"Hello?" Marty said, waving a hand in front of my face. "Anybody home, Cloud?"

  I sat up straighter and put my phone away. "Huh? Oh yeah, sorry." I'd spent the st thirty minutes uselessly checking my messages off and on, thinking Talon might change his mind.

  Kat sat curled up in Marty's p, a simir position to our car ride. She seemed annoyed, as usual. Kat was very striking—long, dark hair, expertly-applied makeup, lean and fit—and definitely out of Marty's league. She was aloof and vaguely rude to most people around her, but most people at school accepted her behavior.

  "I said you're good with chipping in for booze?" Marty said.

  "Yeah, of course."

  Casey was sprawled in Rob's comfiest chair, texting. He gnced at Kat. "Hey, is Ana coming, too?"

  Kat took a bobby pin from one spot in her hair and pushed it into another. "She'll be here." She frowned and looked around. "I told her the address but everything's so… squished together here, so I hope their GPS figures it out."

  Lately, Rob's mobile home was our go-to for drinking. Casey's parents forbid Casey from drinking. Marty's parents would likely be unbothered by us furtively drinking, as long as we weren't too rowdy, but he had his reasons for avoiding his house. Over the years, we sometimes went to Talon's, but Stephen tended to be home in the evenings, so Talon didn't have the privacy we craved nor the test consoles like Casey and Marty. For studying, my pce was excellent, but the guys knew my parents well and no one dared even sneak in alcohol. Because Rob's mom worked the night shift at Six Mile River Hospital, we were usually safe here until dawn. His house was cozy and tidy, but the fug of cigarettes perpetually lingered and I usually left with a mild headache. ("Mom's a nurse," Rob would say, sliding open windows and running the air filter near his computer, "you'd think seeing all those lung cancer patients would convince her to quit.")

  Rob's cheeks turned red at Kat's comment, and he turned back to his enormous computer screen. Every now and then, he clicked a button to activate some type of spaceship-building mechanism for an online game. I had to give it to him: Rob was excellent at multi-tasking. Above his desk was a picture of Rob around age six, his mother Mónica, and his father at a Toronto Blue Jays game in Seattle. Rob's father left the following year; he called Mónica from Alberta, said he wanted a divorce, and Rob hadn't seen him since. In grade ten, Rob broke his promise to himself and found his father's new life, posted online on various social media ptforms. He was remarried to a much younger white woman and had two light-haired daughters. Talon sat with Rob that night and they talked quietly while Casey, Marty, and I hung out in Rob's kitchen, joking around loudly to give them space. None of us three had lost a parent, but Talon knew something of what Rob might be feeling.

  "I'm gd we don't have to whip out the fake moustache again," Casey said. "I'll pay extra to avoid that."

  Casey had a rash for two weeks st time we tried—and failed—to secure alcohol by way of disguise. We all tried it out, despite the glossy brown costume moustache matching exactly none of our hair colors.

  "Allergic contact dermatitis," Rob said absently. "I'm surprised only you got it."

  "Plus, that thing stinks," Marty said.

  "Where is it now?" I said.

  Rob waved his hand. "Somewhere in my room."

  "That's why it reeks," Marty mumbled. He kissed Kat's shoulder. "But you smell great, babe."

  We used to ask Casey's older sister to boot for us. She obliged twice before she came home to Rob puking up rum and Coke in her bathroom. After that, we received lectures on three separate occasions about underaged and excessive drinking. Now we bolted when we saw her.

  I pulled my backpack forward. "What do you want to start with?" I said. I nodded at Marty. "Chemistry?"

  He grimaced. "Let's skip studying altogether tonight."

  "You sure?" I said.

  Rob swivelled around in his desk chair. Behind him, the computer screen lit up momentarily with a bolt of green. "I actually calcuted it," he said, "and we could all literally not even take our chem final and still get Bs."

  "See?" Marty said.

  "I'm over it, too," Casey said. "I'm thinking about grad, summer, and September."

  Marty jostled Kat's legs in his p. "Babe, Casey and I accepted our offers at UBC."

  "Wow, Martin, congratutions," she said. Her tone was impossible to decipher.

  Casey looked at me. "Why don't we call him Martin?"

  "Martholomew?" I offered.

  "Nice ring to it," Casey said.

  "Martimus?" Rob said over his shoulder.

  "Very Roman," I said.

  Marty rolled his eyes. "My point is we don't need to study every moment of our waking lives."

  In the whirlwind of the st two days, I hadn't told them about UC Berkeley. Now I wasn't sure how to organically bring up the news without sounding like I was bragging, so I tried for a joke: "Well, since I'll be majoring in biochem, Berkeley might not be thrilled if I get anything less than ninety-eight."

  There was a beat in the room. Rob swung around, eyes wide. Realization crossed Casey's face.

