“I guess he’s not here?” I asked.“H

“I guess he’s not here?” I asked.
“He’s here,” she said, irritated. She banged on the
wood with the side of her fist and then the door swung
open.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” the crowd inside yelled.
The ceiling was pink and black bubbles, every inch
covered by helium balloons, with long, silver strings hanging
down in the faces of the guests. The crowd separated, and
Travis walked approached me with a broad smile, touching
each side of my face and kissing my forehead.
“Happy birthday, Pigeon.”
“It’s not ‘til tomorrow,” I said. Still in shock, I tried
smiling at everyone around us.
Travis shrugged. “Well, since you were tipped off, we
had to make some last minute changes to surprise
you. Surprised?”
“Very!” I said as Finch hugged me.
“Happy birthday, Baby!” Finch said, kissing my lips.
America nudged me with her elbow. “Good thing I got
you to go run errands with me today or you would have
shown up looking like ass!”
“You look great,” Travis said, scanning my dress.
Brazil hugged me, pressing his cheek to mine. “And I
hope you know America’s Brazil is Creepy story was just a
line to get you in here.”
I looked at America and she laughed. “It worked, didn’t
it?”
Once everyone took turns hugging me and wishing me
a happy birthday, I leaned into America’s ear.
“Where’s Parker?”
“He’ll be here later,” she whispered. “Shepley couldn’t
get him on the phone to let him know until this
afternoon.”
Brazil cranked up the volume on the stereo, and
everyone screamed. “Come here, Abby!” he said, walking
to the kitchen. He lined up shot glasses along the counter
and pulled a bottle of tequila from the bar. “Happy birthday
from the football team, baby girl,” he smiled, pouring each
shot glass full of Petron. “This is the way we do birthdays:
You turn nineteen, you have nineteen shots. You can drink
‘em or give ‘em away, but the more you drink, the more of
these you get,” he said, fanning out a handful of twenties.
“Oh my God!” I squealed.
“Drink ‘em up, Pidge!” Travis said.
I looked to Brazil, suspicious. “I get a twenty for every
shot I drink?”
“That’s right, lightweight. Gauging by the size of you, I’m
going to say we’ll get away with losing sixty bucks by the
end of the night.”
“Think again, Brazil,” I said, grabbing the first shot glass,
rolling it across my lip, tipping my head back to empty the
glass and then rolling it the rest of the way, dropping it into
my other hand.
“Holy shit!” Travis exclaimed.
“This is really a waste, Brazil.” I said, wiping the corners
of my mouth. “You shoot Cuervo, not Petron.”
The smug smile on Brazil’s face faded, and he shook
his head and shrugged. “Get after it, then. I’ve got the
wallets of twelve football players that say you can’t finish
ten.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Double or nothing says I can
drink fifteen.”
“Whoa!” Shepley cried. “You’re not allowed to
hospitalize yourself on your birthday, Abby!”
“She can do it,” America said, staring at Brazil.
“Forty bucks a shot?” Brazil said, looking unsure.
“Are you scared?” I asked.
“Hell no! I’ll give you twenty a shot, and when you make
it to fifteen, I’ll double your total.”
“That’s how Kansans do birthdays,” I said, popping
back another shot.
An hour and three shots later, I was in the living room
dancing with Travis. The song was a rock ballad, and
Travis mouthed the words to me as we danced. He dipped
me at the end of the first chorus, and I let my arms fall
behind me. He popped me back up, and I sighed.
“You can’t do that when I start getting into the double
digit shots,” I giggled.
“Did I tell you how incredible you look tonight?”
I shook my head and hugged him, laying my head on his
shoulder. He tightened his grip, and buried his face in my
neck, making me forget about decisions or bracelets or my
separate personalities; I was exactly where I wanted to be.
When the music changed to a faster beat, the door
opened.
“Parker!” I said, running over to hug him. “You made it!”
“Sorry I’m late, Abs,” he said, pressing his lips against
mine. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks,” I said, seeing Travis stare at us from the
corner of my eye.
Parker lifted my wrist. “You wore it.”
“I said I would. Wanna dance?”
He shook his head. “Uh…I don’t dance.”
“Oh. Well, you wanna witness my sixth shot of Petron?” I
smiled, holding up my five twenties. “I make double if I get
to fifteen.”