2.

Amber jerks awake, hands flying to her throat. She’s unhurt, but not whole. She flinches as something hits the window. She fumbles for the lamp on her nightstand. Her head throbs; her neck feels stiff. Cold sweat runs down her spine. Blue-white moonlight spills through the window. Amber pushes herself upright and stares out into the night. The shadows of the trees shift silently in the motion-sensor light. Someone is in the yard. Is it a prank? One of these masked idiots. She swings her legs out of bed. Something thuds to the floor. The wine bottle. There’s only a little left, but it’s enough to ruin the carpet.

Amber reaches for the bottle when the doorbell rings. She lurches up, reeling, knees giving in as if they’ve suddenly liquefied. Stumbling, Amber reaches the desk, clinging to it until the edge bites into her stomach. Who is it? A face surges back into her head. A mad grin under cobalt-blue eyes. The doorbell rings again. Is it her father? But he was here just two days ago—one of his brief drop-ins. And there’s another hole in her logic: her father has a key. She glances at the clock. Just minutes to midnight. A hunch hits her. There’s no point pretending she’s asleep. They saw the light come on. No doubt.

“Surprise!” Hannah beams, already stepping through the front door, arms spread wide.

Amber freezes for a moment. Her head spins. Too much wine. Or maybe not enough. Still not fully present, she leans into Hannah’s embrace. It feels good to be held.

Hannah pulls back, looking at her with a flicker of concern. “I’m sorry, babe,” she whispers into her ear. “I couldn’t stop them.”

Them?

Behind Hannah, Calahan McInnis and his linebacker-sized brother, Connor, loom in the half-shadow beneath the tall cedars.

“Your dad not home?” Calahan asks, stepping forward, grinning.

Wrong question, Amber thinks. The right one is: When is he ever home?

“You okay?” Hannah’s voice sharpens, her gaze boring into her. Get it together, that look says. Hannah smells the wine, Amber realizes, and scrambles for something to say—something that might stop the worry taking shape in Hannah’s eyes. But it’s no use. Hannah knows. No point trying to talk her way out of it.

“Let’s go for a drive,” Hannah says, brushing past her before Amber can even open her mouth.

“Come on, Amber,” Calahan chimes in. “You’ve been hiding in here for weeks.”

Hannah returns with a light jacket. Resistance is pointless.

“Let’s go,” Hannah says and loops her arm through Amber’s, steering her down the driveway. Amber’s grateful for it. Her legs feel clumsy. The early evening has melted into night without her even noticing. Beyond the heavy iron gate, a car waits. Calahan’s yellow Camaro. Isabelle Dern, better known as Isi, leans against the side of the car with a bottle of vodka in one hand. A cigarette dangles from her lips.

“There she is,” Isi slurs. She’s already been hitting the bottle hard. “Ready for a wild night?” she asks, laughing. She’s wearing a camouflage tank top, her pushed-up breasts staring out like cartoon eyeballs.

Behind Isi, in the back seat, Katlyn Greger has her head tipped back against the seat, her mind floating somewhere else only she can see. Katlyn’s eyelids sag. Her mouth hangs open a little. Amber steps closer, catching the sharp mix of aftershave and hairspray wafting from the open window. Not good. Amber knows all too well how it feels to cross that line. To wake up the next morning. Nothing but fuzzy memories, a pounding head, and the sticky-sweet taste of last night’s mistakes lingering in her mouth.

“Come on, Amber!” Connor yells, snatching the vodka bottle from Isi’s hand as he nibbles at her ear. He laughs and swings open the car door.

Hannah nudges Amber into the back seat. The group hollers in triumph. The cramped space forces them to squeeze together. To make things worse, Calahan climbs into the back seat, forcing his way past Katlyn to plant Hannah on his lap, laughing as he buries his face against her back.

“Knock it off,” Hannah says, jabbing her elbow into his ribs.

“Should I cuddle Katlyn instead?”

“That would be fun to watch. I’ll bet she’ll just puke all over you,” Isi roars.

“Just shut up, you two,” Hannah shouts.

Isi passes the vodka bottle around as Calahan revs the engine. By now, the night is pitch black, the streetlights casting their cold glow. When the bottle reaches Katlyn, she tries to grab it, her hands only grasping empty air. Isi finds this hilarious. She leans over the seat to press the bottle directly into Katlyn’s face.

“Leave her alone,” Amber says, snatching the bottle out of Isi’s hands.

Isi rolls her eyes and slides back into her seat. Of course she does. Amber studies the vodka bottle in her hands, its golden label gleaming in the dim light.

“Your turn,” Connor says.

Amber shakes her head. That’s all the resistance she can muster. A basketball court flies by; a group of boys shoot hoops under the glow of the streetlights. Girls sit in a cluster on a bench nearby. Amber’s chest tightens and she thinks of that night, both her hands in the holes of Erin’s sweater, while Erin’s hand found her waist for the first time. It was that very bench illuminated in the yellowish light. Her jaw clenches as the scene finally passes. Hannah squeezes her hand.

Minutes later they arrive at Hannah’s house. Bright lights spill from the windows, and shadows tumble drunkenly behind the curtains. Deep house beats thrum through the manicured yard. On the porch swing, a couple is wrapped around each other, kissing like the world might end tomorrow.

Katlyn is the last to climb out—at least she tries to. Amber helps her, gripping her shoulders, trying to get her full attention. Katlyn can barely hold her head up, swaying like a sailor on stormy seas.

“Katlyn, are you with me?” Amber asks, brushing a lock of hair from her flushed face.

“Amber. Hey, what are we doing now?” Katlyn mumbles, tipping backward and collapsing onto the Camaro’s hood, laughing uncontrollably.

“Hey, Cal!” Amber calls, her tone sharp. “One of you needs to take her home. I don’t care if it’s you or your brother.”

“What?” Calahan stares at her, wide-eyed, almost afraid. “So Ms. Greger blames me for how wasted her daughter is? Yeah, no.”

Hannah steps in, placing a hand on his arm. “I think Amber’s right,” she says softly, her fingers brushing against his neck. “Please.”

“Fine,” he groans. “But if she pukes in my car, you’re paying for it!”

And that settles it. Katlyn is loaded back into the car for the trip home, for the safety of her bed. And for Amber, it’s into the chaos of an unwanted birthday party. Amber wishes she could trade places with her.