  "Shut up, man," Casey said. "You got into UC fucking Berkeley?"

  "Partial schorship," I said.

  Marty leaned over so fast that Kat leaped up from his p and settled into the other cushion. He shook my shoulder with both hands. "Fucking awesome!"

  Rob beamed. "That's unreal, Ryan."

  "You've wanted this forever," Marty said. "Hell yes."

  Kat smiled at me. "I don't want to know what biochemistry is—and no one expin it to me, please, I'm good, I promise you—but that's great news. That campus is near San Francisco, right?"

  "That's right."

  "We need to do a shot," Marty said. "What do you have Rob?"

  "Okay," I said, grinning and happily kicking back my bag, "no studying, then."

  The guys and I were certified Good Kids. Over the years, we accrued good will amongst our respective families, and our senior year shenanigans had, so far, gone undetected. Our parents knew us and trusted us. With straight faces, we were able to cim te nights studying or spent at the public library or holed up at the school until the custodian, Ms. Scott, kicked us out so she could lock the doors. The other factor in our success was this: our five differing afterschool curricurs were a jumble of schedules and activities, confusing even between ourselves, let alone our parents. Talon pyed keyboard in school band (or used to, I wasn't sure), which meant getting to school early or te, depending on that month's demands. Casey and I were involved with Model UN. Marty and I dipped in and out of chess club, and he also had volleyball each autumn. Rob moderated multiple online forums dedicated to certain popur games. He tried to get an after-school robotics club off the ground, although it wasn't popur, and they couldn't find a teacher to consistently supervise. Not to mention our jobs: I lifeguarded; Rob worked the Geek Squad desk at Best Buy a couple times a week and most weekends; Talon was a seasonal clerk at Record Revival, Six Mile's sole vinyl shop, although he was usually only needed between September and the new year. Casey and Marty didn't need steady work, but Marty sometimes tutored, and occasionally got me a gig, too. Our whereabouts were protected by our reputations as well as our genuinely packed schedules.

  Rob clicked a few more in-game buttons before standing up. "We won't have anything good until, uh, the girls arrive," he said gncing at Kat, "but I think my mom has some extra wine floating around."

  "From Doug?" Casey said.

  We all knew how Rob felt about his mom's newest boyfriend, a seedy phlebotomist with a thick grey moustache.

  Rob sighed. "She drinks too much with him, anyways, so really, us drinking their wine would be an act of service, yeah?"

  "Absolutely," I said. I wiggled my phone out and checked it again. Nothing from Talon.

  Rob went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and came back with a box of chardonnay and five mason jars banced precariously in one hand. He poured us each half a gss.

  Marty lifted his gss, and the rest of us followed. "Here's to my best buddy, Ryan!"

  "Best buddy?" Casey said, feigning hurt. He turned to Rob. "We've dropped in ranks, dude."

  I couldn't tell if Marty was joking or if he really considered he and I to be best friends. We clinked our gsses and took generous gulps of cheap wine.

  "I'm coming to California to visit you," Marty said, wiping his mouth with his wrist.

  "We'll go together," Casey said. "Christmas break or something. We'll pick up Rob on the way."

  "Kat, too," Marty said.

  "Mm," she said, peering at her phone. "Lily and Ana will be here in, like, five. They got coolers and cider and some other stuff."

  Casey finished his wine. "Ana," Casey said dreamily. "Now that girl is gorgeous."

  Kat smirked at him over her phone. "You know she's single, right?"

  "Ask her to prom," Marty said. "That window's quickly closing."

  Casey perked up. "You know what," he said. "I might." He leaned over and poured the st of the white wine. "If I drink enough."

  "Do you know her, like, at all? In any capacity?" Rob said.

  "Not really," Casey said, ughing. "How better to get to know someone, though?"

  "Dude," Marty said, leaning over and turning my phone over. "You're hooked. Are you texting Lily?"

  "No," I said quickly, grabbing my phone before he could take it.

  Marty and Kat were trying to set me up with Lily; they wanted me to go with her to prom. Lily was in our grade, although I didn't know her well. When she was young, she and her parents attended Dad's church, but they left before we were the right age for youth group, so we didn't spend much time together. As far as I remembered, she was clever and reserved.

  "Is it Talon?" Marty said.

  "Man, where's he been?" Casey said. "He never responds to my texts."

  Rob's cheeks went red. He averted his eyes.

  "Seriously," Casey continued. "Sometimes I see him at school, but we never get through a few sentences before he says he has to go."

  "Who's Talon?" Kat said. She took another sip of wine.

  "Babe, you know who Talon is," Marty said. "Floppy brown hair? Always look mopey?"

  Talon deserved a better description than that. (Besides, his hair fell perfectly—it wasn't floppy.) "He was the lead in Grease st year," I cut in, "after the first guy got sick."

