Holland

Not two minutes after we’ve piled into the car, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. It’s him. He’s asking if I’m okay. Crap, what should I say? What should I do? My common sense takes a temporary leave of absence, and before I know it, I’m typing a response.

What did I do? What did I do? What did I do? My heart leaps in my chest and I begin to silently panic. I was supposed to leave the club and never look back. I was supposed to forget my first night of drinking and everything that happened with King. Oh hell. Who am I kidding? King is impossible to forget, and that is why I couldn’t ignore his text.

“So Holland? Holland? Holland!” Savannah yells at me, turning around in her seat and snapping me back to reality. When I look up with hot tears brimming in my eyes, her eyes widen.

“Oh my gosh, what’s wrong? Did that bastard hurt you?” She reaches out to take my hand and squeezes it tight.

“No, no. He didn’t hurt me.” I shake my head vigorously. “I’ve just never . . . I don’t know.”

“Never what, Holland?” she says sharply, squeezing my hand so hard that the ring I always wear pinches my skin. I’m not sure how to answer her. Should I lie and say we just messed around? I’ve never done anything with a guy, so her question could be honestly answered many ways. Or should I just tell her everything and get it off my chest? Mika pulls over to the side of the road and turns in her seat, locking her suspicious eyes on me. Mika is more experienced. She knows immediately—I don’t have to say a word.

“Oh my God, you had sex with him, Holland. How the hell did that happen? Holy shit! I’m gay, but I’d do that man. He’s fucking impressive.” Nausea hits me hard. My head is pounding, my pulse is racing, and I feel faint. If I had to guess what an anxiety attack feels like, it would be exactly like this.

“Mika, shut up. She didn’t have sex with him,” Savannah snaps. When I don’t answer, she looks at me again.

“Did you, Holland?”

I fumble with the door handle and open the car door just in time to puke all over the curb. Relief washes over me for a few seconds. It feels good to purge my body of the alcohol that’s been sloshing around in my belly for three hours. But the feeling is short lived when I retch two more times. Savannah is out of the car in a flash, holding my hand, and Mika has abandoned the driver’s seat to slide into the back seat behind me.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know to be subtle, Holland. It’s a curse.” I’m panting and gasping for breath as Mika holds my hair away from my face and Savannah speaks soothing words into my ear.

“Shush, Holland, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” When I catch my breath, I pull my legs back into the car and flop my head against the back seat and close my eyes. I take a few cleansing breaths and lift my heavy lids to find that both girls are staring at me, full of anticipation. Savannah’s hand is splayed over her heart, and Mika is nervously running her finger along the inside of her necklace.

“I . . . I’ve never . . .”

“Did he force himself on you?” Savannah’s voice rises with every word. I shake my head back and forth.

“I’m fine. It’s just my stomach. I drank too much.”

“Alcohol? I think this is more than alcohol messing with your nerves,” Mika says.

“We made out, but I wanted to as much as he did.”

“He’s so old,” Savannah whispers.

“Well, you made me look like I’m twenty-five, Savannah. What do you expect? And he wants to see me again. He wants to hear me play.” I push my way out of the car and teeter when the sidewalk tilts in front of me. I reach out and grip the door until I have my balance, and I start to pace, opening and closing my hands and shaking them out at my sides.

“What are you gonna do?” Mika asks. She leans against the back of the car and crosses her arms over her chest, propping her foot on the bumper. I stop and stare at her shoes—wedges. She’s so smart. Note to self: never allow Savannah to choose my shoes again. I turn and take a few steps down the sidewalk away from them.

“I don’t know,” I tell them I don’t know, but I do. I’m going to see him again. There’s no way I can’t.

“Do you like him?” Mika asks. Savannah answers for her.

“Who cares if she likes him or not? She’s nineteen, and he is so not. She can’t see him again . . . ever. If he finds out we were in there with fake IDs, we could get in a lot of trouble. He’s old enough to be your daddy, Holland.”

I spin around. Savannah’s standing with her hands on her hips, and it irks me. She’s the reason I’m in this mess, and now she’s going to scold me for it?

“No, he is not. I mean, I don’t know how old he is, but . . . you don’t really think he’s that old, do you?” Both girls look at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“What?” I shrug my shoulders.

