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Too loud, too bright, too much. I go to the bathroom and sit on the toilet, hunched over, head pounding. I’m in there for long enough that someone knocks, then knocks again.

After I wash my hands, I take big gulps of water from the dirty faucet and hit my palms against my temples three times.

Felicity catches me on the way back from the bathroom. They’re obliterated.

“Bite me again,” they slur against my neck. Daniel is watching the way they touch me, their hands so close to my waist. “Please.”

“Drink too much?” Felicity asks with a giggle as Alyssa stands there, arms crossed over her stomach, glittery silver highlighter smudged across her nose.

“No,” Alyssa says defensively. Then, “Maybe.”

Franco’s asking me something again. “Your friend, Alice.”

“Alyssa,” I correct. Beside me in the booth, Daniel is too close, too possessive. I don’t stop him.

“Yeah,” Franco says. “Alyssa. What’s her deal? She’s got such a … unique quality to her.”

That’s either the lesbianism or the whole transgender thing, or maybe the fact that she is deeply underage like the rest of us. I shrug.

“You don’t have a chance,” I say, but there’s a look in Franco’s eye like he’s taking it as a challenge.

“You should take a break,” Magnolia murmurs to Alyssa. They’re posted up against the railing at the edge of the VIP booth while Franco and Daniel talk grown-up shit. Daniel’s tucked me under his arm, and his scent is making me feel sick. Felicity, a few feet away, stares in a mesmerized blur across the dance floor. “Liquor hits way harder on estrogen.”

Panic flares across Alyssa’s face. “How—”

“I know a girl like me when I see her.” Magnolia looks almost sad. “He has a type. And everyone knows you’re all too young to be here.”

It’s late and Daniel is drunk. He’s laughing with Franco and chatting up the bottle girl, talking about the documentary, the “gnarly” things he’s seen while working for his uncle, his plans to get that damn producer credit. Always reaching for me to make sure I’m close. Laughing, bright-eyed, pliable.

He’s exactly where I want him.

I’m half a second from nodding to Felicity, Get it together and keep watch for me, already picking apart the best way to get into Daniel’s lap and coax that key card into my hand, when—

Alyssa is standing beside me, smiling sweetly.

“Hey!” she chirps. Felicity startles from their spot next to me. I do, too. “Morgan and I are gonna go check out the DJ booth over there. See if we can’t request a song!”

“You can go yourself,” I hiss, because what is she doing, not now, but she’s already taken my hand, and we’re off the VIP stage before I’m fully aware of what’s happening.

The rooftop bar is packed. It’s loud and sweaty and reeks of people. And there’s so much light pollution in the city that there’s no real stars when I look up—only a government satellite or two, and the moon. Alyssa’s hand squeezes mine tight as she leads me across the floor.

“The fuck is your problem,” I try to snap over the crowd. “I was in the middle of something.”

No response.

She corners me against an unmarked door instead.

My back is pressed against the cold metal, both of us breathing hard. This is the first time I’ve gotten a good look at her since the night got away from me. Her hair is a mess, her throat is sweaty, and her blush is destroyed. She’s wasted and fighting through the haze of it.

She says, “I’m leaving.”

What?

“Like hell you are,” I say.

“I’m serious, Morgan.” Alyssa’s voice shakes, and has that distinct intoxicated slowness. “I want to go home. I’m going home. The trains are closed, but I can get an Uber. You should come with me.” She hesitates. “And Felicity, too.”

“You hate Felicity.”