Chapter 9

Erica

I'm kind of excited for the mixologist to come, especially as Robin has allowed the entire ball committee to come and try out the drinks they're thinking of serving. It's a bit worrying to me that we're so close to the ball and haven't actually done this yet, but I guess that's not really my problem.

I head into the room, surprised to find Rupert waving me over to where he's sitting with Sami and D. I don't hesitate in joining them, sliding into the booth and sitting next to Rupert.

Sami leans in to say something to D that I can't hear and I tune them out, knowing that they should have privacy now they seem to have decided to make a go of whatever it is between them.

"Hey," Rupert says.

"Hi," I respond with a smile.

"This is probably the best bit of ball prep," he says.

"Oh no, the best bit is that I brought cupcakes." I set a box down on the table. "To soak up the alcohol."

"You don't drink."

"Who said they were for me?" I flash him a smile. "Though one of them is. If I drink too much liquid on an empty stomach, I feel queasy."

"So you're going for a sugar overload instead?" Rupert asks.

"Something like that."

Robin stops at our table and holds out a clipboard. "I need you to put down any allergies on this." They hold it out to me.

I take it and find my name, adding non-alcoholic to the list and passing it on to Rupert, who writes down his citrus fruit allergy.

Robin takes the list away once both Sami and D have checked it, and we sit back, waiting for drinks. There's a festive atmosphere in the room as everyone admires the hard work we've all put into getting things ready. I have to admit that the room looks great, and the arch with the streamers definitely doesn't look as if it's been decorated by two weasels, or has nearly been the site of a near accident with me falling.

It takes a few minutes for a tray of drinks to arrive on our table, with four flights of shot glasses with miniature cocktails inside them. They look adorable, though I know it'll be the full-sized thing on the night of the ball.

Each one is labelled with one of our names, which cuts down on any of the quizzing about what's what.

Robin reappears with a sheet of paper and puts it down on the table. "You're going to have to rate each of them so we can decide which three we're going to serve at the ball. Most popular wins, nothing more complicated than that."

"Got it," I tell them, pulling the flight with my name on it towards me. Six tiny glasses of cocktails sit in front of me. "All right, so what are we starting with?"

"The classic mojito," Sami says, instantly going for the one at the end.

I shrug. "I guess that's as good as any. What have you got instead?" I ask Rupert.

"Probably one with synthetic lime syrup or something," he says. "It'll still taste of mojito." He takes a sip and then grimaces.

"Not good?"

"Not particularly. How's yours?"

I pick up the glass in question and take a sip. It's tarter than I expect it to be, normally alcohol-free stuff is sweeter, but I don't mind it. "That's nice. I'm not sure it's going to be my favourite though."

"Oh? And what do you think will be?"

"The daiquiri, who doesn't love frozen pureed fruit in their drinks?" I pick up the bright pink cocktail and take a sniff. "Wow, I'm impressed by how much like booze this one smells."

"Yeah, I wouldn't expect that. But I don't know very much about non-alcohol spirits."

"Me neither. I don't drink them much, normally I just stick to stuff that was never meant to have it in the future." I take a sip of the daiquiri and nod. "Oh, yes. That's good."

Rupert picks up his own and takes a sip. "Better than the mojito."

"Maybe cocktails just aren't your thing," I say.

"Maybe not," he agrees. "But they're what we're here to try, so I'm going to do that." He sets down his half-finished drink. "I'm going to keep some of it so that I can compare it to the others."

"Oh, good idea." I put mine back into my flight of glasses.

Beside us, Sami and D seem to be having an intense conversation, though it doesn't seem to be about the cocktails even if theirs are mostly empty already.

I don't mind too much. It means that I get to talk with Rupert a bit more, which isn't something I ever thought I'd want. I still don't know what happened between us, but I like that I've been able to talk to him for the past couple of weeks.

There's a buzz in the room of people talking a little too loudly, probably because the drinks have already started to go to some people's heads. Not for the first time, I find myself grateful that's not me. I don't care when other people drink around me, but I like to keep my head clearer. Or maybe that's just the way I see things because of Dad. Most of the other dozen or so people in the room have likely lived with an alcoholic the way I have, or seen how hard it is for them to struggle against the temptation of drinking.

I push the thought aside and go back to tasting the cocktails, glad that it's been possible for me to try the non-alcoholic versions of them. I don't always care, but it's nice to feel included.

I wrinkle my nose at the tequila sunrise. "I don't like that one," I say.

"All right, put a big cross next to it," Rupert says, sliding the sheet of paper across to me.

"That seems a little dramatic," I respond, but add a note that I don't like it very much anyway. I'm sure some people love it, but from what I've heard about tequila, it's always a bit touch and go.

The bartender brings another flight and I lift an eyebrow. "We're not done yet?"

"Just be glad we're not having to pick the wine too," Rupert says, pulling the two with our names on towards us and leaving Sami to deal with the other two. Despite sitting at the same table as us, it's clear that Sami and D are in a world of their own. It's kind of adorable.

"You don't even seem affected by everything you've been drinking," I say.

"I haven't been finishing them," he points out.

"Ah, that's smart," I say.

"I'd like to think so. We should finish the first round before we start on the second."

From the cheers from the rest of the tables, I think some of the others have already started on their second lot.

