“You can be late tonight. I won’t wait up.”

We stand up and hug. I see Kelsey sitting with her family—smiling and laughing. She has no idea how lucky she is. Aunt Lil leaves, and I head to the bathroom to take this ridiculous costume off my body. If this is my last night here, I’m going to go out with a bang.

10:05 P.M.

THE AFTER-PARTY

My car pulls up in front of a very tall building. Two doormen wait under the awning wearing suits and caps. The building is about a mile away from school—at the bottom of Central Park. The lobby makes my first rich-person party at Riley’s look cheap. Being hedge-fund rich is one thing, being famous rich is another. Everything in the lobby looks expensive—the doors, the art, the couches. There’s a massive fish tank and even the fish look wealthy. As I’m waiting for the doorman to find my name on the list, a man walks by, headed to the elevators with two bodyguards following behind him. I try to get a look but can’t see his face.

The doorman finds my name and sends me on my way to the penthouse. The elevator is all mirrors—impossible not to check myself out and take a quick selfie. I have plenty of time—there are forty-four floors between the ground floor and the penthouse. I broaden my shoulders and try to smile, but it’s not convincing. Will this be my last night as August?

I know what’ll go down with my parents. I can picture it now. My phone will ring early tomorrow. Mom will tell me to pack my things and say goodbye to Aunt Lil. They’ll check out of the hotel and pick me up. The drive will be quiet. Painful. I’ll be leaving behind my dreams. I can’t think about it. Maybe they’ll take me directly to Brand New Day. Maybe they’ll need a few days to arrange it. If they take me home, I’ll make a plan. Run away, or something.

The elevator dings, opening into the living room. My mouth drops open. The apartment is the definition of extra. Really classy, but also over-the-top. The place is filled with oversized furniture, massive paintings, and lots of windows revealing unreal views of the city. There’s an Oscar statuette in a glass box surrounded by movie posters of Justin’s dad. The place is packed with people talking, drinking, dancing. They all seem as starstruck as I am by the opportunity to party in a famous person’s apartment.

“Your coat, sir?” asks a man wearing a white button-up and black tie.

I take off my trench coat and hang it on his arm. “Thanks,” I say, wondering if I’m supposed to tip him.

“Enjoy the party,” he says.