Tonight, though, I put these thoughts aside, because it’s me and Levi and Shola and Axl and Simon and Mateo, that guy from Brentwood Country Day, in lounge chairs in my backyard, making one more memory while my parents are away for the weekend at that Aunt Candy fund-raiser in San Francisco my dad was so annoyed about.

We’re all still here.

We drink the lukewarm beers someone nicked from their parents’ fridge, and Shola puts on Oville and hooks her phone up to the speakers. Axl keeps threatening to jump into the pool.

“Let’s make a pact to do this again next year. Let’s all get together over winter break,” I say. I’m sitting between Levi’s legs, and he trails his fingers up and down the sides of my arms. This, I think. Hold on to this while you can.

“No way,” Axl says, and I notice he’s had both of his ears pierced with large diamond studs, a weird choice considering the rest of his style is uber-preppy, and I wonder if he did this to distinguish himself from Simon. “Once I leave, I’m leaving for good. Not coming home for break. Not coming home ever.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Have you never met my mom? Once I graduate, it will be peace out, bitches.” I picture Axl’s mom. She has one of those generic Real Housewives faces you see on women around here—duck lips and taut skin and lush fake lashes as thick as brush bristles. A conscious choice to look a little weird, instead of the far more terrifying option, to God forbid look old. She also has that amateur cage fighter body that advertises its restlessness: I don’t work—I work out. Thick, cut shoulders and tightly wound. Minus that rumor about her calling Mrs. Oh’s office to report Simon, she’s always seemed perfectly nice, if a little sad.

“I may not be home for break,” Shola says, and I see Mateo dart a glance at her, and I wonder if he likes Shola for real, not in a hook-up-every-couple-of-weeks-at-Xander’s-parties way. I wonder if he feels about Shola like I do about Levi—that we’ll take what we can get while we can get it. The thought makes me depressed for both of us.

“Of course you’ll be home for break,” I say, and I hear the slight aggression in my tone and try to shake it off. “You have to come home.”

“If I’m on the East Coast, I might not be able to afford to. Those flights aren’t cheap around the holidays,” Shola says.