Patricia
As soon as Dior has left me, I hurry after him. I have to swim through a herd of drunk teenagers. A talkative guy shoves an elbow into my shoulder, and I respond by pushing him out of the way. He mumbles a swear word, but I don't stop to hear him out.
I'm moving fast, eyeing the clock on the wall while music is blasting all around me. Dior will turn eighteen in ten minutes, and I speed up my pace, desperate to find the man himself.
It's easier said than done. My old pack members appear to have made it their sole purpose to shout out to another. They high-five and block my way, forcing me to groan inaudibly. Somehow, I slip past them while laughter bounces off the walls.