She should go home.
She almost did, back in London. When Brittany had suggested following Chloe to Australia, she thought it sounded insane and stupid, and she could’ve said so. Just put an end to it all.
But she and Brittany had embarked on this thing together, and she didn’t feel right, just leaving her with Chloe.
Chloe with her bright smile and hard eyes and fast fingers.
It was almost admirable, really. How good she was at sucking people in, making people trust her. And, as Amma kept reminding herself, it wasn’t like these guys couldn’t afford the losses. She understood where Chloe was coming from.
She just didn’t want to be a part of it.
But she also couldn’t abandon Brittany. Amma owes her. More than Brittany knows.
She can still see herself, giggling, the funnel lifted high as beer slid down the tube, the Florida breeze salty and warm, blowing her hair back from her face, her skin still tingling pleasantly from all the sun that day.
So many beers, poured down so many throats, and then an empty cooler, Amma pouting, winding her arms around her boyfriend’s neck.
“Babe, you’re not gonna let a girl go beerless on spring break, are you?”
Drunk, god he was so drunk, his brown eyes struggling to focus on her face, and she knew it, she knew how wasted he was, and she still asked him to go out for more beer anyway.
And he did.
And the family of three （four, family of four, the other one sitting in her room at their beach rental, pouting, not knowing that everything was about to be taken from her in one blinding smash） never saw him coming until it was too late.
So now here she is, in this shitty bar in this boring city, flat and green and filled with government buildings, boring suburbs. This wasn’t the adventure she’d planned.
It isn’t the adventure Brittany had planned, either, but she sure seemed to be having the time of her life, her face flushed with excitement that all these guys in their nice suits thought was for them.
Brittany and Chloe are getting up now, waving to the dudes, and Brittany signals to Amma that they’re leaving.
She still hasn’t finished her beer, but she sets it on the table anyway.
There will be another bar now, another club, until Chloe decides they’re done for the night. That’s always how it works.
But just as they step outside, a hand catches Chloe’s arm, pulling her up short.
Amma freezes, the excitement in her veins dying a quick death as the guy, some law student in a nice suit and expensive glasses, glares down at Chloe.
“My watch,” he says, his voice tight, and Amma sees Brittany’s eyes go wide.
Chloe is just staring at the guy, giving a disbelieving laugh as she pulls her arm from his. “I don’t have your fucking watch, mate,” she says, but then he’s reaching into the bag at her shoulder, and even as she squawks in outrage, he pulls out a gold Rolex, his mouth pressed in a hard line.
Chloe falters only for a flash. Amma actually sees it, the moment her mask slips, and the moment that follows, where she quickly regains the armor that gets her through life.
“My bag was on the floor, dickhead. Your watch probably fell into it.”
“Sure,” he says, and Amma holds her breath, wondering what will happen next.
Her heart is pounding. She’s gotten used to them just … getting away with it. These little thefts that have felt so harmless.
They feel a lot less harmless now with people looking at them, scowling, with Steve the bartender picking up the phone behind the bar.
But then Chloe smiles at the guy, presses in closer. “Hey,” she all but purrs. “Tell you what. I’ll buy you a drink to make up for my bag being in the way of your watch, okay?”
It shouldn’t work. The guy looked pissed just a minute ago, but to Amma’s astonishment, that stern expression slowly gives way to a reluctant smile.
“Cheeky,” he mutters, and Chloe shrugs.
And then he nods. “Fine, then. Least you can do for calling me a dickhead.”
He goes back into the bar. Before following him, Chloe gives Brittany a tiny shake of her head. “I’ll catch up with you, yeah?” she says.
Chloe doesn’t return to the hostel until well after midnight.
Amma is waiting for her, sitting upright on her bed, longing for home with a kind of visceral ache she hasn’t felt in forever.
“We could’ve gotten arrested,” she hisses, keeping her voice low. “And Brittany and I could’ve gotten kicked out of the country or had our passports taken, or—”
“Okay, but none of that shit happened, did it?” Chloe says, cutting her off. She’s sullen in the dim light, already moving to open a window, a pack of cigarettes in hand.