Get You A Sprite

“Congratulations on going platinum!” The forty-something man clapped Dan on the shoulder and shoved a flute of champagne at him.

Dan stared at the bubbling golden liquid for a long time, then peered at the crowded reception room. Lily, their publicist, had separated the four of them as soon as they’d entered, and Dan couldn’t see any of his brothers or really anyone he knew. He’d have liked to have another chance to chat with the producer, but the sea of adults had swallowed everyone up.

He stared at the champagne some more. On every side, people were holding half-empty flutes of champagne, talking and laughing and obviously enjoying themselves. They didn’t seem drunk. Dan shrugged and took a sip.

And very nearly died. Carbonation shot up his nose, and fire raced down his throat. He coughed and spluttered. It tasted like Nyquil and sugar and he couldn’t speak.

Someone relieved him of the flute of champagne and patted him on the back, hard.

Dan squeaked and blinked unexpected tears away.

“You all right, kid?”

Dan opened his eyes. “Yeah. Thanks. Sir.”

“First time, huh?” The man standing over him grinned, amused.

Dan coughed and spluttered a little more. “Yes, sir.”

“No need to call me sir, kid.” The man offered a hand. “My name’s Nate Ulrich. I hear you boys play your own instruments.”

“We do.”

The man grinned. “Great. Let’s talk about your next album. I’ll get you a Sprite.”

(244 words)