Free Livvy by Lori L. Otto

weekend.”
    “Nice,” I remark on her dated slang, turning away as she picks up her things. “Thank you.” As soon as I exit the building, I check my messages to see who called. I hold my breath, waiting for Jon’s voice.
    It’s Emmanuel, and even though it’s not the call I’d wanted, it’s not a bad message to get. I listen to it twice before heading back to my dorm to grab my bags for my trip back to the city.
    My hall seems livelier than usual, even for the start of a weekend. My friends swarm me when I get inside the room. “Livvy, we have some horrible news,” Rachelle says. Their faux sympathy is obvious because neither can maintain a straight face.
    “What?” I ask.
    “They’ve closed Manhattan. The strangest thing,” Katrina continues the lie. “Apparently it’s over capacity this weekend, and they just can’t handle one more person on the island.”
    “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here,” Rachelle says, sticking her bottom lip out in a ridiculous frown.
    “I don’t think so,” I tell them, trying to break free.
    “Oh, we know so,” Katrina counters. “A bunch of the a cappella groups are singing at a house party, and we are so there.”
    “It sounds lame, I know,” Rachelle says, “but the singers are incredible... and they sing, like, stuff we listen to now.”
    “Stuff you listen to,” I murmur, making fun of her pop obsession like I have since our first day here.
    “Yeah, not your industrial crap–”
    “It’s not industrial,” I giggle. “It’s Indie rock... as in independent.”
    “Maybe you can request a song. Surely you’re not the only Indie freak at Yale.”
    “Guys, I have to go home.”
    “No,” Katrina says, “you don’t. We’re going to keep you here this weekend, but we’ll let you go home next–”
    “Good, because it’s my birthday!” I remind them.
    “Yes, and of course we’ll let you go because you invited us to your loft for a party, remember?”
    “I remember,” I tell them. “But come on, guys. It’s such short notice. My parents are expecting me tonight.”
    “The hell they are!” Katrina says, throwing her arms in the air. “They evicted you last week!”
    I start laughing. “They didn’t evict me.”
    “No, they built you a haven that should keep you from ever wanting to step foot in their house again.”
    “And the pictures don’t even do it justice,” I tell them, bragging a little.
    “Stay this weekend, Liv, okay?”
    “Will one of you go to the studio with me for awhile?”
    “I’ll go,” Rachelle says. “I’ve got some sketching to do.”
    “Okay,” I finally agree. “This better be an amazing weekend.”
    “You’ll never want to go back to Manhattan again,” Katrina says.
    “Well, except for the kick-ass loft,” I remind her.
    “Shut up,” she says.
     
    An hour into the performance, I’m wishing I hadn’t volunteered to be the designated driver. I didn’t think anything of it when Rachelle, Katrina and I had discussed it earlier, because I didn’t think any of us would be allowed to drink since we aren’t twenty-one yet, but I was very wrong. No one cares, and even though the concert is fun, it’s obvious everyone else who’s drinking is enjoying it much more than I am. I don’t know these people well enough to start jumping around to the music and singing along at the top of my lungs.
    Jon was the only person outside of my family that I’d ever felt that comfortable around. I check my phone for the twentieth time, wondering why I haven’t heard from him yet. I thought it was such a good reason to call him. I thought for sure it was neutral enough that he’d contact me. I thought for sure he would have softened a bit, but maybe I’ve pissed him off more. Maybe he expected an apology. If he hasn’t read my letters, he doesn’t know that I’ve already begged for his forgiveness–nor does he know that I don’t intend to do that anymore.
    “Did you get my message?” I turn around