  "Oh!" Kat said. "That guy. He used to be friends with you all? The girls and I talk about him. He's cute—and that hair! But he…" She gnced around. "He kind of doesn't shower, right? Waste of a good face."

  "He showers," I said. (Okay, there were a few months where his hygiene seemed spotty.) "And he's still our friend."

  "Then what's wrong with him?" Kat said.

  "Nothing," I said sharply. "He's shy."

  Kat shrugged. "He's a good singer."

  "Invite him over," Marty said.

  I shook my head. "Yeah, I tried."

  "Miss that guy," Casey said.

  Rob cleared his throat. "I'm going to grab snacks."

  While he rummaged in the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

  Kat jumped up. "Lily and Ana."

  Marty looked over at me and winked from beneath his blond curls. I was nervous. Not because I had a crush on Lily, but because of the pressure. I knew what everyone was expecting us to turn into; I wasn't sure if I could live up to that.

  Ana Bertucci came in first, raking her fingers through the wavy hair that fell to her colrbones, damp from the building rain outside. "It's soaking out there," she said. Over her shoulder, she wore an overstuffed khaki messenger bag.

  Lily Beaumont followed her. She took off her jacket—a purple twill coat that fit her snuggly—and gently hung it up. She was graceful for her age, calm and polite. Her hair had been recently highlighted, each brown strand pulled through with caramel and blonde. She gnced at me and smiled, her braces showing and cheeks reddening.

  "Welcome," said Casey, standing up like a dork. "How are you dies on this fine evening?"

  Marty groaned.

  "Damp," Ana said dryly. She sat down on the couch, near Marty. She opened the top of her messenger bag and pulled out fvored coolers—mango, lime, and raspberry—a six-pack of harvest pear cider, and two mickeys (one vodka, one spiced rum). "I don't know," she said, gesturing at it. "My sister picked it out.'

  Marty lit up and leaned forward. "Wow, this is amazing."

  Lily eased into the armchair on my side of the couch. We gnced at each other. The charged weight of expectation hung between us.

  Rob came back and said hi to the girls. He was armed with sour candy, a couple bags of chips, and a mostly-full bag of storebought chocote chip cookies. He opened the bags. Marty went straight for the chips, Casey took a handful of candy, and I grabbed a couple cookies.

  Suddenly cognizant of Lily's proximity, I turned to her. "Want a cookie?"

  "Sure," she said, taking it from me. Our fingers grazed. We locked eyes before looking away.

  Rob sat back down and opened a music pyer on his computer. A year or two back, Talon made us all individual pylists; they were long and personalized. He included musicians and songs he knew we loved, and several others that he thought we'd enjoy based on our tastes. I was touched by his attention to detail and how well he knew all of us. At the same time, he curated a few pylists for hanging out, gaming, or drinking. Rob chose one of these tter pylists. For the fiftieth time, I wished Talon was with us, and hoped I'd feel my phone vibrate against my leg.

  "Who wants what?" Kat said, poking through the alcohol Ana had brought.

  "Hey, Ana," Csaey said, grinning in that charming way he had, "brave enough for the rum?"

  Ana tucked her hair behind her ears and bit her lip. "I think I can be convinced. Rob—it's Rob, right?—do you have any co?"

  "I'll grab mixer and extra gsses," Rob said, retreating again to the kitchen.

  "Thanks, man," I said when he came back with the supplies.

  "I'm in the mood for raspberry," Kat said, grabbing a bottle. She used her teeth to open it.

  "That'll never not impress me," Marty said.

  "You're not scared about your teeth?" Ana said.

  "They're bone," Kat said.

  "Expensive bone," Ana said, pointing at her mouth. "My parents would kill me if I undid all those years of orthodontic work."

  Marty grabbed the vodka and poured a couple inches into his empty mason jar. He followed it up with orange juice and swirled.

  Lily leaned towards the table. "Want to see how those taste?" Lily said, pointing at the cider.

  "Definitely," I said. I snagged two and passed her one. The cider was delicious, sweet and spicy.

  Rob took a mango-fvoured cooler and used his belt buckle to pry it open. We ate the snacks and chatted (mostly about school applications, upcoming finals, and too-strict curfews) while we drank. We dissected an embarrassingly earnest TikTok video Bug Rooney posted that morning about prepping for his purple belt; Marty stood up and performed a lively and uncanny imitation of both Bug's movements and his voice, and we all broke into ughter. I downed my first cider quickly—maybe out of nerves—and reached for another. Lily took a second, too. Her cheeks were flushed; I imagined mine looked simir. A rumor had been circuting since Friday about Jack Richardson and Aisling Moore; allegedly, they'd been caught having sex in the disabled washroom. We mulled over the veracity of the situation.

  "I heard he was going down on her," Casey said.

  "In the bathroom?" Rob said. "How?"

