by Jessica Love
“The California state line is coming up here in a bit.” Grace fumbles around in the center console for her water bottle, but she drank the last sip about forty miles ago and doesn’t seem to remember, so I hand her mine. “Then we’ll officially be in Nevada, and Vegas is not far from the state line at all.”
“Is that it?” Lo points ahead at a small cluster of color. As we get closer, I notice it’s casinos we’re approaching—right in the middle of desert, desert, and more desert.
“They get you in a casino the minute it’s legal, don’t they?” I say. “Who comes here? Why don’t people keep on driving to Vegas if we’re so close?”
“Desperate to gamble? Hiding out from the mob?” Lo suggests. “Who knows, but I’m glad this isn’t our stop. It looks like the place hope goes to die.”
We all cheer as we cross out of California and into Primm, Nevada, and I peer out the window at what’s waiting for us in this new state. Outlet mall, those three hotel casinos that look semi-impressive—because they’re out in the middle of nowhere and are surrounded by tumbleweeds—but probably pale in comparison to what is waiting for us in Vegas, and—
“Oh my God,” says Lo. “Look at that huge roller coaster.”
The second casino on our right side—named Buffalo Bill’s, according to the large neon sign with a buffalo wearing a feather headdress—has an enormous yellow roller coaster track wrapping its way around the entire property.
Grace laughs. “Should I stop so you can ride the roller coaster, Hannah?”
“You want to torture me?”
Grace jerks the steering wheel and the car to the right. “You know you’re dying to.”
“It doesn’t even look like it’s running.” We all watch the track, but we don’t see a single car zoom by. “It’s probably broken. Or condemned because it is a total death trap. This random roller coaster in the middle of the desert has probably killed innocent kids, and someone’s on their way right now to tear it down for the good of Primm.”
“Settle down, settle down.” Lo leans forward and pats my shoulder. “No one’s making you ride the roller coaster. Look, it’s behind us.”
I hate that she talks to me like I’m a baby she’s dropping off at day care, but Lo has been with me on a couple of ill-fated Disneyland trips, so she knows firsthand how much even the idea of roller coasters sends me into a panic spiral.
Truth be told, I’ve never actually been on one, but I have no desire to even try. It’s the out-of-control feeling, the free-falling. I know some people love it. But some people also jump out of planes for grins and giggles. Some people are insane.
With the death trap safely behind us, we drive on the final stretch of the 15 freeway to Vegas. I’m relieved this is the last leg of the trip. We’ve been in the car since McDonald’s, and that stop was almost two hours ago. My legs feel tight, my shoulders beg for a good stretch, and I’m about five minutes from making Grace pull over so I can pee behind some rocks. I hate to be the annoying little sister, but I feel like I can hardly sit still any longer.
Nick is so close.
“How much longer?”
“Wait a few minutes,” Grace says. “I’ll show you something cool.”
My knee bounces up and down and my fingers drum on my thigh as we continue through the desert. I can’t imagine what she could possibly have to show us, and I am in no mood for a pit stop in some ghost town or run-down casino.
“Here we are.” Grace lifts a hand from the steering wheel and points ahead.
“It’s mountains,” Lo says. “That’s all we’ve been looking at for four hours now. What’s the big deal?”
But the words are barely out of Lo’s mouth when we round a small corner and the hills on either side of us open up. Now, instead of mountains, in front of us is this unbelievable view. It’s not even dark out, but I can still see the sparkling lights of the casinos and the hotels and the buildings that make up what I assume is the Las Vegas Strip.
“Wow,” I say. It’s like straight out of a movie or a postcard or something. I can’t believe all those lights are real.
It definitely looks like the sort of place where amazing things happen. I can see why it’s a place people go with their dreams. And how fitting that I’m coming here, to this home of big dreams, to meet my best friend at last. Dusty, boring Barstow and that weird McDonald’s wouldn’t have been the place for us. Our friendship needs lights and sparkles and music and surprises. This is our place. I can feel it.
