Your Destination Is on the Left

by Lauren Spieller

  She folds her arms over the back of the seat. “Where’s your family? In a hotel?”

  I shake my head. “RV.”

  “And they just let you go out?”

  “Actually . . . I snuck out.”

  “No shit? Well, you should probably make sure it’s really worth it.”

  I consider this. “I’ve never been to downtown Oklahoma City before. Do you have any suggestions?”

  She smiles, her lips curving up like the Cheshire Cat’s. “Yeah. You should come with me.”

  “With . . . you?”

  “Yeah!” Taryn says. “Why not? But I should warn you . . . there will be dancing.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek, considering. The old Dessa would have said no—roaming around in the middle of the night with a stranger was definitely not part of The Plan to get into college. But the old Dessa wouldn’t have snuck out in the first place. Taryn could turn out to be totally bananas, but she could also be a lot of fun. Probably both. After the day I’ve had, this might be exactly the kind of night I need. “I’m in.”

  Her smile stretches into a full grin. “Sweet. We’ll get off at the next stop.”

  Before long, Taryn is leading us down a residential block. It’s so quiet that I can hear myself breathing. I glance over at her, but she’s looking straight ahead. I should say something. Make conversation. I swallow hard. “Are we close?”

  “It’s just around this corner,” she says.

  We turn left and a single-story building comes into view at the end of the street, a blue fluorescent sign blinking from the roof.

  It’s a bar.

  I stop walking. “Shit. I’m not twenty-one.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. Neither am I.”

  “Do you have a fake ID?”

  “Nah. I used to date one of the bartenders, so they know me.” She shrugs. “Come on, the band goes on in ten minutes.”

  We start walking again, Taryn a few steps ahead. I look down at myself—plain white shirt, ripped thrift store shorts, scuffed ankle boots, sweatshirt hanging out of my bag. No way do I look cool enough to hang out with the bartender’s ex-girlfriend.

  We stop in front of the Little Red Rooster, which squats between two houses. I shield my eyes from the glare of the sign.

  Taryn rolls her shoulders. “Ready?”

  The tiniest bit of apprehension rises inside me, but I shove it back down. For once, tonight isn’t about thinking or worrying or planning. It’s about throwing myself in headfirst, consequences be damned.

  “I’m ready.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Taryn strides up to the front door, past a short line of people waiting to get in. Everyone looks so much older than me, so much cooler. I follow her, my palms sweating at the thought of going into a bar for the first time. But when I catch the dirty looks I’m getting for cutting, I hang back.

  “Hey, Eddie!” Taryn calls. “Miss me?”

  “There she is!” A bouncer dressed in black pants and a black T-shirt wraps Taryn in a tight hug, lifting her a few inches off the ground. “I wondered if I’d be seeing you tonight.”

  Taryn beckons me forward.

  “Sorry,” I mutter as I pass the people waiting. A guy in an orange OSU hat throws his hands up into the air, but doesn’t say anything.

  When I reach the front of the line, Taryn takes my hand and says, “This is my friend Dessa. We’re here to dance.”

  “Dessa, huh?” Eddie narrows his eyes, but his lips quirk into a smile. “You gonna behave yourself in there, Miss Dessa?”

  I can feel the whole line watching us. “Yes, sir,” I say, nodding. “I promise.”

  “Sir!” He laughs and smacks his leg. “Taryn, this girl is way too polite for your rude ass.”

  Taryn pretends to look hurt. “Well, I never.”

  The guy in the OSU hat steps out of line. “Hey, man! The band is going to start soon. Can we move this reunion along?”

  Eddie points at him. “Stay in line or you ain’t getting in.”

  OSU-hat groans, but steps back into line.

  “Now, you two behave,” Eddie says as he pushes open the door to the bar. “Don’t make me call your brother again, Taryn.”

  “I won’t,” Taryn says over her shoulder as she pulls me inside. Country music and cigarette smoke immediately battle for my attention. I cough, and Taryn laughs. “Gross, right?” she yells. “I always shower as soon as I get home.”

