Page 64 of The Fast Track

He shakes his head.

“Dietrich, listen to me.” I reach out and clamp my hands around either side of his face, forcing his eyes to mine. “You need to suck it up. You’ll regret it if you let this go by and she goes back home.”

He closes his eyes for a brief moment. “Are you sure? We could be great together. Everyone seems to want this.”

“Just because your dad and Lou and whoever else think so, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to figure out things for yourself first.” As I say these words, I realize I need them just as much as Dietrich does, if the way I’ve been scanning the tables for Cameron is any indication.

I can practically hear the disappointed laments of Mom, Roz, Britt, Lou Wilson, Niels Lange, and everyone cheering for me online. But this road isn’t what I want to walk down, even if everyone thinks it’s the smarter path.

Dietrich looks relieved. “Danke. You are an incredible girl.” He leans in and drops an affectionate peck on my cheek. “Thank you for being my friend.”

Behind him, Roz and some of the others are coming back to the Orbital area. When she sees me and Dietrich, she gives me a big drunk double thumbs-up. Even Savannah flashes an impressed nod. Cameron—my chest constricts—is with them too. I smile and wave, but he looks away and bends down to say something in Chloe’s ear.

She dissolves into peals of giggles. He dimples, his gaze locked on her as if there’s no one else in the room.

I force my eyes away, feeling as winded as if I just drove into a tire barrier.

“Wish me good luck.” Dietrich nods at me.

I nod back and do my best to smile. He gets up, giving me a full, unobstructed view. Chloe’s still giggling, one handdaintily covering her mouth, the other draped gracefully over Cameron’s arm.

My stomach feels like it’s folding in on itself. How did I manage to fall for Cameron Evans, of all people, when I had Niels Lange serving up Dietrich on a silver platter? If Mom were here, she’d whack me over the head with my own stupidity, right after murdering me for the tequila shots.

“Hey.” Roz scurries over, taking the vacant seat. “Are you all right? Where’d he go?”

“I’m totally cool,” I lie, doing my best to pretend I can’t see Cameron offering Chloe a sip of beer. Is that his move? Does he offer every girl a sip of his drink?

I take a breath and remind myself that, Cameron aside, it’s still been a remarkably good night: I sat next to Lou Wilson and more or less got inducted into the Orbital family; I found out I’m the front-runner for the F2 seat; and even if Dietrich didn’t turn out to be the love of my life, at least we’re friends, real friends. I refuse to let my own messy feelings about Cameron prevent me from enjoying the rest of the after-party.

“Who’s that girl?” Roz asks, squinting at the corner where Dietrich and Hannie are now deep in conversation.

“His ex. Long story.” I put up a hand at the disappointed look on Roz’s face. “It’s all good, I promise. I’ll give you the tea when we don’t have to scream over music.”

“You sure?” Roz asks skeptically.

I’m luckily saved from further interrogation by a long line of waitresses filing into the VIP area, each carrying abottle with a giant sparkler on top. Golden light fizzes and floods the area immediately surrounding us. Cameron and Chloe are laughing, so engrossed in each other that they’re completely oblivious to the thirty-thousand-dollar-champagne train marching right in front of them.

“Hello, lovelies.” Savannah waltzes over, a shot in each hand and sympathy in her eyes. “You look like you could use this.”

With some difficulty, I force myself to look away.

“You’re right.” I grab a glass from Savannah. “I definitely could.” Then I drain it in one go, letting the contents burn their way down my throat.

19.

I’ve gotten into a caraccident and I’m lying on an examination table. That’s the only explanation for the bright light cutting through my eyelids all the way down to my retinas, the pounding that feels like someone taking a sledgehammer to my skull. My throat aches with thirst, like I’ve been sitting in the sauna for too long.

Thebeep-beep-beepof my alarm brings me back to earth.

I open my eyes—more difficult than it should be, because they’ve been glued together by the copious amounts of gala makeup I apparently failed to take off—and find myself lying face down on top of my pink duvet, an empty canister of Salt & Vinegar Pringles I have no recollection of devouring next to me. When I touch my tongue to the roof of my mouth, it’s starchy and dry with stale potato chip powder.

Nice one, Justine.

I push myself off my bed, the room spinning in a dizzy arc. Last night was not the first time I’ve gotten drunk, but it is the only time I’ve imbibed enough to have only a fleeting memoryof the final portion of the night. Whispers of thumping music, dancing with Roz, giggling with Savannah, and shots with Pat and Sasha all whirl through my mind, but my brain can’t seem to piece anything together. I reach for my phone to see if anything on it will give me a hint, but it’s completely dead. I plug it in, but before it can load, there’s aclickand muffledwhooshfrom outside my bedroom.

Someone entering the apartment.

Crap. Mom was due back from London this morning. While she’s never had an issue with me having a drink here and there at work-sanctioned events, she won’t look kindly on getting blackout drunk.