“The infamous,” Anna announces as the doorman scans the ledger. The lobby is marble madness—green marble floors with large swirls of white, and pearl marble pillars leading to the high ceilings. The walls? Also marble. The art looks expensive. The royal family could live here.

“Welcome to the one percent,” Anna whispers to me.

“Ah, here you are.” The doorman makes a note in his book. “Elevator to penthouse.”

“The fucking penthouse,” Anna loudly whispers. The doorman smiles at us. As soon as the elevator doors close, I ask, “Are all SPA parties like this?”

“Some,” she says, “but this is a VIP party for sure. Tell me who invited you.”

I don’t want to upset Anna. Maybe she doesn’t like Yazmin. I shrug as casually as possible. “Yaz told me about it.”

Her mouth opens like it wanted to hit the floor. “No way.”

“Way,” I say, and look down.

Anna clears her throat. Or swallows the words she doesn’t want to say. We both stay silent the entire ride up. The elevator stops and the doors slide open—not into the hallway, where we could have talked about it, but right into the apartment. Or penthouse, rather. The apartment is the entire floor of the building with floor-to-ceiling windows and full views of the city. “What the hell,” I say, in disbelief that people live in apartments this nice.

“Hedge funds, man,” Anna says, with the same wonderment.

The place is packed with people on couches, talking in groups, huddled up in the kitchen. Heads turn when we walk in, making me feel terribly self-conscious.

“You must be August,” I hear from behind. I turn around to a shaggy-haired guy with perfect skin. “I’m Riley. Nice to meet you.” He reaches for my hand. “Yazmin has said good things.”

“And Anna,” he says, and hugs her. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“I’m part of August’s glam squad,” she says, leaning into me.

“Plenty of drinks in the kitchen for you,” he says, and moves on to host other people. Anna grabs my arm and leads me into the kitchen. I’m uneasy and nervous, but I keep my limbs loose and my smile big. Tonight, I am the Party Guy. I will be outgoing and have a good time—or at least act like I am.

Anna gathers cups, vodka, and cranberry juice. “I’m making my favorite cocktail, the UTI.”

“What? Why would you call it that?”

“Alcohol leads to sex, which can sometimes lead to urinary tract infections, which cranberry juice helps. It’s full circle in one drink.”

“It’s just missing the sex,” I say.

“August, that’s so forward,” she says, blushing. I keep accidentally making this a date. She hands me my drink. The cranberry is bitter and the alcohol burns, but it does relax me. Party Guy drinking.