⚠️potential trigger warning: assault, mention of spiking drinks
Cheryl POV
Despite my wish for a quiet Friday night in, I instead find myself cramped into a booth at a sports bar with all of my dorm mates. I'm in one of Veronica's dresses, not my choice. When I tried to get to my own clothing, Veronica plastered herself in front of the closet and refused to move until I put on the dress laid across her bed.
I tug at it now, desperately trying to pull the hem down to a more comfortable length. It rides up as soon as I let go of the fabric. Sighing, I cross my arms on the table, letting my forehead drop down to rest on them. A hand rubs soothingly against my unsettlingly bare back. The hand is small enough that it has to be Josie.
I can feel someone else, probably Betty, pick at the edge of the large sticker covering the back of my hand. "Hello, my name is Sober," the other girl reads aloud. And it is in fact Betty. "Was something wrong with just writing DD like you usually do?"
"I'm sick of all the breast jokes." I say into my arms. I shift to rest my cheek there instead, blinking up at Betty.
"I don't think men really have any idea what breast sizes actually mean." Betty says with a sigh.
"That doesn't stop them from making the jokes and weird comments." Veronica informs them, each word carefully and precisely formed, which is a good indication that she isn't drunk just yet.
"You promised me food." I remind her.
"We ordered food. Unless you want me to invade the kitchen of this place, i've done as much as i can."
Grumbling, I look out over the bar. There's a bachelor party clustered around some of the high tops. Holding court over the rest of the high tops are a bunch of fraternity brothers in matching shirts surrounding what looks to be their youngest member. The boys all race to chug entire pitchers of pale gold beer.
Veronica scowls at them. "How do they not get arrested for that?" she asks with disgust.
Sitting up partially, I lift one hand to indicate a circle around our own booth. "Everyone at this table. Underage."
The others hush me frantically, looking around in a definitely not suspicious way to make sure no one else heard me.
Veronica just transforms the scowl to me. "That's different. We're not making anyone drink. That could make them really sick."
"You have clearly never met hungover you," I answer, "or you would not be discussing anyone else getting sick from drinking."
The other girls laugh as Veronica jokingly rolls her eyes. Before she can comment back, a server comes to hover at the end of the table, carefully unloading a tray of appetiser baskets. Betty whoops and drags one of the baskets in front of her. "Mozzarella!" she cheers. She's had just enough to drink that it's hard to tell if she's joking or not.
After the waiter dashes off, I take a square of quesadilla, chewing it as I load a small plate with selections from the baskets Betty hasn't claimed.
We don't stay at the sports bar much longer than it takes to demolish the appetisers. Now that I have some food in me, I'm not as grumpy at the change in location as I thought i'd be. I'd still rather go home and watch Netflix, but at least the outlook is a little brighter now that I'm not hangry anymore.
At least until we arrive at Veronica's chosen destination.
"No." I say, leaning back on my heels to keep Betty and Josie from dragging me forward to follow the others into the venue.
