The noise from the club is enough to have Jamie wishing she had earplugs before she's even in the door. She doesn't even know why she's let her friends talk her into this, save that they're adamant that she needs to have social interactions beyond talking daily with the people she shares classes with. She'll be able to prove that no, this isn't what she calls fun, once she's experienced it once.
"See any cute guys?" Sandra's makeup looks ridiculous in the sunlight, though Sandra had assured Jamie that it would look perfect in the club lighting at the same time she'd been trying to convince Jamie to put it on.
Jamie runs a hand through her bangs to push them away from her eyes and longs for the book she's in the middle of. "None of the guys in line are my type," she tells Sandra, because it's the truth, none of the guys she's ever met have been her type, except Max freshman year of high school, and that was only because he'd read Asimov and Heinlein and was actually willing to discuss their works with her. The Homecoming dance they'd gone to together had been pretty much a complete disaster.
Instead of challenging Jamie on her statement and giving her an opening to at least say something -- maybe even something that would help her ease the knot in her chest, the one that makes it feel like she's lying even when she's not, not directly -- Sandra just rolls her eyes. "Chill a little, girl."
Jamie bites her tongue on the remark that even without personal experience she knows that crowded dance floors have poor air circulation and that while alcohol might decrease her core temperature, it does so by making her feel warmer. Instead she smiles at the bouncer, which apparently makes him decide she's trying to slip by him with a fake ID.
Once she's in the club Jamie looks for Sandra. They might not have similar approaches to social situations, but Sandra's the only person here Jamie knows. They've been friends since they roomed together freshman year. Sandra's at the bar, so Jamie waves to her before heading out onto the dance floor. She's not ready to let expensive alcohol soften the edges of the club yet.
The plus side of the fact that she's only here to prove to Sandra that it's awkward and not her thing is that at least Jamie gets to feel vindicated by her self-consciousness, rather than made guilty by it.
The dance floor is crowded and Jamie feels overheated before she even starts to move. Still, by the time she's absorbed enough in the music that her arms are moving naturally instead of being used to defend her personal space, she's comfortable enough to actually look around the club. She sees Sandra dancing off with a guy in a pale blue shirt, and then her attention is drawn to a girl dancing in the center of a crowd. Jamie feels her breath catch.
The girl's wearing a black-and-white vertically striped dress with a row of black buttons down the center. Her hair's in a casual ponytail, like she'd fully intended to spend the night with it all the way down, but it wound up getting in her way. It works really well for her, though, particular when combined with the large, gold hoop earrings Jamie can see from where she's standing.
She's not sure whether she wants to be the other girl, or to meet her.
Before she even realizes she's made a decision, Jamie's standing in front of the girl, who's in the process of grinding against a boy behind her.
The girl's eyes flick over Jamie once, dismissively. Jamie has to strain to catch the words over the pounding beat of the music. "Come to tell me about what a whore I am?" she asks, her head tilted, aggressive.
Jamie shakes her head, rapidly. She's not entirely sure why she's here, she's never approached a girl before, not in this way, but she doesn't want to be giving the wrong impression. "Let me buy you a drink?" She's pretty sure her voice isn't loud enough, but the way her head tilts towards the bar should be enough to make up any parts that get lost.
It's quieter there, at least enough that they can have a conversation if they're willing to sit uncomfortably close, something the bar seems to have been designed for and that Jamie doesn't object to at all when she finds it happening.
The girl introduces herself as Isabella and she has a delightful laugh she lets out as Jamie apologizes.
"I'm Jamie. And I'm just sorry that you think that's what I would say."
Isabella shrugs. "It was a pleasant surprise this way. So, do you usually hit on girls with poor reputations in straight clubs?"
Jamie feels her cheeks pinken. "Not a habit of mine, no. I didn't know about and don't care about the reputation, but I shouldn't have presumed..."
Isabella laughs again. "You're really bad at this whole 'hitting on me' deal. You bought the drink. That means you have to do the work."
Jamie chews on her lip for a moment. "I'd say it's a waste of my time to be hitting on a straight girl-"
"But you don't have anything better to do, and I'm not straight."
Jamie props her elbows up on the bar and buries her face in them. "I don't know what I'm doing," she admits, not that that needed admitting, it has to be painfully obvious to Isabella.
Jamie can see Isabella nod from between her fingers, but Isabella's voice isn't anything but friendly. "I'd gathered that, yeah."
Jamie is finding talking much easier now that she's not making eye contact. "You're just...really sexy." She winces. That sounded even crasser out loud than it had sounded in her head.
There's a long moment of silence, and Jamie is afraid to look at Isabella until it occurs to her that Isabella could have walked off in disgust and Jamie could be doing the whole burying her head in shame for nothing.
When she lowers her hands and lifts her gaze she's looking directly into Isabella's (smooth, deep, sparkling) brown eyes. And before she quite knows what's happening, she's pressing her lips against Isabella's, ignoring the fact that Isabella is miles out of her league and so clearly not interested in someone who's so completely lacking in social skills as Jamie is.
She's so caught up in her own insecurities that she almost misses the moment that Isabella starts to return the kiss.