and parties since I started high school. I’m always ready to find a good party, no matter how late (or early) it is.
I’m the girl who goes out at ten and comes home at two. Or ten the next morning.
I’m always up for a good time.
But not lately.
I just haven’t felt like myself since things ended with Chaz a couple months ago. And it’s not that I miss him. I don’t. But I think I might have lost myself when I was with him. It’s like a part of me is back there, in his house, in his bed, being played for a fool.
I want to find myself again, but I’m not that girl anymore. I’m jaded now. And nothing is as innocent. Nothing is as fun. I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait to graduate. I’m counting down the days until the semester ends, even though it just started.
Take tonight. The hockey boys are putting on a charity bachelor auction, and the only reason I’m here is to be Ian’s proxy and bid on Booker. But still, I should be having a good time. I know almost everyone here. I’m all dressed up in a new purple bodycon sheath. My hair is behaving, and my makeup is flawless. I look good, but I’m just not feeling it.Drinks are being passed around, and hot, half-naked guys are strutting across the stage. The music’s good, and Whit’s cracking jokes like he was made to be in front of a crowd.
I really thought I’d have fun tonight, but I can’t seem to get in the right headspace. Maybe I should head over to the library to see if Josie needs help.
But I don’t do that. Instead, I set my paddle down on my chair and excuse myself. “Do you mind watching my stuff?” I ask Ollie, who's been hanging out with me ever since he was bought by one of the ladies at the local senior center. Alma was the first one in the door tonight, but she had to catch the activities bus back to Pleasant Acres by seven, so Ollie’s been keeping me company.
“No problem, Mel. I got you,” he says, raising his glass in a mock salute.
I nod and find my way to the nearest exit. I’m not leaving or anything. I wouldn’t want anyone to worry, and Booker’s coming up soon, so I can’t stay away too long. But I do need some fresh air. I wander out into the hallway and see a few people milling about. I wave vaguely and head for the balcony, hoping the doors are open. Miraculously, they are, and I feel the chill of the cool evening air hit my bare arms as I step outside. I don’t mind the cold, especially since the crowd had my head buzzing a bit. Resting my arms on the railing, I look out over campus. It’s a pretty sight, especially on a clear night like this.
It strikes me that I’ve spent almost three and a half years of my life here. I’ll leave in a little less than six months. When I arrived here as a freshman, I was excited to be away from home and eager to be on my own, to take on any and every adventure that came my way. I feel impossibly older now. And more than a little tired.
Cheers erupt from the auditorium, and even though everyone in there is my age, I feel so removed from that whole scene. There are maybe fifteen feet separating me from the crowd of college students I just left, yet the distance feels as vast as an ocean.
The wind whips up just as the crowd roars once more, and as much as I’m not looking forward to heading back in there, I’m getting goosebumps out here, so back in I go. A glance at my phone tells me we’re nearing intermission, so Booker should be up soon. Maybe I can bid on him and then dash out of here, blaming my morning shift for the hasty exit.
Armed with a solid plan, I return to my spot, but Ollie’s gone.
And so is my paddle.
I look around the room, searching for Ollie. Finally, I spot him near where we came in. What the hell? Knowing my friend, he probably saw someone he knew and migrated in their direction. Ollie’s as sociable as I am. Well, as I used to be, I guess. I’m just glad he thought to bring my paddle along so some whackadoo didn’t grab it and start bidding.