  "Easy," Marty said. "Aisling could've been sitting on the counter—"

  "Ew," Kat said. "And getting her butt all over those filthy countertops?"

  "No self-respecting girl would do that," Ana chimed in.

  "Maybe she's not self-respecting?" Casey said.

  "Actually," Ana said, giggling, "I heard Jack was eating her ass."

  "Really?" Kat said. She finished her second cooler and pced it on the crowded coffee table.

  Rob lowered his voice: "I heard she was eating his ass."

  "Fuck," Marty said, ughing. "That's nasty. Imagine eating a dude's ass."

  My chest felt suddenly tight. "Where are you all hearing this from? I missed it."

  "Me, too," Lily said.

  Kat waved her hand. "I don't even remember. But neither Jack or Aisling were in my csses yesterday or today—so what else could it be?"

  "Maybe they're sick," I said.

  "Well, yeah," Marty said, "Aisling probably has herpes now."

  "That's not how it works," I said.

  "It's not?" Casey said.

  I fumbled for the right words. "I mean, sure, I guess you could get herpes from going down on someone," I said, defeated.

  But what Marty had been implying, I knew, was that Aisling was at greater risk because of the theory that she'd been giving Jack a rimjob. Clearly, Marty found that particur act revolting and he wanted to underscore his disgust by indicating Aisling would inevitably get an STI.

  "That's what I thought," Marty said. "For sure they both have ass herpes now."

  Rain and wind were building outside. The raindrops hitting the metal roof of Rob's house were loud but rhythmic. Fortunately, Marty seemed to have his fill of the Jack-Aisling debacle, and our conversation drifted to other topics: the recent lunchtime climate change march, which Mr. Rathert-Hill swiftly shut down; st weekend's Six Mile Scorpions game, a loss we chalked up mostly to ump bias; a new horror movie we'd heard was massively gory but all, except Kat, wanted to see. Ana moved from the couch to Rob's plush rug, her legs folded beneath her. (This meant she was now positioned directly beneath Casey, who sat in one of Rob's chairs; Casey looked delighted by this development.) Already, I was tipsy—the wine and two ciders had caught up to me. I reached for my third. Lily asked for hers as well. The knotted anxiety in my chest which had formed when Talon told me about his father loosened, repced with a kind of bodily etion. Marty's cheeks were ruddy. Casey and Ana had made a serious dent in their rum. Rob nursed his cooler slowly; he was a lightweight. Kat still looked composed.

  When the conversation ebbed, Lily said, "Maybe we should py a game."

  "Good idea," I said.

  Rob drummed his fingertips on his knees. "Uh," he said, "I don't have the stuff for beer pong. Poker?"

  "What do you think?" Casey said, tapping Ana's side with his foot.

  She giggled. "Um. I like poker." She was slurring her words.

  "Is that so, Bertucci?" he said.

  "Maybe strip poker," Marty said.

  Kat crossed her arms over her chest. "Absolutely not."

  "But—"

  "No."

  Rob hummed. "I got Jenga?"

  Everyone said no to this. But we were all at least slightly drunk now and brimming with pyfulness. Casey was poking Ana on her shoulders, alternating which side; this manoeuvre should have been annoying, but both of them were ughing, their faces getting closer with each round. Over the st hour or so, I'd sensed Lily edging closer to me, perched on the edge of Rob's chair, her toes curled under, her hand holding the arm of the couch I sat on. Because of her positioning, our hands were only about two inches apart.

  Outside, the sky had fully darkened. Rob turned on the mp near Casey.

  "Truth or dare?" Marty said.

  "Cssic," Ana said eagerly. She gnced behind her at Casey, who had been poised with his finger, ready to strike again. She spped his hand away and they both giggled.

  "I'll go first," Marty said.

  Rob and I shared a look. We knew how Marty got during this game. Marty enjoyed pushing peoples' buttons under the guise of a game, liked showing off physically and intellectually.

  "Rob," Marty said. (Rob sighed.) "Truth or dare? And you can't pick truth."

  "Truth's in the title of the game," I said.

  "Fine, whatever," Marty said. "But it's way more fun if you pick dare!"

  Rob tipped his head back and drained the st of his second cooler. "Sure. Dare. What do I have to do?"

  Marty, thrilled, considered this. Kat watched his face with anticipation.

  "I got it," Marty said. "You have to run around here—" he circled his finger, indicating the space from Rob's computer chair, around the wall to the kitchen, and looping back around to where we sat—"three times. And take a drink each time!"

  "Dude," Casey said. "That's so contrived."

  But Rob shrugged. "Yeah, fine. That's easy."

  "No, wait," Marty said. "You have to do it naked!"

  "Hell no," Casey said, dragging a hand down his face. "I don't want to see that. No offense, Rob. I don't want to any of y'all naked."