The lights come closer, and I’m mesmerized by them, until a noise from the center console catches my attention. My text alert.
DON’T KNOW IF WE ARE READY FOR THIS SHOW TONIGHT. YOU SHOULD SEE OSCAR’S HAIR. OMG. I THINK HE TOOK A TIME WARP TO 1983.
“You’re smiling,” Grace says. “That must be Nick. What’d he say?”
“Nothing.”
I reply:
I WISH I COULD SEE THAT.
About thirty seconds go by before I get his answer.
ME TOO, GHOST. I WISH YOU COULD SEE IT ALL.
CHAPTER
6
Las Vegas Boulevard is even more of an assault on the senses than I imagined. Enormous hotel casinos line the Strip, lights sparkling and signs flashing. POKER TOURNAMENT! PRIME RIB SPECIAL! And, ew, LOOSEST SLOTS! The sidewalks are crowded with tourists of every age, shape, and style; cars and cabs pack the streets; and the three of us press our faces to the windows as we drive, trying to make sense of all the dazzling chaos.
It doesn’t take long to find the massive Planet Hollywood hotel. The huge white building, plain except for the red sign on the top of the rows upon rows of windows and the waves of shiny silver bubbles at the street level, is toward the south end of the Strip, so we don’t have to drive too far. Grace pulls into the parking garage and we walk through the attached mall with our bags, window-shopping as we find our way to the sparkly check-in area.
“It’s like the DMV in here,” Lo says. “I swear, I’ve seen every single walk of life.”
Every walk of life includes, but is not limited to, an overweight couple sporting matching Mickey Mouse T-shirts and slushie drinks in giant plastic Eiffel Towers, three bikini-clad girls in sky-high stilettos with only sheer caftans covering them, and a busload’s-worth of tourists taking endless photos of the gift store across from the check-in desk. Three kids chase each other in circles, and I pray someone is actually in charge of them. But not the bikini girls, God willing.
Then there’s us: two Asians and a Mexican. Seventeen, eighteen, and twenty-one. Grace in all black with a beanie, Lo with wavy brown hair pulled high in a topknot and wearing a floral sundress with motorcycle boots, and me, with my skinny jeans, black cami, and stick-straight hair, looking like the most plain and boring person in this entire city.
The check-in line is long, and as we wait, my mind runs through every way this too-good-to-be-true hotel thing is going to crash and burn. But the room is waiting for us, just like Grace’s editor said, and as the three of us ride the elevator up to our floor, I can’t help but hope the name-dropping of Rocker earned us some ridiculous Hangover suite or something.
But it’s a normal room. No suite, just two beds, a chair, a small table, and a killer view of the Strip.
“What’s Empire Records?” Lo asks. Every room at Planet Hollywood is decorated with memorabilia from some movie or another, I guess. We got some film I’d never heard of.
“It’s a classic from the ’90s. I’ve never seen it. But here’s some shirt some guy wore in it.” Grace points to the wall where a red T-shirt hangs behind a panel of Plexiglas.
“Like someone would want to steal some old, sweaty T-shirt,” Lo says. “I wish we would have gotten a cool room, like Pitch Perfect or something. Do you think we can call down and have them switch us to the Pitch Perfect room?”
“Shut it, Lo.” Grace tosses her bag on the bed closest to the window. “You have a free room and you’re going to like it. Even if it is decorated with sweaty
T-shirts from a movie no one has ever seen.”
I sit on the edge of the chair in the corner and study my phone. It’s four o’clock; three hours until Nick’s show. I need to change and do my makeup and get some food and figure out how to get over to House of Blues and mentally prepare for life as I know it to be completely altered. Three hours should be enough time for all that. My knee jiggles up and down as I chew on the inside of my cheek.
Grace plops herself down on the bed and bounces while she studies me. “Okay, Hannah. I can see you panic-attacking over there. What’s on your mind?”
“Well, House of Blues is at Mandalay Bay, and we figured out that’s probably too far to walk, right? So we need to change and either drive or get a cab over there and we need to have dinner at some point because that McDonald’s isn’t going to hold me for much longer.”
