Page 62 of The Last Special Thing

Was this what dancing was like in the olden days? Going from one partner to the next, leaving pieces of yourself with each one?

She didn’t feel the same need to drift. Art was all she wanted.

“Come here,” Art purred.

He led her into a crowded corner. She expected more kisses, but he took his keys from his pocket and squatted down. He scanned the area twice, then shoveled a salt-like substance from a ziplock bag.

A wave of guilt washed over Amelia. She’d been bothered that she smuggled the ecstasy in, not knowing that Art had other things he was also taking through security. There was more. Always more. Of course, he needed her help.

Amelia glanced at the bag, then met Art’s eyes. She hadn’t done anything like this before. She’d told him once that she wouldn’t ever snort anything. But how long ago was that? And those were ideas from a girl who had no idea what she was talking about. Practically a lifetime ago.

Art brought the key to his nose. He inhaled, head tilting back, then exhaled through his mouth. He scooped out another bump and turned to her, waiting. Up close, the crystallized particles were smaller than a grain of salt.

“Cocaine?” she mouthed.

He shook his head, and relief expanded in her chest. As long as it wasn’t cocaine, whatever it was would be fine. She trusted him.

Amelia crouched beside him, tucked out of sight. He held the key up to her nose, and she inhaled. A menthol smell filtered through her nose and clung to the back of her throat. She rolled her head in a slow circle.

When Art and Amelia returned, the group had grown to include an assortment of zoo animals in colorful, oversized, furry boots, who had joined them. Everyone sat in line on the black floor, forming a circle. Each faced the person’s back. Their hands were on the next person’s shoulders, thumbs massaging into the shoulders. They made room for her and Art, and she placed her hands on his shoulders, thumbs pressing into his blades. He let out a soft moan. She didn’t know or care whose shoulders he was massaging. Everyone was together as one.

The tension in her jaw and shoulders dissipated. Whatever he had given her had started to take effect. She was floating. Pulling her hands away from Art’s shoulders, she stood. The lights hit a neon orange. Her nails were sharp. Shaking her from side to side, she tried to stabilize.

“Are you okay?” Reyna asked.

Amelia blinked, unsure where she had come from. “Yeah, I’m like really good.” Then added, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” Her head tilted. “Do you hate me?”

She stared at big, panda eyes. “Are you trying to steal Madisson?”

“Am I… What?”

“Madisson is my best friend.” Amelia touched Reyna’s hand. It was small and soft. “Please don’t steal her.”

Reyna rubbed the top of Amelia’s hand. “I don’t want to steal her. It’s been a shitty summer, and Madisson’s been so nice to me.”

Amelia nodded profusely. “Madisson is the nicest.”

Renya bounced on her feet, then threw her arms around Amelia. “Thank you for letting us all be friends.”

Tears streaked Amelia’s face, filled with relief. She wouldn’t have to worry about Reyna taking Madisson away. The world was beautiful, so full of love, like her and Art.

Amelia flinched as the music cut, and the floodlights overhead switched on. The abrupt change was unwelcome.

The rest of the group stood, breaking their chain. The new friends were already gone and forgotten. Attendees drifted out from corners of the venue and returned to the archway where it all began. The elaborate costumes of the start were now remnants of smeared glitter, tangled hair, and dulled eyes.

“Where’s my hat?” Art asked Amelia, running a hand over his head as they walked.

She was empty-handed. “I don’t know,” she said softly, disappointed in herself for losing it.

They walked to the hotel in silence, but the music echoed in Amelia’s mind the entire walk. The bite of the early morning left a trail of goosebumps along her arms. She rubbed them, but the soft sensation of her skin had vanished. Her lips pulled downward. Art put an arm around her, drawing her close and keeping her warm.

Even twilight, with its moon and clusters of stars, was unable to stop Amelia’s downward spiral.

How could the magic be over?

The boys stopped by Amelia’s parked car and pulled out the overnight bags. Their room was on the second floor, and each step felt like a small mountain. Amelia was grateful she wasn’t carrying anything. Her arms felt made of stone.