Burnt Orange

by Melody Carlson

  Then we go to her room and I am amazed to see the size of her closet. Not only is it a walk-in, it’s about the same size as my bedroom. I’m sure my eyes are huge, and she seems amused. I have a feeling I’m not her first friend to react like this. “Whoa,” I say as I sit down on a bench that’s inside her closet. “This is incredible.”

  “Well, don’t be too impressed. Most of the clothes in here suck. I really need to clean it out.”

  Soon we are experimenting with various outfits and I’m feeling a little like Cinderella. And the good news is that the more Claire focuses on fashion, the less she focuses on her beverage. In fact, I notice that her drink is still half full—a good sign, I’m thinking.

  So finally we’ve put together this really hot outfit, and Claire sits down and finishes her drink. Mine is long gone by now, and I’m feeling a little too happy, and I know that it’s partly due to the alcohol. And as much as I hate the idea of driving impaired—I mean, didn’t I make a promise to myself?—I also don’t like the idea of sticking around and being talked into getting totally plastered, so I tell Claire that I have to get home.

  “If I’m late tonight, I won’t be able to go out tomorrow night,” I remind her as I head out.

  “Okay,” she says. “But before you go, you better tell me what you did with that key.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t mess with me, Amber.” Her blue eyes get dark and serious. “Where’s the key?”

  I blink as I try to remember what key exactly and then where it was that I hid it. Luckily, it all comes back to me, and her face softens with relief when I tell her. Even so, it was kind of freaky. I’ve never seen Claire get mad like that before.

  “Drive safely,” she calls as I head out the front door. The irony of this mostly goes over my head, but not completely. And I do think it’s a little twisted the way we’re always telling each other to “drive safely” when we both know that we’re driving under the influence. Like, how safe is that?

  But as I get behind the wheel, I tell myself that I’ve consumed only half a drink. How could that possibly impair my driving ability? In fact, I think I am driving better than ever as I direct my car toward home. But even so, I feel guilty.

  While I wait at the traffic light, I pop a breath mint in my mouth just in case my parents are paying attention tonight, which as it turns out, they are not. Man, parents can be so dense sometimes.

  thirteen

  SIMI IS IN GOOD SPIRITS AT WORK TODAY. SHE’S NOT ON MY CASE ABOUT Claire or anything, and I think that’s odd since Simi and I usually hang together on Friday nights and I know I kind of blew her off (again) last night—well, not officially. But I didn’t call her or anything, and this would usually make her a little grumpy. To be honest, it would make me grumpy too—well, back before I started hanging with Claire.

  Finally I can’t stand it any longer and I have to ask. “So, did you have a good time working by yourself last night?”

  She smiles mysteriously as she wipes down the inside of the caramel-corn machine. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Okay, that’s the kind of thing that annoys me. I mean, why can’t she just come out and answer like a normal person? But I play along. “Let me guess,” I say. “Brad Pitt left Jennifer Aniston so he could meet you at the mall for coffee?”

  She smiles. “Close.”

  “Come on,” I urge. “What’s up with you?”

  “I had a visitor last night.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone from another school.”

  “Seriously?” I peer at her, wondering when she’s had time to meet a guy from another school.

  “He’s my neighbor.”

  “You mean that cute guy with the old BMW?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Tell me everything!”

  Fortunately, the shop’s not busy just now, so Simi tells her story while I clean little fingerprints off the candy case.

  “His name is Andrew Ferris and he’s a senior at North.”

  “Oh, no,” I say in mock disgust. “You’re interested in a guy from North!”

  “Get over it. Besides, I live over there now. It’s only natural that I should meet some of the natives.” She straightens the trays of candy inside the case and continues talking. “We got to talking a couple days ago, and it turns out he’s a Christian. He goes to a Baptist church downtown, and he’s really nice. He just happened to pop in last night and we talked. That’s all. But I think he’s going to ask me out.” She closes the candy case and stands up straight. “If I ever get a night off, that is.”