“You’re actually thinking about seeing him again, aren’t you? You like him,” Savannah says.

“Just how much making out did you guys do, Holland?” Mika asks, holding up her fingers to put quotes around the words ‘making out’.

It’s now or never. I have to make a decision . . . tell them or make something up.

“We just kissed—that’s all,” I blurt out.

Mika blows out a breath of relief and Savannah’s shoulders relax.

“Well thank God for that. Let’s get home and forget this night ever happened. We can scratch IDs and clubs off the itinerary. I’ve had enough of all that until I’m actually twenty-one,” Savannah says.

That damn itinerary.

“Well, not me. You know where to find me every Friday night, ladies. I’ll keep an eye on him for you, Holland.” Mika winks and slugs my arm lightly.

“You feel good enough to go home now?”

“Yeah, we’d better sneak in before my mama figures out we’re gone. So far this night hasn’t at all gone as planned. It would be just my luck to get caught and punished for such an epic failed attempt at being a rebel.” Savannah reaches for my hand and leads me to the front passenger door.

“Sit on my lap. It’s only a couple blocks.” She climbs in and pats her lap.

“My breath smells like puke.”

“It’s okay. This is sort of my fault. I feel bad.” She pulls me down onto her lap, and I shut the door and lean my head against the frame of the open window. Mika enters the driver’s side. Her seatbelt clicks, and in seconds, we’re pulling away from the curb and toward my house.

Thank God we are able to safely climb the shaky trellis to my bedroom without breaking our necks. We strip out of our sweaty club clothes and stuff them in her duffle bag. Savannah zips it up and sprays perfume all over the outside, hopefully covering the smell of alcohol, puke and cigarette smoke. I pull a brush through my hair, brush my teeth and wash all traces of makeup from my face while Savannah does the same. When I look like myself again, we crawl into my comfy bed and face each other on our sides. Savannah begins quizzing me. I knew it was just a matter of time, but I was hoping she’d let me sleep a while before starting in.

“What was it like?” She presses her palms together and slides them under her pillow.

“Making out?”

“Not just making out—making out with an older man who looks like he belongs on the cover of GQ.” I’m so glad the room is dark when I feel the heat of a hot blush creep up my neck.

“It was nice.”

“Nice? That’s it? Just nice?”

What am I supposed to say to her? That he’s a chiseled god who stole my virginity and my heart in less than an hour? That I can still feel his hands all over my bare skin and his lips on my . . . Oh God, no way.

“He was sweet and polite, and he’s a good kisser, although I don’t have anything to compare it to. What else is there to say?”

She sighs and kicks me in the shin—not hard, but enough to let me know that she’s not believing my abbreviated version of the story.

“Why are you holding back?”

Because I’m embarrassed that I had sex with the first man to ever show me any attention, and because I was reckless and careless and juvenile.

“There isn’t anything else to tell. We went upstairs and had champagne, he kissed me, and we went inside his apartment to talk, and he kissed me again. End of story.”

It’s hard to see in the dark, but I know she rolls her eyes before she fires another question.

“What’s his apartment like?”

“It’s big and clean, and it has a ridiculous bathroom that looks like it belongs in the Taj Mahal.”

“What? Why were you in his bathroom?”

“Uh, I had to pee.” Sarcasm isn’t really my forte but I think that question warrants a little.

“The Taj Mahal?”

“Everything was black lacquer and gold, with candelabras and angel statues all over the place. Super weird.”

“Really? Yeah, that is weird.” She’s quiet, and I imagine she is trying to visualize King’s crazy bathroom, but after a few minutes, I’m starting to think she’s fallen asleep when she speaks again.

“Do you really like him?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to . . .?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

Tired and warm, we both snuggle deeper under the blanket at the same time, signaling the end of our conversation.

“Night.”

“Goodnight, Savannah.” I wait until she’s softly snoring to turn over and stare out the window at the fingernail moon while I think.

I am going to see him again. If he calls, I’m answering. We may be light years apart in age, but he doesn’t have to know that. It’s stupid and risky, but I need to see him. I can’t lose my virginity to a man and never see his face again, especially his beautiful face. I have all summer to be reckless before going to Juilliard, and I want to spend it being reckless with King. The only thing I regret about tonight is the unprotected sex. I’m kind of freaked out about that. What are the chances of getting pregnant the first time? I mean, I know it happens. I just really hope it hasn’t happened to me. I’ve been a good kid all my life—nearly perfect, actually. I can’t believe the first mistake I end up making is such a whopper.

