LA to The Bay

Chapter 13: Tijuana (2)

'Is it really that funny?' I glare at Harry as he sniggers at me, clearly enjoying seeing me squirm, 'that I don't fancy eating some disgusting mush?'

'It's just the way you're making a big deal about it that's funny.' He actually thinks that I deserve his torment?

'I am not making a big deal. It's you who's creating a scene.' My jaw is clenching. Clenching because he makes me so angry, and some more because Louis is just sitting there, staring off in to who knows where, it obviously not crossing his mind to defend me.

'Arriba, arriba, arriba!' The waiters are back, suddenly zooming around the tables like a swarm of bees, doing their best to re-enforce the Mexican cultural stereotype of a bunch cracked out Speedy Gonzales's.

My anger towards Harry dissipates and instead fear strikes me. They really are swarming, and eyeing us all, grinning, like they're going to select one of us as the honeypot for their gauntlet.

I'm worried about what the hell is going to happen, my pulse is accelerating, and I can feel my cough creeping up, once again eager to announce my presence to everyone.

"Don't do it." I gulp down, willing myself to hold on and not give in to the tickle.

'You!' The head waiter suddenly pounces at one of the sweaty spotty guys from the back of the bus. He's looking nervous too, just like the rest of us, unsure of just what he has been selected for.

'Arriba, arriba, arriba!' They start chanting again, and now clapping too, as the head waiter pulls out a bottle of clear liquid and lifts it, up, up, up.

'It's Tequila time.' And everyone goes wilds, like they just announced that we were about to drench ourselves in a fountain of liquid gold with a big old fat diamond to be crowned on to the head of the winner.

'Open your mouth sir.' The waiter is grinning at sweaty boy who willingly obliges, allowing the waiter to pour the liquid in to his mouth, as easy as running water from a tap.

'More, more, more.' The group chants and sweaty boy and the waiter keeping going, gulp, gulp, gulp. How is he not dead already? Starting to turn red and look like he is about to pass out sweaty boy suddenly jerks his head forward banging his head on the table. Is he actually dead? If he is then nobody looks too concerned. Wait, no, sweaty boy is back and he's up on his feet, jumping up and down, flexing his biceps like he just won the damn Superbowl.

'Next!' The waiter shouts and the ceremony recommences. This time an athletic blonde girl who is sitting at Leah's table is chosen.

'Bring it on!' The girl punches her fists in the air and also flexes her muscles. What is so wrong with these people, to find this whole barbaric act endearing and a form of entertainment?

'Third time lucky!' The waiter is circling the balcony, looking at all of us expectantly with giant bug eyes and a fanged grin.

I can feel it coming, it's doing this deliberately, like my subconscious is willing me to be chosen, it's determined for humiliation to be inflicted upon me, because a quiet life would just be too easy.

"Cough." I immediately raise my hand to my mouth and put my head down. Maybe he didn't hear me?

'Lucky, lucky, lucky; the beautiful lady is our third time lucky guest today. Stand up Miss.'

Of course I have been chosen. It's probably all pre-planned; a devious idea of Lottie and Harry and Leah designed to help "loosen me up".

'I don't drink spirits.' I murmur. And I really don't; a Bicardi Breezer is bad enough, but after I nearly had to have my stomach pumped after raiding my Daddy's brandy supply when I was sixteen, I have more than learned my lesson to just stick to a few glasses of red wine. Plus even if I was to drink hard liquor again it would be through my own free choice and definitely not on show and at the demand of peer group pressure.

'You can't say no. So open wide.' He has stopped laughing and is looking angry like I've just spoken ill of his mother.

'Do it, do it, do it.' The crowd is chanting. I can feel the room spinning and the walls close in as the pressure of the inevitable humiliation is mounting. Tears are brimming in my eyes once more. So much for a fun and relaxing holiday. I've cried more in the past three days than I have in nearly a year.

'Just get on with it you prissy Princess. You think you're too good for a laugh, eh?' The blonde athlete of the previous round fires at me.

The spinning stops and all eyes focus on me, the room now silent.

'You can't force me.' I get up from the table and run, not sure where I am going so long as it is out of the restaurant and away from these barbarians.

Once on the street I slump down on to the pavement sobbing. How can they do this to me, how can they be so mean? Not one of them protected me and now I am here, weeping alone on a sidewalk in Mexico. This might actually be worse than a Californian jail.

'Niamh, wait.' A voice is calling after me. Louis?

'What do you want? To laugh at me some more? Go right ahead.'

Harry is towering over me, at least I think it's him, for the brightness of the sun and the blurring of my tears mean that all I can make out is his tall silhouette and the rasping of his voice, suddenly serious.

'I came to see if you are okay?'

Now I start laughing. Laughing and coughing.

'Do you need my inhaler?' He offers out a plastic tube to me as I gasp for air.

'You have an inhaler?' The idea of Harry and all his worldly cockiness needing to depend on an inhaler, to actually have a vulnerability, it seems such a surreal contrast to the rest of his persona.

'So I've got asthma, okay. Do you want it or not?'

I shake my head, 'I don't have asthma. I'm just nervous.'

'Nervous and weird.' He says, still sombre.

Authors note: I hope you are enjoying LA to The Bay so far? I'm really enjoying writing it, I can feel the story is just getting going and we still have 3 weeks of the trip to go! If you are enjoying reading then it would mean so much to me if you could vote and comment. Love Ally xx

This chapter is dedicated to biscuit_dunker in the hope that it might help bring her back to Wattpad!