  "Dude," Marty said, "we've all seen each others' dicks." He leaned back; he'd grabbed a lime cooler. "And we know the winner. It's—"

  "Not in front of the women, please," Casey said.

  Rob took a deep breath. He stood up.

  "Nah," I said. "Everyone gets one opt-out."

  "But I want to know if Rob's wearing his Pokémon underwear again!" Marty said, grinning. "Eevee or Pikachu, buddy?"

  Rob wore Pokémon underwear until he was about fifteen; Marty saw them while we were changing for P.E. Rob's boxers were bck, covered in depictions of Pikachu in various poses: ughing, clutching a bottle of ketchup, sleeping, fierce and ready to strike. Marty gaped at Rob and then ughed until he cried. You're in grade ten! Marty said, you've got to be fucking with me! I didn't know if Rob still wore Pokémon boxers or not, but what did it matter? All of us grew up loving the games, swapping editions and consoles and battling strategies. Once Marty deemed something uncool or outdated, though, we were wary to bring the topic up around him.

  Lily cleared her throat. "I like Eevee. What's your favorite evolution, Rob?"

  "Umbreon," he said, looking grateful.

  "Me too!" she said. She turned to me. "What about you, Ryan?"

  "I've always been partial to Leafeon," I said, thinking of the enamel pins Talon and I both owned.

  "Freon fan myself," Casey said. He looked down. "Did you py Pokémon when you were a kid, Ana?"

  "My oldest brother loved those games," she said, "but he never let me py."

  "Damn, that's cold," Casey said. He cleared his throat. "I'll let you py mine if you ever want to come ov—"

  "Okay, okay," Marty said. "Everyone gets to decline once. But the caveat is that you gotta chug the remainder of whatever's in your hand."

  "Sure," I said.

  Rob sat back down.

  "Bottoms up, Rob," Marty said, a bit annoyed.

  Rob no longer had an open drink, though; he'd finished his second a few minutes earlier. He opened a third, grimaced, and got to work downing the entire thing in one go. We started stomping our feet and chanting Rob! Rob! Rob! Sugary alcohol dripped down his chin and onto his navy Starship Troopers t-shirt. He pulled his face away from the neck of the bottle, belched, wiped his chin, and went back to finish it.

  We all cheered when he smmed it down on the coffee table. Rob immediately grabbed the bridge of his nose and winced.

  "I never want to see another cooler," he said.

  "Someone else's turn, please," Kat said.

  "I think I get to go, right?" Rob said. "Ryan, truth or dare?"

  "Truth," I said.

  Marty groaned. "No fun."

  I ignored him.

  Rob considered his question. He gnced at Lily and span slightly in his computer chair, looking coy. "Do you have a crush on anyone?"

  Rob was likely trying to do me a solid, throw me a bone. Ana and Casey were clearly flirting. Lily and I kept shifting closer to one another (or was she the one edging closer to me?), but we hadn't broken through the tension the way Ana and Casey had. But when Rob said this, my stomach dropped. How to answer?

  My drunkenness answered for me, kind of an inside joke with myself: "Yeah," I said, "I do."

  Everyone sat up straighter. Lily drank from her bottle, eyes averted.

  "Who?" Casey said.

  I shook my head. "No follow-up questions. Who's next? Marty, truth or dare?"

  "Dare!" he bellowed. "Since you're all cowards!"

  The dares we used to do when it was just us guys sleeping over usually involved consuming some strange kitchen concoction (hot sauce and chocote syrup in orange juice or something simirly vile) or a deranged obstacle course that we set up in one of our rooms. But the obstacle course seemed childish in the presence of the girls. Raiding Rob's fridge seemed to be the best option.

  "I dare you to take a shot of whatever I whip up in the kitchen," I said.

  "Easy," Marty said. "Make it as fucked up as possible."

  "Rob," I said, "come with me. Show me what I can use."

  He followed me into the kitchen. I had an ulterior motive for bringing him with me. As though he sensed this, he immediately busied himself in the fridge. The Ruiz's kitchen was as cluttered as the rest of their pce, but in a tidy, homey way: kitchsy dish towels (some covered in gawdy flowers, others in cartoon farm animals); succulents crammed along the windowsill above the sink; ceramic and wooden knickknacks next to the toaster oven and the bread box; two separate calendars, a free one from Canadian Tire still flipped to April and another with a May sunset in watercolors; a sage green cuckoo clock hanging above a ndline phone. Magnets hung photos to the side of the fridge. Many of the photos were Rob and Talon, bonded in the pictures over their childhood interests.

  "We got lots of gross stuff," Rob said, rummaging. "Sardines? Kombucha?" He warily grabbed a cardboard container. "I think this is leftover KFC gravy. From a week ago."

  "Definitely the gravy," I said. "Any mayonnaise?"