  “I’ll cover for you,” I offer.

  She nods. “Okay, I might have to hold you to that promise.”

  Something about that makes me feel bad, like maybe she can’t hold me to other promises. Maybe I can’t even hold myself to a promise anymore.

  “Why don’t you go out with him tonight?” I say suddenly. “I mean, since Jan’s coming back to let us off early.”

  “What about youth group?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I nod like I totally forgot it was Saturday.

  “Besides, what am I supposed to do, ask him out?”

  “No, I guess that’s not a good idea. You don’t want to look desperate or anything.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, that’s cool, Simi. I hope Andrew turns out to be a great guy.”

  She frowns now. “Like Slater?”

  “Slater’s a cool guy,” I tell her. “You just need to get to know him.”

  “Seems a little stuck-up if you ask me.”

  I shake my bottle of Windex at her. “That’s because you don’t know him. Did you know that he’s actually pretty shy? And shy people can sometimes come across as snobs.”

  “You mean like you?”

  “People think I’m a snob?”

  “Duh.”

  I consider this. “Well, some of us socially challenged people need a little help. We need to build up our confidence, you know.”

  “Do you mean with alcohol?” She looks slightly worried.

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” I say quickly since I really don’t want to go down that road today. “I guess I just need to practice being more friendly.” I study her now. “Like I’m always trying to figure out how you do it, Simi. You’re such a natural when it comes to talking to people.”

  “Must be the Italian blood.” She laughs. “Everyone on my dad’s side of the family is kind of loud, you know—extroverts.”

  “Well, I wish I had some of that blood,” I say. But now we have customers: a clump of what appear to be middle-school girls with too much makeup and an attitude. I decide to let Simi take them on. I mean, if anyone can tame middle-school girls, it’s her.

  Finally it’s six thirty, and Jan shows up to relieve us. “Have fun at youth group,” she says and then laughs. “If that’s even possible.”

  Simi frowns. “It is fun, Aunt Jan. You should give church a try someday. It beats hanging at the bars.”

  Jan bops her niece on the head with an empty caramel-corn box. “I don’t hang out at bars!”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Then Simi and I go out the back door and walk toward our cars. I’m feeling like I want to hurry and better not show it. Simi pauses in front of her little orange Bug and then calls out. “Hey, Amber, is it okay if I change clothes at your house since it’s on the way to the church?”

  Crud! I try to think of some good excuse but finally realize I better come clean—well, sort of clean. No way am I telling Simi about Lola’s.

  “Actually, I’m not going home,” I admit.

  “You’re going to youth group wearing that?” she says with amusement since she knows I hate this white-shirt-and-black-pants outfit, not to mention the smell.

  “Nooo . . .” I open my car and turn and look at her. “Actually, I have a date tonight.”

  “Wow, thanks for telling me.” Her expression is hurt now.

  “I was going to
, but then those wild girls came in, and I guess I just forgot.”

  “Is it with Slater?”

  I nod and jangle my keys, a hint that I need to go.

  “But you’re not going home?”

  Gulp. I better think of something. “Well, actually, I have some clothes in my car. I was going to meet him and then change. We’re kind of in a hurry, you know. I thought it would save time.”

  She nods but looks unconvinced. “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Don’t be mad at me,” I say in a wimpy voice.

  “I’m not mad, Amber.” She looks evenly at me. “Maybe just concerned.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Well, don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  I nod. “I gotta go.”

  “See ya in church tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  Then she gets into her car and I get into mine and I follow her as far as the stoplight, our usual parting place—only this time she turns right toward my house and the church, and I turn left toward her house. I don’t know why I turn left, since Claire’s house is the other direction, but I guess I just don’t want Simi to know where I’m really going. As a result, it takes me a few extra minutes to backtrack to Claire’s.

  As usual, Claire’s mom and stepdad are out, so Claire and I have the house to ourselves. But when she offers me a drink, I flatly refuse.

