7. Chapter 7
Chapter seven
A fter eating a quick dinner at a taco truck, Brooks and I pay our admission fees to the silent disco. We secure the LED bracelets and loop the headphones around our necks, then scout out the area.
The Power and Light District has a variety of local shops, restaurants, bars, and clubs. But the disco is being held in the KC Live! space, which hosts sports watch parties and other large events. The high-energy DJ is set up on stage, and black lights illuminate the dancing crowd. The “silent” part of the silent disco makes the scene somewhat comical to observe without the headphones on. But it only takes a few seconds before our headphones are in place and we weave our way to the middle of the dancing crowd.
Song after song plays, and my body absorbs the energy of the upbeat music. All the tension from the past couple of months fades away as I throw myself into dancing and reveling in the fun. Brooks and I stay within eyesight of each other but also join in with strangers dancing around us.
I’m going to send Amaya a giant thank you card for suggesting this , I think as I scream sing along to the EDM remix of “Love Story.”
I laugh at Brooks passionately mouthing every word. He grins at the sight of my laughter, and my heart skips a beat. The edges of his smile soften to a more contemplative expression, and my heart skips several beats.
We both turn away from each other, dancing and singing, when the lyrics reach the crescendo of kneeling to the ground to pull out a ring. I get extra into the song with the circle of girls I’ve joined, ineffectively distracting my thoughts away from Brooks behind me .
Two songs later, Brooks yells something at me, but I can’t hear him. We both take off our headphones as he yells again, “I need some—”
He breaks off as our ears adjust to the quieter noise level without music pumping through the headphones. We laugh. “Forgot I wouldn’t need to yell,” he says. “I need water. Do you want some?”
“Yes! I could use a hydration break,” I reply, and Brooks gestures for me to follow him. We weave our way through the crowd to the handful of standing tables set up around the perimeter. I snag a table right as a group is leaving, and Brooks heads off to buy some water bottles.
I’m catching my breath and watching the DJ when I sense someone looming over me. I turn to see a tall, broad-shouldered man standing far too close for comfort. I might think he was good-looking if he wasn’t invading my personal space and reeking of alcohol.
“Sorry. I couldn’t help but come say hellooo. I was watching you out on the dance floor, and your boyfriend issa lucky man,” he says, slurring some of his words.
I take a step away from him before answering. “He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.” Shoot! Teegan, why did you say that?! Just because you’re reminding yourself that you and Brooks are just friends doesn’t mean you need to confess it to creepy men!
At my clarification, Drunk Guy leans impossibly closer and places a hand on my waist. “Well, that’s good news for me, then. Care to head back out to the dance floor and show me more of those moves?” His eyes unabashedly rake over me, making my stomach lurch.
“No, thanks. I’m going to wait for my friend,” I say firmly, trying to back away from his touch. His hand only moves further around my back, tightening his grip as he steps forward to close the space I’ve put between us. Up close, his sweat-mixed-with-alcohol scent makes me nauseous, and his hand traveling south of my waistline makes me sick.
“Leave me alone,” I say, voice wobbling with panic. I place a hand on his chest to push him away when there’s suddenly another body between me and Creepy Man.
“You need to step away. She did not give you permission to touch her, and she asked you to leave her alone.” Brooks’ voice is firm, authoritative .
This guy apparently doesn’t know when to stop, though, because he tries to take another step forward.
Despite the fact that he has a good four inches on Brooks’ 5’10” stature, Brooks grabs a fistful of the guy’s shirt and bumps him back.
“Let go of me,” he says to Brooks, eyes narrowed. “She already told me that you’re not her boyfriend.”
There’s ice in Brooks’ voice as he replies, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I won’t yeet your gyatt right outta here if you don’t leave her alone.” He punctuates his statement with a hard shove, sending Drunk Creep stumbling backward. He glares once more at Brooks but, thankfully, turns and stalks away.
Brooks immediately swivels to me, gently clasping a hand around each of my elbows. There are shots of fear, panic, and concern mixed in with the residual anger filling his eyes. “Teegan, are you okay? I’m sorry for leaving you alone. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Painful emotions start snapping into place like cage bars around me. Panic at feeling trapped by the unwanted advances. Disgust at the guy’s hands on me. Fear of not being able to escape. Longing to bury myself in Brooks’ arms. Frustration with myself that I’m longing for Brooks.
I’m suffocating.
“Brooks . . . did you just say ‘yeet your gyatt?’” I enunciate slowly, trying to magic away the cage bars by ignoring them.
Brooks gives me an incredulous look, then groans and throws up his hands. “I’m around middle schoolers all day, every day, Teegan. Their ridiculous vocabulary seeps into my brain against my will, okay?”
“Bet,” I deadpan.
We both laugh before Brooks’ face reverts back to concern. Concern and . . . maybe something else? He asks quietly, “Do you want to get out of here? I can take you to your mom’s.”
I don’t even pause before answering. “No. I refuse to let the last memory of this fun night be some gross drunk guy. Let’s get back out there and dance some more.”
I lead the way back to the middle of the dance floor, radiating confidence with every step. But I don’t miss that Brooks stays extra close to me. I’m determined to wipe away every trace of ickiness left behind by that encounter, so I dance with even more abandon than before.
I start pulling out every viral social media dance I’ve ever learned, and Brooks matches me move for move, beat for beat. We egg one another on, building off of each other’s energy as the music pulses. Laughing, lip-syncing, and dancing take up every ounce of my brain space. I need it to consume every ounce, leaving no room to dwell on the growing melancholy of wishing Brooks was still mine.