“They have a bunch of great restaurants at Mandalay Bay,” Lo says, scrolling around on her phone. “It looks like there’s a pizza place. How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” Grace says. “We get spruced up, we taxi over to Mandalay Bay—I don’t even want to deal with driving—and we eat at this pizza place.” She leans over and pats me on the knee. “Then we go to the show.”
“We go to the show,” I say as I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them. “We go to the show and we meet Nick.”
Grace had been pushing me about this since I let the crazy idea slip from my lips yesterday, but now she gets up from the bed and crouches in front of me, placing a comforting hand on my leg. “You okay?” she asks. “You sure you can do this?”
I don’t know. Can I? Do I want to? I don’t answer, and I stare at the window. I can’t see the Strip from where I’m sitting, but I can see the Paris Las Vegas hotel next door. The Eiffel Tower, where the couple in reception likely got their huge drinks, pokes up into the sky. I’m in Las Vegas. I crossed a state line. I can’t turn back now, can I? Does it matter at this point if I can’t do this? I pull the clown penny out of my pocket and flip it around in my fingers.
Lo leans on the arm of the chair. “Can I say something you don’t want to hear?”
I side-eye her, which she seems to take as encouragement to word vomit.
“I know I said this before, but I need you to listen. I know for sure you have some serious feelings for this guy. Like, more than just best-friend feelings.” She pokes at my penny, and I let it fall flat in my palm.
I don’t say anything. I let this sink in.
She goes on. “I don’t think you’re ever going to have a boyfriend longer than a few months until you explore what those feelings are.”
Grace clears her throat.
“What?” I snap at her.
“I totally called it,” she says, all smug. “Nick is the reason you and Josh broke up.”
I roll my eyes. “No, that’s not why.” I sound irritated, but the thing is—deep down, I feel like she may be right.
God, they’re both right.
“So, what do you think?” Lo says. “Do you think you might have ‘more than friendly’ feelings for Nick?”
“Like, ‘kiss his face with your face’ feelings?” Grace grins.
I stick my tongue out at her, then turn to Lo and ask her, my voice serious, “But I haven’t met him. How can I know if I have those feelings?” The truth is, I always have feelings when I think about Nick. My stomach flutters when I hear his ringtone. His familiar voice makes me happy, no matter what mood I’m in. And I scroll through his pictures so much, I’m sure the images are going to burn onto my phone screen.
But it’s impossible to know if that will translate into reality. And I’ve spent all these years telling myself I don’t want it to be reality.
“Well,” Lo says, “from the stories you’ve told me, I get the feeling he for sure has those feelings for you.”
“Really?” I stare down at the flattened copper clown face in my hand and think about the postcard it was once attached to, which now hangs on my bulletin board. To my favorite ghost, I thought hauntings were supposed to be scary, but you make it fun. Love, Nick. That was the first time I’d considered that Nick might think of me as more than a friend, and it wasn’t the last, but I always push the possibility down deep. Because it isn’t practical, Nick’s having feelings for someone he’s never met. Or my having feelings for someone who lives in another state.
I have no use for things that aren’t practical.
“Well, then.” Lo gives me two quick pats on my shoulder; then she stands up and starts pacing the room. “We are going to make this work. This isn’t going to be a friend meeting a friend for the first time. Oh no, this is going to be love at first in-real-life sight. We’re going to make you look so hot, he won’t be able to look away from you, and if all goes according to plan, he won’t even be able to play guitar or whatever he does in this band, because he’s going to have his hands all over you.”
Lo and Grace, spurred into action by a project, dig through my bag, dump out their makeup, and start putting into motion whatever crazy things they have come up with to make me look less like myself and more like some combination of the two of them.
Normally I would protest, but I’m distracted from the ridiculous pile of brushes and eye shadows scattered across the white comforter by this idea Lo left floating around the room. Could it be I do have feelings for Nick? Is it possible he has feelings for me?
I guess we’ll see what happens.