  “I need a clear head,” I tell her and then I giggle. “Well, at least while I’m getting dressed. We’ll see about later.”

  She smiles and holds out a card. “Yes, you have to try out your new ID tonight.”

  I grab the card from her and am surprised to see that it looks a lot like my driver’s license, only the background color is different. But upon closer inspection, I see that other than the photo and physical description, quite a bit is different—different name and birth date.

  “I’m Ashley Hancock?” I ask in surprise.

  “Yeah. You always get a fake name in case the card gets confiscated. That way, they can’t track you down. And you have to remember to never, ever show it to a policeman if you get pulled over, or you will be in some seriously deep doo-doo.”

  I nod and wonder if this whole fake-ID thing is really such a good idea. But suddenly Claire is helping me change and trying out different kinds of jewelry and hairstyles and makeup, and I soon forget all about the ID.

  “You look hot, Amber,” she says when we’re finally done. And I have to agree with her: I do look hot. Not only that, but I look older too.

  “That skirt looks way better on you than it does on me,” she says. “You might as well keep it.”

  I look down at the black flouncy skirt and nod. “It’s a little short, but I guess it’s okay.”

  “It makes your legs look long,” she says.

  I have to laugh. Being friends with someone like Simi has always made me feel that my legs were short, but compared to Claire, I guess I’m on the leggy side.

  “And this top is way cool,” I tell her as I admire the twisted neckline that fits so well. “I love this color of purple.”

  She nods with approval. “I forgot it looks so good. I may not want you to keep that.”

  “I’ll try to take care of it and not sweat too much.”

  She laughs. “Hey, you can sweat as much as you want.”

  My hair is pulled into a messy bun that’s held in place with some of her hair clips, and I have on these amazing hoop earrings that are way bigger than anything I’ve worn before. All in all, the look is good. And I’m relieved to say that all this effort has kept Claire occupied and away from her stepdad’s bar.

  “You look great too,” I tell her. “I can’t wear pastels like that without looking totally babyish. But on you, they’re great.”

  “I’m going for a Paris Hilton look,” she says and then pauses. “Is that the doorbell?”

  It’s hard to tell over the music that’s playing, but we go downstairs to find that Slater is waiting.

  “Wow!” he says when we come out. “You both look great. Maybe I should walk into the club with one of you on each arm.”

  Okay, this comment makes me a little jealous, but not for long.

  “Well, you might walk in with a girl on each arm,” says Claire as she gets into the backseat of Slater’s Accord, “but you’ll be walking out with only one later. I plan to be walking out with Eric Bradford.”

  “Do you think he’ll be there?” I ask.

  “I know he’ll be there.”

  “How do you know?” asks Slater as he opens the passenger door for me.

  “I called his cell.”

  “How’d you get that number?” I ask as I slide into the seat. I can’t believe that Slater is such a gentleman!

  “I ran into a mutual friend at the mall today, and she had it on her.”

  “What luck!” I say as Slater pulls out of the driveway.

  “Yeah, I’m just a lucky kind of girl.”

  fourteen

  CLAIRE IS THE ONE WHO KEEPS THE CONVERSATION GOING AS SLATER drives to Stanfield. The trip takes about twenty minutes on the freeway, but I can see how it would be a very long twenty minutes with just Slater and me in the car. I am so thankful that Claire is along to keep the conversation moving.

  Before long I can see the city lights, and I begin to feel this flutter of excitement rush through me—like okay, let the fun begin! But at the same time, I am getting extremely nervous too, and suddenly I wish I’d had a drink at Claire’s house.

  “So you guys have done this a lot?” I ask.

  “Done what?” says Claire.

  “Used fake IDs to get into clubs.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she tells me. “I do it all the time, and I know Slater does it occasionally. Right, Slater? I mean, I’ve seen you at a few places.”

  “Yeah, I’ve done it a few times, but not as much as you. You probably have the record for sneaking into clubs and bars and stuff.”

