11. Violet

11

Violet

T he game was insanely fun, and I’m excited to go out with Liza to Downtown Tap. She already told me that a lot of Springs U students go there because they’ll serve anyone alcohol.

“Please? Just a few drinks. We won, and this is a celebration!” Liza grabs onto my arm and begs as we walk from the stadium to downtown. One of the reasons I love Springs U is that everything is within walking distance. It’s a quaint little college town right off the beach.

I can’t stop giggling at my new friend as she continues to beg me to go out with her tonight. She’s embraced me so quickly, and I love her for that. She never makes me feel like I’m a bother, and I genuinely like spending time with her. My anxious nerves from earlier are long gone. Liza makes me feel like I fit in for the first time in my life.

“Fine! I’ll have one drink just for you, but you need to help me order because I have no clue what to order at bars.” I chuckle.

“You are asking the bar queen! I’m so pumped, ahhhh!” She squeals and hugs me.

We walk up the stone sidewalk to the “Downtown Tap” bar, loud music from inside intense enough to vibrate the ground beneath our feet. We make our way to the bouncer, and he gestures for us to head in. He doesn’t bother to ask us for our IDs. It seems like everyone here knows and loves Liza enough to let her do anything she wants. When we walk through the door, I see Springs U shirts across the dance floor and barstools.

“How are we going to get a drink? It’s really crowded,” I anxiously ask Liza.

“Don’t worry! I have my ways.” She winks back at me.

“Do I want to know?” I shout into her ear because the music is so loud that I can barely hear myself think.

“Probably not, but I told you I’m going to show you the ropes. Tonight is lesson number one.” She laces her fingers through mine and weaves us in between rows of drunk college kids to the front of the bar. I’ve always wanted to be the person that commands a room. Liza is that person. Her presence is undeniable.

“Hey, Payton, Two vodka sodas, please!” she screams to the handsome bartender. Love that they are on a first-name basis. He looks older than us. Maybe in his early twenties?

“I’ve got you, Liza.” He nods back.

“How did you do that? It would have taken me hours to get to the front of the bar and even longer to get the bartender’s attention,” I ask, amazed at how quickly she seemed to move us to the front.

“If you don’t take up space, you’ll get walked all over,” she replies with a hint of sadness in her voice. I don’t want to push her more on that right now, so I let it go.

Our drinks arrive, and I take a big sip. It’s strong, and I debate nursing this drink all night, but one look at Liza tells me that I can let loose around her. Her eyes reflect trust and care.

“Let’s do shots,” I scream above the deafening music.

“YESSSSSSS! Payton, two tequila shots, pretty please?” She flutters her eyelashes at the bartender, and minutes later, we are downing shots back. The burn travels down my throat before settling in my stomach, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. This is going to be a long night, but I’m ready.