Sarah glances up and a few tears leak from her eyes. “The closest I’ve ever gotten to doing it with Brandon was in seventh grade when I told him his breath smelled like Cool Ranch Doritos. He never touched me. I never let him touch me—”
Sarah breaks into sobs and I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight.
“My father’s pulling me out of St. Vincent’s. He says I’ve humiliated him.”
“What?” First of all, I’m furious that the nuns would believe anything Seth or Brandon said, especially without evidence. And then to tell her father? It’s so completely wrong I want to scream.
Sarah pulls back to look at me. “I guess you really aren’t psychic, huh?” she says in a small voice.
And my heart breaks seeing how much pain she’s in.
“I promise you I would never have let this happen if I were.”
She nods. “That’s too bad.” She smiles sadly and I hug her again, resenting the Need. Hating the light. I should have been with her today, not with Sister Dorothy.
Sarah sniffles and rests her head on my shoulder. “The stupid thing is, I liked Seth. And more than anything, I’m . . . hurt. Why wasn’t I good enough for him? How could he do this to me?”
“Oh, please. You are a million times better than that cruel bastard. He’s like, bottom of the barrel, scum of the earth. And you’re mostly nice. Like more than eighty percent of the time.” I straighten her up and fix one of the curls that has come loose from her barrette. “And besides, you’re way too hot for him anyway.”
She laughs, wiping at her cheeks. “You know just what to say.” Sarah dabs her finger under her eye to wipe off the mascara that’s started to run. “I’m going to be a freaky homeschooled kid now.”
“No, you won’t,” I say, taking her purse from her arm and going through it to find her compact. “And besides, homeschooled kids are not freaky.”
“They have no fashion sense.”
“Urban legend. Look at me, I have no fashion sense and I attend the esteemed St. Vincent’s Academy for Troubled Youths.”
Sarah laughs and takes the compact from my hands as I hold it out. She groans when she catches sight of her reflection.
“Now,” I say. “Pull yourself together. I can’t do this stuffy event without you. You have unshakable confidence and that makes you the stronger one in this friendship, so act like it.”
Her smile fades. “No,” she says softly. “You’re the rock, Charlotte. You’ve held me together all these years. Still do.”
“And I always will.” As I say it, I want to make it true. I want to get rid of the Need and be her friend for life. I’m going to try.
Sarah pats powder under her eyes before returning the compact to her bag. When she’s done, I reach out my hand to her. “Ready for that drink now?”
“Oh, I’m going to have, like, six.”
“Not in front of Daddy,” I warn with a mocking pout. “He’s probably already cranky.”
Sarah loops her arm through mine. “He’s pissed all right. Asked me if I was going to embarrass him tonight.”
“You should have told him yes.”
“I told him I’d already done all I could this week. But I’d try harder for the next event.”
I don’t laugh because I know that her father had probably said plenty to her tonight. I can still remember when we were in tenth grade and he caught us drinking in Sarah’s room during a sleepover. He was furious. Told her that she disgusted him. That she’d end up a drunk just like her mother’s father.
She was fourteen. But instead of crying about it, Sarah finished off the bottle of rum and I held her hair while she puked all night in her bathroom. She said he didn’t love her. And I’m not sure I’d argue.
When we come back into the huge main room, Sarah excuses herself to the bar. “I’m going to see if my boobs can get me served. Then I’m going to get the bartender’s number. If my father asks, you haven’t seen me.”
“You’ve got it,” I answer automatically. I look for Harlin and find him in the corridor holding two glasses of wine while waiting by a nude, white marble female statue—looking like he’s really concentrating on it. Especially the top half.
“Double-fisting drinks tonight?” I ask as I approach.
“It’s for you. Figured you’d come back empty-handed.” He looks back casually and passes me the glass before motioning to the statue. “Do you think her ni**les are disproportionately large?”
I step next to him, both of us staring over the naked woman in front of us. “Maybe a little,” I say seriously. “But I think it’s open to interpretation.”
“Most good art is.” Harlin lifts his glass for a sip and then turns to me, his eyes a little glassy. I wonder if he had two drinks in his hand before these. “How’s Sarah?”
“Bad.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Not unless you want to go track down some high school boys to beat up.”
He seems to consider it. “Ask me again in an hour.”
I look around the room, taking it all in. The art. The people. I’m living and everyone is seeing me. Harlin sees me. I turn to him. “Do you remember that time we went for donuts in Vancouver?” I swallow hard, suddenly scared of what he’ll say.
He smiles softly. “You mean when you dragged me to get donuts in Vancouver at three in the morning to prove they weren’t better than VooDoo’s?”
“Yeah. That time.”
“Of course. You were wearing my T-shirt and when we got back, Jeremy nearly had a coronary because he thought we’d been out drinking.”
“And you told him to relax. It was only decaf.” I giggle and suddenly, I feel light. He remembers. Even the smallest detail, he remembers.
I’m not going to become a Forgotten. I’m beating it. I smile and sip from my glass, leaning into Harlin.
He finishes off his wine before reaching over to take my mostly full glass. He downs it and then puts them both on the tray of a passing server before grabbing another one for himself. I narrow my eyes at him. “What?” he says. “You can’t handle your alcohol. And besides, they’re free.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to have twenty.”
“Sorry, Charlotte,” he says loudly enough to get a few stares from the people around us. “It’s too noisy. I can’t hear a thing you’re saying.”