  Claire laughs. “And I’ve never been caught either.”

  “Any close calls?” I ask, still feeling nervous at the thought of getting caught.

  “No. I just act like everything’s cool, and then it is.”

  Okay, this doesn’t make me feel any better since my ability to “act cool” is severely challenged once I get panicky. “So if you act cool, no one suspects you’re not really twenty-one?”

  “Well, think about it, Amber. If you come across as all nervous and jumpy, of course they’re going to question your age.”

  “But what if I can’t help it?”

  Claire leans forward into the front seat and frowns at me. “Are you chickening out?”

  “Not exactly. But I guess I’m just starting to freak a little. I mean, I really don’t want to get in trouble.”

  Claire lets loose with a bad word, and then I hear her digging around in her bag in the backseat. The next thing I know, she’s thrusting her silver flask in my face. “You better have a drink, Amber.”

  “But I—”

  “No arguing. You need to loosen up, and Jack’s just the guy to help you.”

  I make a face. “Jack Daniel’s?”

  “That’s the one. Now be a big girl and take a nice long swig.”

  I glance at Slater, but he’s just grinning like this is some funny joke. “You know this hard stuff makes me want to barf, Claire.”

  “Come on,” she urges in a gentler voice. “You can do this, okay? Just take a drink to calm your nerves, and then you’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  So I take a deep breath and then a swig. The liquid burns like fire in my mouth and all the way down my throat, and my eyes immediately begin to water. But oddly enough, it doesn’t taste quite as nasty as it did the first time she had me do this, even though I’m still coughing and gasping a little.

  “I’ve got some leftover soda in this cup,” offers Slater. “It’s probably flat but—”

  “I’ll take it.” I grab the cup and drink a big gulp of the tasteles
s Coke.

  “Take another swig,” insists Claire after I try to give the flask back to her. “I know that one little drink is not going to cut it with you.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. If you blow this tonight, we could all go down with you. Come on, Amber, you have to get your act together for the sake of the group.”

  “Yeah,” says Slater. “If they see us together and then pull your ID, they’ll probably pull ours too. And then we gotta get outta there fast.”

  “And I don’t want to make you feel bad, but a fake ID is not cheap, Amber.”

  So, feeling like the fate of the evening is riding on my shoulders, I take another swig. At least I have the stale Coke ready to wash it down.

  “Good girl,” says Claire as she takes back the flask. “You need any, Slater?”

  “Not yet,” he says as he exits the freeway. “But I’ll have some before we go in.”

  I lean back and attempt to relax, and by the time Slater has parked the car, I’m feeling like a new woman. I laugh as Slater takes a couple of drinks from Claire’s flask, teasing him when he sputters a little.

  “Hey, I’m not as bad as you,” he says and then takes another swig.

  “Well, I’m still a novice,” I say as we get out and walk toward a brightly lit building with an exterior that’s painted in garish shades of acid green and turquoise.

  “Hey, that makes my bedroom look pretty tame,” I say to Claire.

  She laughs. “Yeah, you should see her bedroom, Slater. You’d think she was a real wild woman at heart.”

  Slater smiles and takes my hand. “I guess that’s what I was hoping.”

  We get in a roped-off line filled with people who look anywhere from thirteen to thirty—not that I’m a good judge of ages. I’m not. And as I compare us to the others, I think we look believable, but as we get nearer to the entrance, I feel a little uneasy.

  Claire is totally comfortable. She’s laughing and joking like this is no big deal. And Slater is still holding my hand, which I have to admit is quite comforting. Then just as we get to the front, Claire launches into this hilarious description of a recent episode of this fairly raunchy reality-TV show. And it’s like everyone around us is listening and laughing, and when we get to the big guy who’s carding, he pauses to listen to her monologue and then throws back his head and laughs. And like no big deal, he casually checks our IDs, lets us pass, and says, “Hope you enjoy the show.”