  While he reached for it, I spoke again: "Hey, man, can I ask you something?"

  He put the gravy and mayo on the counter. "I got hot sauce, too," he said quickly. "What about almond butter?"

  "Yeah," I said, "grab that, too. But can we talk?"

  From the other room, the crew was talking loudly and animatedly about something. I thought I heard Marty impersonating Bug Rooney's voice again.

  "About what?" Rob said, pulling down a shot gss. "Let's put the rest of my cooler in it, too, so that it's—"

  "About Talon," I said.

  Rob pced the shot gss next to the mayonnaise jar. "What do you mean?"

  "Why's it weird when I bring him up?"

  Rob shook his head. "It's not—"

  "Come on," I said. "I know there's something."

  A thought hit me: did Talon tell Rob before me? That seemed weird. Wrong. But it was possible, right? I tried another tactic. "Did he… mention anything to you tely?"

  Now Rob looked more confused. Maybe I guessed wrong. He took a deep breath. "No, he wouldn't say."

  "Wouldn't say?"

  "Hurry up!" Marty called from the other room. "The suspense is killing me."

  Rob's cheeks were faintly red again. "Gravy? Mayo?"

  "Yeah," I said. Tilting the round container, I nudged gravy into the shot gss. I used a spoon to put a glob of mayo on top, and then a bit of almond butter.

  "Use this, too," Rob said. He'd brought his lime cooler with him.

  I took it and poured a healthy dose in the shot gss and used the handle of the spoon to stir it together. The result was a stomach-churning thick brown sludge. I topped the concoction with a spsh of chipotle hot sauce.

  "I don't get it," I said. "So, nothing's up between you two?"

  "Let's go," Rob said, which wasn't an answer at all. "They're waiting."

  He didn't bother putting the food back in the fridge but retreated back into the living room. I passed the shot gss to Marty.

  "Fucking gross," Casey said, eyes sparkling. "What is it?"

  "Don't tell us!" Ana said, giggling. She was nestled between Casey's legs now. "Let's guess."

  "Chocote syrup?" Lily ventured.

  "Much worse," I said. I watched Rob's face, but he didn't meet my eyes.

  "Don't say another word," Marty said. "I'm going in." He plugged his nose and—

  "Not allowed!" Casey said.

  Marty let go. "Fuck it," he said. He closed his eyes and tilted the shot gss to his lips—but the slimy mix was too thick to pour into his mouth.

  Kat looked like she was about to vomit. "That's horrid," she whispered. Peeking out of only one eye, she nudged the bottom of the shot gss, which got the concoction moving.

  We all howled as it dumped into Marty's mouth in one getinous clump.

  Marty gagged once, then twice, then rapidly leaned forward to clutch the vodka. He poured a full two shots (at least!) into his mouth, gagged again, belched, and swallowed another mouthful of vodka. He swirled the alcohol around in his mouth before gulping it down. His entire body shuddered.

  "Fuck you, Cloud," Marty said. He was pale.

  I ughed. "Any guesses?"

  "That truly looked like baby shit," Casey said, shoulders still shaking with ughter.

  "Don't say that, dude," Marty said, closing his eyes and grabbing his stomach.

  I thought I'd spare him. "It was mostly mayo and cold, expired gravy," I said. "A bit of almond butter and hot sauce."

  "There was lime, too," Marty said, sounding winded.

  "Courtesy of Rob," I said.

  "Diabolical," Lily said, smiling at me. There was a flush across her cheeks and nose and her eyes—a nice hazel, I noticed—were a bit watery.

  We pyed a few more rounds. Most of us chose truth; on Kat's turn, she was dared to post her st selfie on Instagram and she did so proudly, a picture of her in the mirror wearing a big t-shirt and tiny bck underwear. Rob turned his back to us periodically, managing his game. When he turned around, I tried to catch his eye, but he carefully avoided my gaze. How had Rob put it? He wouldn't say. Probably Rob confronted Talon about his withdrawal from us—understandably hurt and confused—and Talon, like usual, wouldn't give him any information. I could imagine that would upset Rob, right? Getting iced out by a childhood friend. For the most part, that expnation made sense to me and, besides, the ciders clouded my investigation skills.

  It was nearing eleven when the game wound down. We were pretty wasted. Casey and Ana couldn't stomach the rum; they switched to the st pack of coolers.

  Lily pced a hand on my wrist. Our faces were close. She used her chin to gesture at the half-full rum on the coffee table. "Want to give it a shot?"

  "Let's do it," I said. "Rob, you got any more Coke?"

  I noticed how dizzy I was when I got up to head to the kitchen with Lily. Rum in one hand, I pulled down two more mason jars and poured a couple shots each. Lily found the Coke and filled our gsses the rest of the way. We clinked gsses. Next to me, Lily leaned against the kitchen counter. Her jeans were light wash and high rise. Her shirt, pink floral, raised up a little bit, exposing her curvy stomach. I focused on this bare piece of skin, thinking of the question, Do you have a crush on anyone?

