Page 76 of Grown

I make more small talk. About books, hair, clothes, comparing the songs we love to sing.

“Oh, I know that one,” I say and slip in the question. “Think it came out the year we were born, right?”

She tells me the year and I do the math in my head quick.

“You’re fifteen,” I gasp.

Amber’s face falls, eyes darkening. We stare at each other for a brief moment before she jumps to her feet, closing the door behind her.

Today, Korey’s allowed us to come to a listening session in his studio, swimming in baggy sweats. Plenty to drink, so I drink until I’m no longer myself, only longing for the pieces of myself that are left.

“That lean got Enchanted leaning,” someone jokes.

The room ripples with laughter. I spot Richie in the bunch. Amber sits in the opposite room, far from me, far from the memory of who she used to be too.

My mouth waters for more purple drink but Korey slips the cup out of my hand and whispers in my ear.

“Think you had enough. Go to your room.”

No sense in arguing. It’ll only end in pain for me.

Ignoring the laugher at my back, I drift out of the studio, up to the first floor, craving my bed but craving food just as much. With everyone downstairs, maybe I can sneak some leftover pasta.

I tiptoe into the kitchen, spotting the camera, aimed right at the fridge.

Damn.

Abandoning hope, I spin around and run right into his chest.

Derrick.

“Shit,” I shudder.

“Hey. You OK?” he says, and I don’t remember him being so tall... or handsome.

Out of practice more than instinct, I divert my eyes to the floor. “Yeah. But... um, I have to go.”

The room tilts to the left and I stumble. Derrick catches me. “Whoa, hold up.”

“Stop it. Don’t touch me!”

I backpedal, grabbing hold of the counter. Or at least I thought I grabbed the counter. Someone moved it, and I flop onto the kitchen tile.

Within seconds, Derrick is by my side.

“I’m fine,” I slur, swatting away hands that seem to be coming from every direction.

“No. You’re not,” he says, then whispers, “Enchanted. I know you’re not eighteen.”

The room stops spinning long enough for me to look at him. “What?”

“You’re seventeen. Your birthday is not for a few weeks. April eighteenth, right?”

My mouth goes dry. “How did you...”

“A friend of mine from Brooklyn Will and Willow knows your chapter brother Creighton.”

Creighton. The name makes me want to vomit.