  “What did he mean, ‘don’t make me call your brother?’ ” I yell back. “What happened?”

  Taryn shrugs. “I had a little too much to drink a few weeks ago after a fight with my ex. But it’s no big deal. Come on!”

  Before I have a chance to ask how much is too much, she leads me deeper into the crowded room, keeping a tight hold on my hand so we don’t get separated. All around us, people are laughing and drinking, forced to yell over the music to be heard even though they’re standing right next to each other. I’m still a little unnerved by what Eddie said, but I push the feelings away.

  “Is it always this busy?” I yell.

  Taryn shakes her head. “Only when there’s a band!”

  We keep pressing forward, Taryn squeezing between people when she can, tapping them on the shoulder and asking them to move when she can’t. I follow her, pulling my hair out of its ponytail and tugging on my tank top so it looks purposefully disheveled instead of just stretched out from wearing it all the time.

  We finally reach an old-fashioned jukebox. Taryn presses her back against it so I can squeeze in next to her. “Fun, right?” she says, her cheeks flushed. “I’m going to get a drink. Want anything?”

  “Water?”

  Taryn looks disappointed. “Be back in a minute—don’t move.”

  She lets go of my hand, and I lose sight of her almost immediately. I take a step into the crowd and stand on my tiptoes, looking for her red hair in the sea of blondes and brunettes. I shouldn’t have stayed behind. What if it gets so crowded that she can’t find me again? Or what if the band starts and she forgets I’m here? What if I wait for her for hours, and then everyone leaves, and I’m stuck here alone, and—

  A splash of something cold and wet runs down the back of my shirt.

  “Hey!” I say, spinning around.

  A tall guy in a button-down shirt and a cowboy hat looks back at me, his eyes so blue they shine in the dim light. “I’m so sorry about that!” he says in a voice with just a hint of a Southern accent. “I was trying to get through this crowd, but someone bumped into me.” He takes off his hat and holds it to his chest. He shakes his head, and a lock of messy blond hair falls into his eyes. “But I shouldn’t be making excuses. Are you all right?”

  A warm blush creeps up my neck. “I’m okay.”

  He leans to the side so he can see my back. “Oh, man. I really got you. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  “Well, can I buy you a drink to make it up to you? It’s the least I can do.”

  A woman steps between us, forcing me back against the jukebox. When she’s gone, the cowboy steps close enough that I can smell his spicy cologne. I tip my head back so I can still see his face.

  “My friend is bringing me a drink,” I say.

  “Your friend?”

  His smile falters, and I realize my mistake—he thinks I’m not interested. Crap. “But . . . maybe later?”

  He grins again, so big and goofy this time that my nervousness starts to melt away. “Later it is. I’ll find you.”

  He disappears into the crowd, hat back on his head. I’m only alone for a few seconds before Taryn appears beside me. “Were you talking to someone?” she says, handing me a plastic cup of water. I guess people drop a lot of glasses in this bar. “All I could see was a cowboy hat.”

  “It was no one, really. He just spilled some beer on me, and then he offered to buy me a drink.”

  “Did you say yes?”

  “Um . . . I said you were already getting me
one, actually.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh, Dessa.”

  A guy in a plaid shirt steps onto the low stage at the back of the room. “Hello, Oklahoma City! Are you ready to dance?”

  The crowd cheers. Beside me, Taryn takes a gulp of beer, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. I remember what she said about drinking too much, but one beer is nothing to worry about. It’s not like she’s driving. I take a sip of water.

  “We’ve got a special guest tonight. All the way from Memphis . . . it’s Ben Mathers!”

  “Oh my god!” Taryn yells, jumping up and down. Her beer sloshes out of her red Solo cup, narrowly missing my foot. “I didn’t know he was coming! I cannot believe this. I cannot freaking believe this.”

  “Who’s Ben Mathers?” I ask, peering up at the stage to see if I can get a glimpse of him.

  Taryn stares at me wide-eyed. “You’ve never heard of Ben Mathers? Holy crap, Dessa, you haven’t lived until you’ve heard him sing ‘One Night Only.’ This is going to be amazing.”