  Lily caught me looking and smiled. I gnced away.

  "I've heard nice things about you, Ryan Cloud," she said.

  "Is that right, Lily Beaumont?"

  "You know my full name?"

  Her social media handle was lilyyy08, but yeah, I remembered.

  "Not your middle name, I guess," I said teasingly.

  "You have to guess," she said. "It starts with an N."

  The first name that came to me was the barista from Beans. "Nicole?"

  "No."

  "Natasha?"

  Lily giggled. She reached around me and pced her jar down on the counter behind me. Her pelvis was almost grazing mine. "Nope."

  I downed the rest of my drink. "Clue?"

  "Second letter is, indeed, an A."

  "Natalie?"

  She shook her head.

  "Nadine?"

  "You got it," she said. She grabbed my mason jar and pced it next to hers on the counter; now her pelvis was definitely touching mine.

  "Your dad's a pastor, right?"

  "That's right," I said. Did she remember coming to Dad's church?

  "That's cool."

  "Less cool than you're imagining, I'm sure."

  She ughed. When her mouth opened, the pink estics on her braces showed. It was cute. But I was distracted, thinking of my phone and how it hadn't vibrated all night (well, once, but it was a text from Rachel). My mind was filled with all the things Talon had told me, and everything he'd neglected to tell me, too—those were worse things.

  "Want to take a shot with me?" she said.

  "Sure," I said, "why not?"

  She grabbed the rum again and poured two straight shots. We took them. I was drunk enough now that the rum didn't taste bad at all. Kind of great, actually.

  "Um, hey, Ryan?" Lily said.

  "Yeah?"

  "You don't have a girlfriend, do you?"

  "I don't."

  She looked up at me. "I've been hoping you don't."

  "Oh really?"

  "I've been kind of creeping your social media," she said. "Only admitting this because I'm drunk right now."

  I ughed. "Don't think I saw any boyfriend on yours, either."

  "So, we're both single?"

  "Looks like it."

  "Mm." She nodded to herself and adjusted the bottom of her shirt. "Well… how would you feel about kissing me?"

  This was it. This was what the night had been pointing towards. In fact, this was what the entire spring had been about, right? Lily and I following each others' accounts, sharing those gnces in the hallway, responding to each the other's posts and stories with likes and jokes and vague flirtations. When we made a pact to get prom dates, I initially pushed back. ("Let's make it a guy's night," I'd said, but Marty shook his head and said, "I'm going with Kat, so get moving, boys.") Rob was steadfast that he didn't need nor want a date but Casey and Ana were hitting it off. The gaps between girls I'd professed being into or attracted to were growing rger and rger and I often had a nagging feeling that certain comments Marty made were covertly about me, but was that my own paranoia? So, right: focus on the task at hand.

  I looked down at Lily. "I'd feel pretty good."

  She tilted her head towards me and moved most of the way, filling the gap between us. Tentatively, I pced my hands on her hips and closed the rest of the distance. Our lips met. Hers were smooth and wet. She tasted like chocote chips and rum.

  "Fuck yeah!" Marty shouted.

  Lily and I pulled apart, but she left her hand where it had settled on my arm, near my elbow.

  Marty stood in the archway of the kitchen, eyes half-lidded. His cheeks were splotchy. He turned over his shoulder and said loudly (and erroneously), "Ryan and Lily are making out!"

  "Leave them alone!" called Ana.

  Thunder cracked down outside. Everyone in the den screamed and we all ughed, jittery and drunk. When Marty left, Lily pulled my face towards hers and we kissed again. I felt her braces hitting my teeth sometimes.

  "This is Rob's pce, right?" she said.

  "Yeah," I said, head spinning.

  "Is there another—should we go to his room?"

  I hesitated.

  "I have an idea," she said.

  This wasn't who I thought Lily Beaumont was. I liked it, the way she was buzzing with quiet energy. Surefooted. Decisive. More confident than I imagined when her name came up in conversation.

  She grabbed for the rum. "Another shot?" she said.

  "Absolutely."

  We took another one; the rum burned pleasantly in my throat and chest. This time, when we kissed, we crashed our mouths together at pretty much the same time.

  "Room?" she said again.

  "This way," I said, grabbing her hand.

  We tried to creep between the kitchen and the hallway, but—

  Rob called after us: "Not my mom's room! Got it?"

  "Need a condom?" Marty said.

  "Dude, they, like, just kissed," Casey said. "Didn't they?"

  We ignored them. I lead Lily to Rob's room. She went to flick the lights on, but I took her hand and held it in mine so that she couldn't. I wanted it dark. The world span in front of me. I felt unsure, nervous. But this is what I was supposed to do, right? Senior year. Nearly prom. Cute girl.