It’s two in the morning, and I still haven’t slept. My head is pounding, and my tongue feels like it’s covered with sand. I slide out of bed, careful not to wake Savannah. I wait until the door is closed to turn the light on in the bathroom. Under the harsh light, I catch my reflection in the mirror when I reach for the bottle of Ibuprofen. King will never believe I’m his age without the dim lights, the makeup and the stiletto heels. After popping the three pills into my mouth, I down a full glass of water. I place my hands on the edge of the counter and lean toward the mirror to look closer at myself.

“What are you doing, Holland?” I whisper to my reflection. I drop my chin to my chest and sigh. I feel sloshy and bloated, but more than anything, I’m tired. I push off the counter and switch off the light, pad across the room and crawl back into bed. I’ll figure it all out tomorrow. Right now, I just need to sleep.

* * *

“Up and at ‘em, girls.” My mama bursts through the bedroom door, clapping her hands at the ungodly hour of . . . ten a.m.

I grab my head and cover my ears.

“Dear God, why does she have to do that?” Savannah moans next to me and rolls over.

“You girls must have been up late last night. What were you doing up here, anyway?” she says as she crosses the room to my window.

“Um, just watching movies and messing around.” I lie to my mother for the first time in my life. She pushes my curtains open wide and pats me on the behind as she breezes by, leaving the smell of bacon and honey wafting behind her.

“Get up. Breakfast is ready, and you have a room reserved to practice in today, so we need to get going.” Shit, I almost forgot.

“You said we were going swimming today,” Savannah whines from under the covers.

“I forgot, sorry. Maybe when I’m done?” I squint out of one eye at my mama to see if she approves. She stops in the doorway with her hand on the knob.

“Yes, that’s fine as long as it’s after you practice.” I nudge Savannah with my elbow under the covers.

“Give me a ride?” I ask.

“I will take you, Holland,” Mama says. Now her hands are on her hips. She’s irritated that I’ve asked Savannah, but I need some freedom today, and I’ll never get it being shuttled around by my mama.

“Mama, Savannah can take me. It’s okay.” We both look out from under the covers with pleading eyes.

“Oh, alright. I guess I need to get used to you doing things for yourself soon anyway.” She focuses her attention on poor Savannah. My mother is seriously overprotective. I can’t believe she’s letting me go away to school in New York. She plans my days from sunup to sunset, organizing all of my practices and concerts, study times, and the few social events I’m allowed to attend. I never minded that before, but today her rigid schedule feels suffocating. I need to be able to see King.

“Okay then. Get dressed and come downstairs, chop chop.” She spins around to leave, and I watch her sleek, black ponytail slip through the crack of the door. We simultaneously pull the comforter over our heads to block out the painful sun.

“God, your mama is cheery in the morning. I thought she was on to us for a second, but I’m pretty sure we’ve got this.”

“Yeah she’s a morning person. I feel sorta guilty. I’ve never lied to her before.”

“Never? Like, not even a little white lie or anything?”

“Nope. I’ve never had reason to, I guess. I’m a homebody, I get good grades, I play the violin, and I don’t have a boyfriend, so what’s to lie about?”

“Yeah, true. Boring bitch.” There’s a pause before she pounces on me and starts to tickle me mercilessly.

“Ugh. Stop. Stop. I can’t help it that I’m a good girl.” She shoves me aside when she’s finished torturing me, and I curl up into the fetal position to guard my belly and moan.

“I’m gonna barf. I’m never drinking again. This isn’t worth it.”

“Oh yeah, but meeting Mr. Male Model Club Owner was worth it, wasn’t it? I still can’t believe you messed around with that guy—or any guy, for that matter.”

“Me neither.” If she only knew just how much messing around we actually did.

“I want to invite him to the rehearsal studio today. That’s why I wanted you to drive me.” Savannah sits up in bed and turns her whole body to face me.

“Have you lost your mind? I know you two had fun last night, but that was like an adventure. This is real life, and he’s old.” I look up at her out of the corner of my eye and see her throw her hands up in the air and drop them at her sides.