  The guy onstage motions for everyone to quiet down. “Now, before we start—let’s go over the rules.”

  Everyone cheers, and the guy with the mic grins.

  “Rules?” I say to Taryn, but she only laughs.

  Mic guy holds up his hands to get everyone’s attention again. “Rule number one,” he says. “If you’re going to sing—”

  “Don’t spill your beer!” the crowd responds, their voices rising as one.

  I laugh, and Taryn throws her arm around me.

  The mic guy nods. “Very good. Rule number two. If you’re going to dance—”

  Taryn holds up her cup. “Don’t spill your beer!” she yells with everyone else.

  “Exactly,” mic guy says as he walks across the stage. “And finally, the third rule. The most important rule.”

  The room goes quiet—or as quiet as two hundred people packed into a smoky room can get.

  “If you finish your drink . . .” he says, his voice low now, “and you’re thinking of going home . . .”

  I raise my glass—I can see where this is going. “Have another beer!”

  The crowd explodes with cheers and shouts and whistles, and I join them. In all the time I’ve spent traveling with the families, I’ve never been anywhere like this. Not without parental supervision anyway. All around us people tap their beers against one another and throw back their drinks. Beside me, Taryn swallows hers in one gulp.

  “Do you want one?” she asks when she sees me looking at her empty cup. “I’m going to have another.”

  I bite my lip. If I have one now, and then the cowboy brings me another, that’ll be two beers and no food since I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner hours ago. But then again, when’s the last time I did anything fun like this? And when will I get the chance again?

  “What the hell,” I say. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  “Atta girl! Be right back.” Taryn wades into the crowd, leaving me to slide back against the wall, the trusty jukebox on my right. All around me, people are staring up at the now-empty stage, eagerly awaiting the famous Ben Mathers. I pull out my phone to Google him and notice I have a text from Cyrus.

  You asleep already?

  I’m still staring at his message when Taryn appears beside me. “For you,” she says, handing me a cup full to the brim with beer.

  “Thanks.” I take a sip and feel the cold bubbles slide down my throat. I grimace a little at the bitterness, but swallow another big gulp anyway.

  “Boyfriend?” she asks, nodding to my phone.

  “Just a friend.”

  “Hmmm. Your face says you wish he was more.’ ”

  I take another swig of beer. “Something like that.”

  “Well, forget him. You’ve got a cowboy waiting out there, and you’re about to hear Ben sing for the first time. We don’t need any stupid not-boyfriends in our lives!”

  I look down at my phone. Taryn’s right. I’m still hanging on to every word Cyrus says. Enough worrying about him and his date. Enough worrying about everything. I hold down the button on the side until the phone turns off, then drop it into my bag.

  “Yes!” Taryn chugs the rest of her beer, then grabs my arm. “Come on. Let’s get a spot near the front. I’ve seen Ben ten times but I always end up getting stuck at the back.”

  We push our way onto the dance floor, me holding my beer above my head. This time I make my own way to the front instead of following in Taryn’s wake. It takes a lot of “excuse me’s” and a few gentle shoves, but within minutes we’re right up against the stage, inches from the mic.

  The guy in plaid walks back out. “Okay, Oklahoma City. Put your hands together for the one and only Ben Mathers!”

  Taryn screams, and I join her. Ben walks out, and I immediately see at least part of why she likes him so much. He’s got wavy brown hair and high cheekbones, and his guitar is slung across his back like he was born with it. But even as he steps up to the mic, I can’t help but notice he isn’t as good-looking as the cowboy who offered me a drink earlier, and nowhere near as hot as Cy. I chug my entire beer, then place the empty glass on the floor. The sooner I’m not holding one, the sooner that cowboy will come by with another.

  “Hello, Oklahoma City,” Ben says, his smooth voice barely more than a whisper. It sends a little thrill through me. All around us, people stomp their boots and call out. A big guy at the edge of the stage blows a loud wolf whistle. Only Taryn is standing quietly, her eyes fixed on Ben.

