I saw Steph and Lisa in the yard, Lisa gesticulating with her cigarette. I thought I saw Steph’s gaze flicker toward me, but I didn’t go to them. I went upstairs and back inside. There were people everywhere, and they all seemed to be getting in my way on purpose. I pushed my way through the kitchen and into the living room. The floor seemed to heave as everyone in the room danced to Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger.” They were all singing the chorus in unison.

I had to get out of here. I edged around the room, trying to avoid people’s drinks as they raised them in the air. I kept feeling Casey’s hands on me. Why had I let her? I felt sick about it, as if I’d cheated on someone. On Steph.

Behind me there was motion, as if someone were coming after me, and I was afraid it was Casey. I pushed through the crowd faster, and finally I reached the front door. I burst out onto the front stoop. The door to the second-floor flat was propped open with a shoe, and I glimpsed Christmas lights wrapped around a banister leading upstairs.

I went inside, climbing up to a dimly lit living room. The music was muffled up here, although the bass still reverberated through the floor. A few people were lounging on a wide L-shaped sofa, talking quietly. They glanced at me as I appeared at the top of the stairs, and then went back to their conversation.

Tealight candles had been placed along the floor, lighting the way down a hall past another kitchen to more rooms. I followed them, expecting to find a bathroom to hide in, but the door I opened led into what seemed to be a storage room.

I went in and pushed the door almost shut so I could still peer out through the crack. No one had followed me. I took a deep breath to calm the pounding of my heart, and I smelled paint. I turned around. In the dim light through the single window, the room gradually took shape. Large paintings were hanging on the walls: portraits of big, shadowed faces. An unfinished canvas was attached to an easel by the window, and when I went to get a better look, I thought I recognized Roxy. This must be Talia’s work. But she hadn’t painted these portraits in naturalistic colors. Roxy’s eyes were gold, her hair purple. Another painting showed a woman with spiky orange hair and blue skin.

The door opened, and I whirled around.

Steph stood in the doorway. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Now I was sure that she’d seen me with Casey. “I’m fine,” I said, feeling guilty.

Steph came into the room and shut the door behind her with a click. “I saw you with . . . Did she do something?”

My stomach dropped. “No. Everything’s fine.”