  I'd been with a girl before. Her name was Hayley Guffey-Hodges. We met in youth group. She had short brown hair that stopped at her jawline and this, alongside her pointy ears and chin, gave her an elfish look. Ours was a short, safe, pressure-free retionship that sted during July and part of August between ninth and tenth grade. We didn't call each other boyfriend and girlfriend but hung out in awkward groups (some of my friends and some of hers, or else church kids) and sometimes one-on-one. Hayley's parents were extremely strict, and between them and my own, we had nowhere to hook up. We mostly stuck to holding hands and sometimes kissing when we could find brief moments of privacy; once, near the enormous movie theatre sign in the mall parking lot before our parents came to pick us up, and twice we stopped at pygrounds between my dad's church and Hayley's house. She always wore mint lip balm and my lips tingled when we finished kissing.

  On Rob's bedside table, he had a blue va mp. I knew Rob's room well enough to find the on switch. Teal light spilled over his bed. The bottom of Rob's posters above his bed were now visible, too: Elden Ring, Zelda, League of Legends. Lily and I climbed onto Rob's bed and y next to each other. She turned onto her hip and traced her hand down my chest. We started kissing and after five or ten minutes (time was becoming difficult to track), she tugged on the bottom of my shirt.

  "Off?" she whispered against my mouth.

  I slid it over my head. Because of the va mp, her cheek and neck were turned a soft blue. Pale light came through Rob's window. Even in the semi-darkness, I could see her face, her eyes eager and ready. This felt fast. We didn't know each other. But from the way she was speaking in her kitchen, the little details she knew about me—maybe this was part of a rger pn. Maybe she'd heard I was safe, too. Maybe she had her own checklist before graduation. She pulled her floral top off, revealing a bck bra, rge breasts that fit her curvy frame.

  "Should I take this off?" she said, gesturing at her bra.

  "Yes," I said.

  She removed it. I moved my hand up to her left breast and cupped it while we kissed. She hooked her leg over mine, bringing our pelvises close together. We continued to kiss, our mouths and chins damp, our tongues finding their way into each others' mouths. I moved my fingers to her nipple and she responded eagerly to this, pushing into my hand. Since she seemed to like that, I leaned down to take her nipple in my mouth. I wasn't exactly sure what to do but I'd seen enough in porn; I licked and sucked gently once, twice. She made a soft oh! sound and pushed her hips into me, making little moans of satisfaction. (I thought, distractedly and drunkenly, of Talon, of what he'd said, of how he'd looked climbing in my room the other night: bck shirt, wet hair, sad eyes.) I brought my mouth away and back to her lips. We kissed until my lips felt numb and swollen.

  "I really like kissing you," she murmured. She reached down to undo my belt.

  Gently, I pushed her hand away. "Sorry," I said. "Feeling kind of sick. I drank way too much."

  "That's okay," she said.

  We both turned onto our backs. She pced her top across her chest.

  "I like what you did just now," she said.

  I stared at the teal shapes across Rob's ceiling. "Me, too."

  "I didn't think you liked me," she said, words slurring.

  "You didn't?"

  She shook her head. "You're so cute and I'm…"

  "You're so pretty," I said quickly. "Really."

  We y there for another moment, a jittery energy between us. Honestly, she was great looking, and I was surprised she couldn't see it: a shapely body that looked great both in jeans and out, shoulder-length stylish hair, a prominent nose that matched her big smile. Maybe this made sense. Maybe when I felt distracted or not as into it as I hoped that was—what? Nerves, yeah. Because she was so attractive, and I'd only ever kissed Hayley before. It would be fun to go to prom with her.

  "Hey, Lily?" I said.

  "Yes?"

  "Would you want to go to prom with me?"

  She sat up on her elbow and smiled. "I'd love that."

  I felt the next question tumbling out of me, almost against my will: "Maye we can go on a date or something this weekend?"

  She reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. "Can I?" She entered her name and number. "Let's pn something."

  "Cool," I said. "Let's get water. And some food. We're wasted."

  I pulled her up and helped her with her bra. She wrapped an arm easily around me, as though we'd known each other for a long time. Everyone cheered when we came back.

  "You were gone a while," Marty said, grinning at me.

  I brushed him off and settled into the couch. This time, Lily sat next to me.

  While everyone was chatting again, I checked my phone. Nothing from Talon.

  Me: Hey tal hop everything is going ok jut wanted to see if you wanted to get rodents and rudy helpful?

  Talon: lmao

  Talon: What does this mean?

  Me: rodents together

  Me: rush = study

  Me: helpful = biology

  Talon: Got it

  Talon: I think

  Talon: You must be wasted haha want to meet up after school tomorrow?