One late morning Peri told Odilie they were going to a party again. “I haven’t been out and about since the Sanderses’. I need to show my face.” They were going on the Flickermans’ father’s yacht for lunch. Odilie, of course, knew the Flickermans, had been enrolled in camp with them as a child. There would be others there, but not many. It wouldn’t be as intimidating as the Sanderses’ party, Peri promised.

Still, Odilie took a shot of vodka, chased with a Ritalin, pocketed a Xanax just in case. Peri picked a bikini for her to wear, and an embroidered cover-up to slide on over it, a giant hat and sunglasses, almost like Odilie was going in disguise. It was her first time wearing a bikini since the incident all those years ago with Annabella Sanders.

They boarded the yacht, the Marigold, at one of the docks, Odilie following steadfastly behind Peri as they greeted their hosts. Peri air-kissed everyone, the two Flickermans and their other two guests whom Odilie vaguely recognized even with their sunglasses on. “You look gorgeous,” she murmured to one of the women, imitating Peri’s low tenor.

They sat around a white-clothed table, champagne buckets decorating either side, heaped fruit platters, gravlax and a row of bagels only two people touched. Caviar in silver scalloped bowls on ice, which everyone did seem to devour. “So how do you know Peri?” Sarah Flickerman asked, a blank smile on her face. She didn’t know who Odilie was and in this moment Odilie relished that.

“We met at the dentist,” she answered simply, taking a sip of the champagne.

“What a strange place to meet,” Sarah said, popping a strawberry into her mouth. “Do you see Dr. Armstrong, too? He was so amazing with my veneers.” Sarah flashed them, all of her teeth filed down and burnished to the same size.

The conversation sped along, about people everyone knew in common, names that Odilie only occasionally recognized. But she was able to nod, to smile, to laugh at all the appropriate points, her head tilted back, champagne flowing down her throat. She was being slightly ignored, she knew that, even by Peri. But with the alcohol, with the excess adrenaline from an empty stomach, Odilie didn’t mind. The sun was hot, the yacht was beautiful, the ocean was lovely. She felt like she belonged, albeit marginally.

When lunch was cleared away by the white-coated staff, their jackets embroidered with the boat’s name, everyone went to the deck to tan. Someone, a friend of Sarah’s from her job at a music label, spread out some MDMA crystals on the edge of the boat, hoovering them up in one snort. Everyone else did a line, so Odilie did as well, the crystals burning harsher than the coke Peri had recently introduced her to.