“Hey,” I said as she began pulling me down the hallway. “What’s going on?”

“We are having so much fun,” she said. “Come on, you have to meet Margaret.”

Judging by the dragging, it was clear I didn’t have a choice in the matter, so I let her take me into the kitchen. There, I saw Meredith at the island, looking uneasy, while a dark-haired girl with her back to me dumped some ice in the blender.

“Sydney’s here!” Jenn, who also was not loud—ever—shouted. “And she needs a drink.”

“Of course she does,” Margaret said, turning around. She had long black hair tumbling over her shoulders, bright blue eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles. A pretty girl, with a kind of spark to her you saw right away. “And it’s a fresh batch, to boot. Let me get you a glass.”

It was when she moved aside, reaching up into a cabinet, that I saw the rum bottle. I looked back at Meredith, who had her own glass, which looked untouched. Two others on the island held only slushy dregs. “What are we drinking?”

“Piña coladas,” Jenn announced. “Margaret’s special recipe. And they are delicious.”

“The ice is key,” Margaret explained, pouring a glass, then topping off the two empty ones. “Most people don’t realize that.”

When she handed me my glass, I took it, but didn’t drink. “So your parents aren’t here?”

“No, they’re in the living room,” Jenn replied. I just looked at her. “I’m joking! Of course not. They’re out for the night. I told them we were going to Antonella’s for pizza and then watching movies.”

“And we’re not?” I asked.

“Is that what you want to do?” Margaret asked me.

“No,” I said. There was something about her tone, the way she raised an eyebrow, that made me say this automatically. “I just didn’t realize . . . Since when do you drink, Jenn?”

She put down her glass, then wiped a hand over her lips. “What do you mean? I’ve drank before.”

“When?”

“All the time. You know that, Sydney.”

Margaret was watching this exchange, an expression of mild amusement on her face. Over at the island, Meredith picked up her glass and took a sip.

“Okay,” I said, not wanting to point out that I’d known Jenn since preschool and never seen her do anything more than take a parent-approved sip of wine at Christmas dinner. I sniffed my drink. “What’s in this?”

“Oh, just drink it,” Margaret said, flipping her hand at me. “It’ll help you relax.”

I looked at her. “I don’t need to relax.”

She took a big gulp of her own drink. “All I’m saying is that this is a birthday celebration. So let’s have fun, okay?”

“Seconded,” Jenn said, holding out her glass. Margaret did the same before nodding at Meredith, who raised hers as well. Then they all looked at me.

I picked up my glass. “To Jenn. Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday!” everyone repeated. Clink. Jenn immediately took a big gulp, but Margaret kept her eyes on me, not drinking, as I raised my glass to my mouth, taking a sip. Then she did the same, still watching me.

“Okay,” she said, and smiled. “Now it’s a party.”

* * *

“Just text him. Don’t think about it. Just do it.”

Jenn shook her head, blushing. “I can’t! It’s too weird.”

“Oh, please.” Margaret reached across the couch, grabbing the phone. “I’ll do it, then.”

“Don’t!” Jenn shrieked, lunging at her to get it back. “Oh, my God, Margaret, if you do that I swear I’ll—”

“—thank me forever for hooking you up with the guy you’re crazy about? You’re welcome.” She started typing on the phone with one hand while batting Jenn away with the other. “There. It’s done. Now we wait.”

“I hate you,” Jenn said, but she was grinning, her face flushed. She’d had two drinks, by my count, since I’d arrived.

“Maybe,” Margaret told her. “But when he shows up, you’ll love me.”

The He in question was Chris McMichaels, who apparently my best friend had been madly in love with for ages, although she’d never mentioned it to me. Margaret, however, knew that he sat behind Jenn in World History, often asked her if she could spare paper or a pen, and had recently broken up with his longtime girlfriend, Hannah Riggsbee, leaving him, in Margaret’s words, “ripe for the picking.”

“He probably thinks I’m crazy,” Jenn moaned, putting her head in her hands. “Texting him on a Friday night.”

“If he didn’t want to hear from you, he wouldn’t have given you his number,” Margaret said, topping off each of their glasses.

“That was for a group project!”

Margaret waved her hand. “Details.”

Just then, the phone buzzed. Jenn went for it, but Margaret got there first, scanning the screen. “Well, look at this. He’s around and says he’ll stop by with some friends.”

“What?” Jenn shrieked—the sound was shrill, grating—grabbing the phone. She read the text, then looked up, eyes wide. “You told him we were drinking?”

“You did,” Margaret said. “It’s a party, right?”