“He’s not that old.”

“Let’s look him up. I’m sure there’s something on the Internet about the new club. There has to be something about him too.”

Shit, I didn’t think of that. Do I really want to know how old he is? It doesn’t matter, though. Savannah is already digging her iPad out of her bag and tapping in Ecstasy before I can stop her.

“Okay, here it is. Ecstasy, the newest dance club on the nightlife scene, boasts three levels of entertainment, including the Psychedelic Circle dance floor and a private membership-only club. World-renowned guest D.J.s every weekend. You never know who you might meet at Ecstasy. Only open Friday and Saturday, from six till last call. Reserve a table for the most comfortable evening possible. Table service available on every floor, and seven bars for easy access to drinks. Be where the IT people are. Be at Ecstasy. Owned and operated by Mr. King Romero.”

“Well shit. That doesn’t tell us much we didn’t already know, except his last name. I’m Googling King Romero.”

I’m actually relieved that she hasn’t found anything on him, but now she’s digging deeper.

“Okay, here he is. Damn, that man looks fine in a suit.” She straightens her back and holds up the iPad while I peer over her shoulder at the photograph of King with a blonde woman on his arm, attending some kind of red carpet affair. She’s right. He’s striking in his black pinstripe suit, and the woman is gorgeous in a floor-length red gown with a slit up the front that probably shows all of her girly parts if she isn’t careful.

“Says here he’s twenty-five, born and raised in Puerto Rico. His parents are Arturo and Isabella Romero. He owns a bunch of other clubs around the world, and he just happens to be one of the United States’ most eligible bachelors, if you’re looking for the dangerous bad boy type.”

“What? It doesn’t say that.”

“It does too, look here.” She points at the article.

“You made out with the most eligible bachelor in the United States. Holy shit, Holland. How does it feel?”

I can’t get past dangerous bad boy. What does that mean? What does that say about what happened between us last night? He’s not just a player; he’s the ultimate player. How could I be so stupid? Shit, I think I’m gonna puke again. I slap my hand over my mouth and fly into the bathroom, making it just in time to dry heave bitter stomach acid into the toilet.

“Holland. God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Shit, you have a sensitive stomach.” I grip the edge of the toilet and manage to tell her it’s okay, but this is so far from okay.

“You want me to tell your mama you’re sick?” She gathers my hair at the base of my neck and rubs my back.

“No, it’s just a hangover. I’m okay. I’ll take a shower and be down in a minute. You go eat.”

“I don’t know about eating, but I’ll go down and keep your mama company. Don’t take forever, though. She drives me nuts, and I need to shower too. Holland?” I sit back and rest my bottom on my heels and rub my hands on my thighs.

“Yeah?”

“Are you really gonna meet with him?”

Five minutes ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated in answering yes, but now that I know that I’ve given my virginity to the biggest player in the country, I’ve changed my mind. It was all a game to him. I was just a conquest, a notch on his bedpost. I wonder how he would feel to know that notch was nineteen years old?

“No, what’s the point? I’m sure I’ll never even cross his mind again.”

“Oh, now stop. That’s not true. Nobody can forget you.” She drops my hair and pulls me into a side hug. My mouth starts to water, and another round of nausea rolls through my stomach.

“Thanks, Savannah, but you’d better let go. I still don’t feel so good.” She quickly releases my shoulder, stands up, and backs out of the bathroom.

“Okay, um, I can’t watch you do that again. I might throw up myself. Meet ya downstairs.” I wave her away, and she closes the door, leaving me to agonize alone. I can’t believe I was so stupid and gullible. What on earth made me think a gorgeous, worldly man like King would be interested in me? He did text me right away, though, right? Yeah, right. He just wanted to make sure he wasn’t responsible for a drunk girl getting into an accident that he was just seen making out with in his club.

When I’m positive I’m not going to throw up again, I drag myself off the floor, flush the toilet, strip down, and turn on the water. I rest my forehead on the glass shower door and wait for the water to warm up before stepping in. It feels so good that I moan and drop my head back to let the water run through my hair.

Maybe Savannah and I should skip practice and just swim all day. I need to work on forgetting about last night. I really need to focus on having good, clean, King-free fun for the rest of the summer. And practicing my ass off—always practicing my ass off.