The Harvest Club had once been a warehouse but had recently been drastically renovated. The main dance floor itself was the size of a basketball court, open to the ceiling three stories above. There were three levels that encircled the dance floor, each with a bar, its own assortment of servers, and hordes of people crowded around tables, talking, dancing, or drinking. There were clusters of guys and girls in vague places and frequent pockets of couples who, perhaps under the influence of alcohol, were amorously entangled with one another.
Heather struggled with a surge of nausea, as a weight of guilt pulled at her stomach. Her various deceptions and a fear of being caught made her feel dirty and cheap. She forced from her mind the thought of how many lies she had told her parents to get here and tried to think about how much fun she was going to have. After all, what harm could it do to sneak into a dance club just this once?
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