And after four years of waiting, something is going to happen tonight.
CHAPTER
7
Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino is at the very south end of the Strip, a quick taxi ride from Planet Hollywood. Tall and golden, it’s the first big hotel in the long, long line of lights and buildings, and House of Blues is inside. At the pizza place, I wolf down three slices and a third of a chocolate cake slice the server brings after Grace and Lo tell him it’s my birthday while I’m in the bathroom. I’d never eat like such a pig under normal circumstances, but I don’t even realize how many carbs I’m chowing down, because I’m so focused on Nick. Nothing else matters.
After dinner, we walk out to the casino and practically run right into the club. I know I’m going to have to do this now.
Legs shaking, I trail behind Lo to the box office. In front, Grace asks for three tickets to the show and shoves one in my unsteady hand.
“Ew,” she says. “Your hand feels like it was licked by a Saint Bernard.”
“Sorry.” I stuff the ticket in my back pocket and wipe my hands on the front of my new jeans. When we were getting ready, the girls deemed even Lo’s hoochie attire unacceptable, and we ran down to the mall inside Planet Hollywood to get me an entirely new outfit. The low-cut sparkly tank top and tight jeans look amazing, but I don’t feel like myself. It’s like I’m walking around in someone else’s body. But at least that body had the wherewithal to veto the sky-high heels Lo was trying to push in favor of sassy-yet-comfortable wedges. “I don’t do this sort of thing every day. It’s freaking scary.” “Scary” is an understatement. I wasn’t even this shaky and unsure of myself before the SAT, and my entire future had depended on that test.
“I thought chocolate cake was supposed to calm me down,” I say to Lo. “I can’t stop shaking right now.”
“Don’t stress,” she says. She grabs my hand and we follow Grace to a roped-off line where a bouncer in a black polo shirt checks IDs. “Get out your ID,” she whispers to me through clenched teeth, pushing me in front of her. “Your new one.”
We rearranged our wallets on the drive in, hiding our real licenses behind library cards, school IDs, and Starbucks gift cards and putting our newly acquired identities in the clear plastic sleeves in the front.
I take a deep breath as Grace gets her ID checked by the bouncer and breezes through the line. I quickly consider pulling my real license out from its hiding spot and showing the bouncer that one. What will it hurt? The show is all-ages, so it’s not like I won’t be able to
get in. The only benefit is the access to alcohol, and I’m not planning on drinking anyway.
But I remember Lo and Grace making fun of me for most of the drive from Fontana to Barstow when I said I had no fake-ID plans for this trip, and I decide to live a little and use it, even if it’s making my heart beat so loudly, I swear the bouncer can hear it over the clamor of the casino. I promised them I’d let my hair down and have fun. And I think about all the crazy things I’d passed over during the last four years. Following the rules had been safe, but safe was boring. I pull that new ID out of my wallet, hold my breath, and hand it to the bouncer, trying with everything in me to keep my nervous hand steady.
He holds a flashlight up to the back of the card, then looks closely at the picture, up at me, then down at the picture again. He flicks the side of the card with his thumb, runs it through a little scanner, and says, “Riverside, huh? I have a cousin who lives out there.”
Panic floods me. He’s going to ask me questions about Riverside, and I won’t know the answers. I’ve never even been there. What’s my fake name again? I’m going to get found out and arrested and hauled off to Vegas jail. The cops will call my parents and my school, and I won’t be able to go to UCLA. Damn you, Lo and Grace and Aditi Singh! Damn you all for ruining my life.
I force a smile, but I’m sure it looks more like some creepy jack-o’-lantern face. Improvise, I think. Fake it. Do something. “Oh, yeah. I just moved out there a couple of years ago. Um, after high school.”
“Aww, too bad,” he says. “I was gonna ask if you went to school with her. Mercy Jordan?”
I shrug. “Nope. Sorry.”
He hands the license back to me and smiles as he wraps a paper wristband around my arm. “Oh well. Have a good time.” Then he turns to face Lo, who is right behind me, and he takes her ID.