Halos of smoke rise from my lips as I flick ashes onto the floor. The cigarette is crushed beneath my feet as I lean forward and ask for another shot. "You always were the biggest dreamer," I tell her, her eyes focused on the way the fluorescent lights bounce off the glass. "You're the last dreamer in this town."

"It's not just a dream anymore," she says, twisting her hands together. She crosses her legs, a nervous habit she's always had — she can't pretend she's any different from the rest of us, like some angel risen above us. She's just the same as she used to be. "It's real."

I don't want to tell her I don't want her to leave, but who am I to deny her what she wants? Everyone thought she'd be another naive little girl who would be pregnant before she hit seventeen, someone who'd eventually grind herself into the dirt trying to feed her kids. This is her chance to be someone different.

But she's not different. She's not God's gift to humankind. She's one of us.

The newly-bought clothes and the look in her eyes say something else.

"Want one?" I ask, swallowing. Fire burns through my veins as I slam the glass down onto the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, tiny sparks flicker hopefully in the ashes on the floor.

She refuses. Isn't she so wonderful, so different from the screwed up kids here who smoke and drink and barely ever sleep in their own bed? "Please, you have to understand."

I blink, pretending I'm sleepy. Of course she has to leave for the airport — an actual airport, first class — at three in the morning. Like the alcohol that swallows me as much as I swallow it would let me sleep anytime soon; I don't want to face a hangover yet. "Of course I understand," I reply, my words slurred. "You're going to be a big-shot Hollywood actress, which is basically this town only richer, which is so much better. Like you are."

I see tears sparkling on her palms as she draws her hands away from her face. I don't think I've seen someone cry in years. She'll be perfect as an actress, drama queen and all.

God. I don't really mean that.

"Can't you be happy for me?" she asks, pinching her nose to prevent snot from dripping out. The bartender is tapping his foot, waiting for me to ask for another one, and I do. When I peer into the glass, I can see my distorted reflection. I remember days kissing by the radio that plays bad oldies music, trying to squeeze together onto the couch to sleep, the empty seats at the cinema because she picked the mushy movies no one cared about except maybe little girls who aren't jaded enough. I remember how she mailed me — mailed me, of all things, because she couldn't tell me in person — a three-page essay explaining how she doesn't want to be with anymore and added a love song lyric at the bottom instead of a Sincerely.

"Nah, not really." It doesn't come out casually enough. She's not mailing me anything now. "Actually, I want you to stay. We all do."

It's as much of a lie as it can get. No one sane in this town would lift a hand for another, and we both know it. She's never been one to fall for a guilt trip.

She doesn't believe I want her to stay, though, which is a lie. I guess even the biggest dreamers have a bit of cynicism in them.

"Yeah, well," she says, watching me tip my head back ? one two three ? as she fidgets some more. "I can't turn down this offer. I have to go, okay?"

"Not okay." I pull a wrinkled bill out of my wallet and slap it into the bartender's impatient hand before sliding off the stool. It feels like the whole room is staring at me as I stomp outside, trying not to seem petulant, but God, I want her to stay —

"Hey!" She catches up to me, grabbing at my arm. "I. . .I'll miss you."

"Yeah, whatever," I reply, swallowing as I hurry down the block. The bus arrives in two minutes, and if the bartender didn't try to cheat me and I gave him too much by accident, I can catch it to get back home. "Was nice knowing you. See you."

She almost stumbles onto the curb. "I'll write."

Finally, finally, I exhale, and all is silent. The bus arrives slightly earlier than I expect, and I force a smile as I turn to her. "Okay." She's beautiful; I want to kiss her, take her to my house to listen and talk and just be, and she is perfect. I hate you; I love you.

She hugs me and then lets go all too quickly, letting me climb up the steps. I wave out the window and mouth good-bye.