Walking Disaster

bracelet.” I smiled.
    She smacked me on the arm just as America started the countdown to midnight. When the hands of the clock superimposed on the twelve, we all celebrated.
    I had never wanted to kiss a girl so much in my life.
    America and Shepley beat me to it, kissing each of her cheeks. I lifted her off the ground, twirling her around.
    “Happy birthday, Pigeon,” I said, trying very hard not to press my lips against hers.
    Everyone at the party knew what she was up to in the hall with Parker. It would be pretty shitty of me to make her look bad in front of them.
    She watched me with her big gray eyes, and I melted inside of them.
    “Shots!” she said, stumbling to the kitchen.
    Her shout startled me, bringing all the noise and motion around us back into my reality again.
    “You look torn up, Abby. I think it’s time to call it a night,” Brazil said when she arrived at the counter.
    “I’m not a quitter,” she said. “I wanna see my money.”
    I joined her as Brazil placed a twenty under the last two glasses. He yelled at his teammates, “She’s gonna drink ’em! I need fifteen!”
    They all groaned and rolled their eyes, pulling out their wallets to stack a pile of twenties behind the last shot glass.
    “I would have never believed that I could lose fifty bucks on a fifteen-shot bet with a girl,” Chris complained.
    “Believe it, Jenks,” she said, picking up a glass in each hand.
    She knocked back each of the glasses, one at a time, but then paused.
    “Pigeon?” I asked, taking a step in her direction.
    She raised a finger, and Brazil smiled. “She’s going to lose it,” he said.
    “No, she won’t.” America shook her head. “Deep breath, Abby.”
    She closed her eyes and inhaled, picking up the last shot remaining on the counter.
    “Holy God, Abby! You’re going to die of alcohol poisoning!” Shepley cried.
    “She’s got this,” America assured him.
    She tipped her head back, and let the tequila flow down her throat. The entire party erupted into whistles and yells behind us as Brazil handed her the stack of money.
    “Thank you,” she said with pride, tucking the money away in her bra.
    I’d never seen anything like it in my life. “You are incredibly sexy right now,” I said in her ear as we walked to the living room.
    She wrapped her arms around me, probably letting the tequila settle.
    “You sure you’re okay?”
    She meant to say “I’m fine,” but the words came out garbled.
    “You need to make her go throw up, Trav. Get some of that out of her system.”
    “God, Shep. Leave her alone. She’s fine,” America said, annoyed.
    Shepley’s brows pulled in. “I’m just trying to keep something really bad from happening.”
    “Abby? You okay?” America asked.
    Abby managed a smile, looking half asleep.
    America looked at Shepley. “Just let it run through her system, she’ll sober up. It’s not her first rodeo. Calm down.”
    “Unbelievable,” Shepley said. “Travis?”
    I touched my cheek to Abby’s forehead. “Pidge? You want to play it safe and purge?”
    “No,” she said. “I wanna dance.” She wrapped her arms around me tighter.
    I looked at Shepley and shrugged. “As long as she’s up and moving . . .”
    Unhappy, Shepley barreled through the crowd on the makeshift dance floor until he was out of sight. America clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes, and then followed after him.
    Abby pressed her body against mine. Even though the song was fast, we were slow dancing in the middle of the room, surrounded by people bouncing around and waving their arms. Blue, purple, and
green lights danced with us, on the floor and along the walls. The blue lights reflected on Abby’s face, and I had to really concentrate through the liquor not to kiss her.
    When the party began to wind down a few hours later, Abby and I were still on the dance floor. She had sobered up a bit after I fed her some crackers and cheese, and tried to dance with America
to some stupid pop song, but other than that, Abby was in my arms, her wrists locked behind my neck.
    The bulk of the party had either left or passed out somewhere in the apartment, and Shepley and America’s bickering had gradually gotten worse.
    “If you’re riding with me, I’m leaving,” Shepley said, tearing toward the door.
    “I’m not ready to leave,” Abby mumbled, her eyes half closed.
    “I think this night is spent. Let’s go home.” When I took a step toward the door, Abby didn’t