I pick up the next mocktail, setting down the empty glass. I reach for the pen, my fingers brushing against Rupert's as he does the same.

It feels as if electricity prickles my skin at the touch, which is new. We've touched dozens of times over the course of knowing each other, but that's never happened before.

"You go," I say, pulling my hand back.

He looks at me as if he's trying to work out what's going on but is as lost for an explanation as I am. Though I think I'm imagining it. His feelings towards me have likely remained completely unchanged. We might be in a truce right now, and even regaining some sense of friendship between us, but I'm not naive enough to think that this is anything more than that. Once the ball is done, we won't talk to one another again unless we find ourselves in a similar situation next year.

An odd feeling fills me even at the thought of that, almost as if I'm disappointed. I watch Rupert from the corner of my eye and try to figure out what he's thinking, and if there's even the smallest chance that it could be something along the same lines as me.

Except that's not what I'm supposed to be doing. I still don't know why our friendship ended in the first place, only that something changed.

I push those thoughts aside and focus on the drinks and making idle small talk, not putting enough heed to any of my thoughts to actually voice them, it's better for both of us if I keep them in my head and don't complicate things.

A third flight of cocktails arrives and I let out a long breath, feeling a little flushed. Maybe it's the thoughts in my head making me feel this way, or the heat in the room. "More."

"Mmm, more," Rupert says.

"I can't believe these are mocktails, they taste just like booze," I say, slurring my words ever so slightly.

Alarm crosses Rupert's face and he picks up one of the shot glasses and smells. "Erm...I think that's because they are alcoholic."

"Oh." I contemplate it for a moment. "That might explain a few things."

"Like?"

"Why I think you're cute when you smile." Oops,l I shouldn't have said that out loud. It's not that it isn't true, I think it's always been true, it's just that it's the kind of thought that needs to stay on the inside.

He chuckles. "Good to know, Erica."

"No, seriously, you should do it more." It's almost impossible to resist the urge to prod his face, and I almost give in.

"I smile all the time."

"Not around me you don't. You've been all grouchy-weasel since we were ten." I do my best imitation of a grumpy face.

He laughs. "Is that what you think I look like?"

"It's what you do look like," I insist. " Erica, I'm never going to kiss you and I'm going to quit the play because of it. " My impression is terrible, but it makes me giggle uncontrollably despite that.

"You are a lightweight, Erica Stubbs." His amusement is hard to hide, though I'm not sure if it's because of my impression, or because I've accidentally drunk a lot more than I should.

"Or maybe you just haven't drunk enough," I respond, letting out a small laugh. "My head feels a bit fuzzy."

"Mmm, I'm not surprised. I think we need some water." He waves to Robin who is passing. "Can we get some water for Erica? Her testers were supposed to be non-alcoholic, but they were."

Their eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

I giggle in response. "I thought they tasted strong."

"Yes," Rupert says, ignoring me.

Robin closes their eyes and lets out a frustrated puff of air. "I need to go check they've listened to all the other dietary requirements."

"I haven't broken out in hives," Rupert supplies.

"Good to know," Robin mutters darkly, stalking off to the bar.

"Someone is in trouble ," I sing song.

Rupert chuckles. "Yes, you are if you drink any more." He reaches for the box of cupcakes I brought with me and pulls one out, putting it down in front of me. "Eat, it'll soak up the alcohol."

"Are you sure? You were already worried about me getting a sugar high from the cake."

"Eat the cupcake, Erica," he says firmly.

"Okay." I swipe my finger through the frosting and put it in my mouth, only realising after I do it how intently he's watching.

Despite the rational part of my brain knowing I shouldn't, I repeat the motion, enjoying the way he's watching me. I'm about to do it again when the bartender brings my water over and sets it down in front of me.

"I'm so sorry," he says. "We're working on what happened."

I shrug. "No problem."

He doesn't look convinced, and maybe I wouldn't be either if my head wasn't quite so fuzzy.

"Drink up, then we're going to go for a walk," Rupert says.

"A walk to get chips?" I ask, feeling like my whole face has lit up.

"We can go to Chicken Hut if you want," he says.

I pull a face. "Not Chicken Hut. Desserts After Dark, their chips are so much better."

"There's no way that's possibly true."

"Take me there and I'll prove it to you."

"Okay, but I'm going to need you to shift first," he says.

"You mean here?" Without waiting for him to respond, I pull forth my weasel side and end up sitting on the bench beside him. I tweak my nose as I look at him, only realising that I'm not able to speak to him in this form now that I'm in it.

But my head feels a bit better already.

"Erica!" There's panic in Rupert's voice. "Shift back."

I do as he suggests, retaking my human form. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's done now," he responds. "How do you feel?"

"Better," I admit. "So at least there's that."

"We should still go and get you those chips," he says. "I don't know enough about how shifting gets rid of excessive alcohol."

"Me neither, but right now, I'm glad that it does."

"I'm not surprised." He gestures for us to leave and I get up from my chair, grabbing my bag and saying my goodbyes to those around me.

I'm not sure whether or not it's truly a good idea for me to be leaving with Rupert, but a walk and some chips are definitely likely to help with the lingering effects of any of the alcohol in my body that the shift hasn't taken care of.

If one thing is certain, this hasn't convinced me to drink more.