Page 29 of Scars Like Wings
“What’s the point of having a DJ if they can only be heard in one part of the house?” The guy leaning against the desk raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe so people can hear themselves think?” the other brother in the chair retorted.
“This is a party! There should be no thoughts, just vibes!” the first boy replied.
Cole shook his head. “Anyway, I’m Cole. That idiot is my brother, Cody.” He pointed to the guy leaning against the desk. Then he pointed at the other one, who was now looking at me like I was a rabbit caught in a trap. “That is my other brother, Cooper, over there. And that is Natassa, the baby of the family. You can call her Natty Light, though.”
“Fuck off.” The girl flipped him off. To Maisie, Simone, and I, she introduced, “You can call me Nat.”
“I’m Byrd. This is Simone and Marceline. It’s nice to meet all of you.”
“Cole will not shut up about his new girlfriend, so it’s nice to finally put a face to the hype,” Nat teased. Cole blushed, and Nat laughed. “Don’t embarrass me if you aren’t in the mood to be embarrassed, too, bitch!”
“I love that you talk about me with your siblings. It’s cute,” Simone said, hugging Cole close. He smiled down at her.
“Y’all are disgusting,” Cody said. “Like lovesick puppies.”
“It’s so sweet I’m going into diabetic shock,” Maisie said.
Cody’s smirk grew as he looked Maisie up and down. “A girl not obsessed with love? One after my own heart.”
Maisie stepped over to lean against the desk. They started to flirt while Cole and Simone were in their own little world.
Nat rolled her eyes as everyone coupled themselves up. “Y’all are way too lame for me. I’m going to get a drink.”
“Oh, can I come?” I asked, quickly realizing that I didn’t want to fifth wheel with my besties as much as I loved them. Ialso didn’t want to be left alone with Mr. Creeper, who wasstillstaring at me.
Nat smiled my way. “Oh, absolutely, shugs. Let’s go party!”
As soon as the study’s door opened again, I was slammed with the loud music, but it didn’t feel as bad as before.
Nat grabbed my hand and led us through the crowd. We weaved through people in the entryway, the living room, and theotherliving room until we finally reached the bar located in the kitchen. The kitchen, like the whole house, was crazy big. There was a countertop with barstools sectioning off the kitchen from the living and dining rooms, which had been cleared of its presumed dining table and chairs to make room for a dance floor. The entrance to the kitchen had been sectioned off, so no one but the bartenders could access it. There was an island in the center, and enough counter space in the kitchen to make my and Everett’s fancy condo’s kitchen look like a studio apartment kitchen with only enough room for a micro-fridge. There were five bartenders making drinks behind the countertop, and each of the seven or so barstools were occupied.
Nat walked up to the bar and turned to me. She shouted over the music. “What do you like to drink? You look like you like your cocktails fruity and sweet.”
“I actually really like a smoky cocktail, like something with Mezcal. But I will take a whiskey and coke or a vodka and cranberry in a pinch.”
Her eyes widened. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a Mezcal gal. Usually, Mezcal girls have sometrauma.”
I laughed. “Well, I doloveMezcal.”
As Nat was laughing, a black person with a fuchsia shaved head, long gold earrings I would steal in a heartbeat, and a big necklace reading “Theydy Lady” came up and asked what we wanted, and Nat asked for two Mezcal Palomas. The bartenderquickly made our drinks, serving them in red solo cups. Nat took them and passed one over to me.
“They know to put it on my tab!” Nat sipped from her cup before raising it. “Now, let’s party!”
She dragged me into the crowd while I was sipping my drink—a delicious mix of Mezcal, lime, and grapefruit soda that I wanted all the time now. When we made it back to the biggest living room area, the DJ—from wherever the hell he was—transitioned to “Yeah!” by Usher. Nat and I screamed together in pure glee. We danced together to the music, but my heart wasn’t nearly as in it as Nat’s. She put her whole pussy into dancing, leaving nothing on the dance floor.
There was a part of me that was jealous of how comfortable she was in her body like this. She could throw it back and soak in the looks from guys and girls alike without feeling embarrassed or overly conscious of how she looked in the eyes of others. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I was a hot commodity. I wasn’t bad-looking. Yes, I was fat, but I felt I was pretty in an attainable way. I wouldn’t stop anyone in their tracks or make anyone do a double-take, but I was cute. Still, I hadn’t felt connected with my body since I was thirteen. Sometimes, I felt like the intentions in my brain didn’t match up with what my body portrayed, like I couldn’t get the image to show on my face, in my walk, or in my dancing. So, I swayed to the beat, lifting my drink up in the air. I sang along to the lyrics. Maybe I dipped a bit, as far as I could in my skirt. I tried to let go, but I only gave the rope some slack. I could never give up everything at once.
The song ended and transitioned to another one that I didn’t know, but Nat seemed to. I bounced beside her. I downed my cocktail, craving the buzz to rip my nerves away from me. I hated feeling like this, like I didn’t fit into my own body.
Gods, I really hated parties.
I made my way through the crowd to get back to the bar, reminding me of my escapades earlier today to catch the train. At least I wasn’t running, and no one could hear my niceties, anyway.
“What’ll you have?” the same bartender from before asked me. “The Mezcal Paloma again?”
“Yes. Please and thank you!”