  Ben pulls his guitar around to his chest, then leans into the mic. “This first song is called ‘Home for Good.’ ”

  He closes his eyes and begins to play. His singing voice is great—a little gravely, a little soulful, and a lot country. I look over at Taryn, but she’s swaying back and forth, singing along.

  The song ends and Ben says, “Now, I know y’all didn’t come out just to hear me sing.”

  “We wanna dance!” a woman in the back yells.

  Ben laughs. “I think you’ll all recognize this next song. It’s by the one and only Garth Brooks, and it’s one of my favorites.” He takes off his guitar and grabs another from the guy standing at the edge of the stage. It’s older-looking, and sort of plain. But from the way he cradles it carefully in his arms, I can tell he likes it much more than the other one.

  “This,” Ben says, “is ‘Friends in Low Places.’ ”

  He strums the opening notes, and the crowd goes wild. People quickly form four lines, all facing the stage. Taryn grabs my hand. “Come on—let’s dance.”

  Panic sweeps through me. I knew we were going to dance, but I didn’t realize it would be line dancing. “I don’t know how.”

  But Taryn’s already joined the middle of the line closest to us, her thumbs hooked into the belt loops of her jeans. Just as Ben reaches the chorus, people start to move. Somehow they all seem to know the steps. I watch carefully, trying to pick it up, but they dance so fast it’s hard. They turn to face the right side of the bar instead of the front, and I realize they’re repeating some of the same moves. I keep watching, and sure enough, they face the front of the bar, and the choreography begins again.

  When the song ends, everyone turns to the stage and cheers. I expect Taryn to come back and join me, but Ben strikes up a new song I don’t recognize, and everyone begins dancing again. I watch for a minute, wondering if maybe this song has different steps, but after a few seconds I realize everyone’s still doing the same choreography from before.

  “Don’t be a wuss,” I whisper to myself, before running forward to squeeze between Taryn and a pretty blonde who winks at me. I manage to work my way through the entire chorus. It feels fantastic—I follow the steps, clap in time with the music, and let Ben’s voice drown out my own. We move as one, like we’re part of something bigger than just ourselves. The night slips away, taking my fear and sadness with it.

  When I finally take a break after a few more songs, I noti
ce the cowboy grinning at me from off to the side of the dance floor.

  “You’re not bad,” he says, walking over.

  “Thanks.” I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead. Not too sweaty, thankfully.

  “So, how about that drink?”

  I look around for Taryn, but she’s deep in conversation with the blonde from the dance floor, their fingers intertwined. I take a deep breath, and smile up at him.

  “What the hell,” I say. “Lead the way.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “I never asked your name,” the cowboy says as we grab a spot at the bar.

  “No, you didn’t.” I reach across him for a napkin, taking the opportunity to lean into him a little, my hip against his. I blush at my own bravado. So this is why people call beer “liquid courage.” “Do you want to?”

  He grins. “I do.”

  “Dessa Rhodes.”

  “Roads, like traveling? That name’s begging to have a country song written about it.”

  “No, Rhodes, like—”

  “Just a second.” He flags down the bartender—a guy with a look on his face that says he knows all your secrets, especially the dirty ones. I wonder for a second if he is Taryn’s ex, but based on how obsessed she was with adorable Ben Mathers, this guy doesn’t really seem like her type.

  “What’ll you have?” the bartender asks me.

  “Beer.”

  The cowboy laughs. “Any preference?”

  “Oh.” I look at the row of taps. “Uh . . . Stella?”

  “Make that two, Mike,” he tells the bartender, who walks away to get our drinks. “I’m Luke, by the way.”

  I reach out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Luke.”

  We shake, both of us smiling like idiots.

  Mike returns with our drinks. I notice him frown a little but then Luke hands me a beer and taps his glass against mine. “To you, Dessa Roads.”

  I smile into my beer, and take a sip. It’s better than whatever I had before—not as bitter. I drink more.

  “Whoa,” he says. “Thirsty?”

  “From dancing,” I say, reluctantly putting the glass down. “I’ve never done that before.”