I surveyed the crowd until I found Samantha’s blond head. We locked eyes and she quickly nestled herself into Aaron’s side, like that would shield her from my contempt. She hated me as much as I hated her, mostly because after our breakup Aaron had sent me numerous messages on social media begging me to take him back, complete with videos of him ugly crying. It’d done nothing to sway me, but it sure pissed me off when I saw them together. She thought they were ready for their happily-ever-after. She only got it because I kept saying no.

She tilted her head up and whispered in Aaron’s ear. He looped his arm around her waist and looked over his shoulder at me. Meeting his gaze was more difficult than meeting hers—I’d loved Aaron, probably still loved him a little. I’d given him most of my important firsts, had gone to formal dances with him, had visited with his family the previous summer at their lake house in Maine. We’d been the real deal, thought-we’d-be-together-forever type of couple, and though I was resolute in not wanting him back, seeing his face, his green eyes, his ash-colored hair and his chin with the butt dimple...

I still didn’t want him back, but I did open the Boone’s and take a long swig.

“Whoa, already?” Devi asked. “We’re not even in the house.”

“Don’t judge me. You’re not my real mom.”

“Whatever, girl. It’s your night.”

And oh, what a night it was.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Being Devi’s friend meant getting to witness the gravitational pull hot girls had on guys. Devi was the sun, the straight boys at the party were planets pulled into her orbit. Once they got a gander at her tight butt, swanlike neck and perky boobs, it was all over. I stood beside her, drinking my Boone’s from a red Solo cup, and watched as dude after dude took a stab at scoring the prettiest girl there. Other girls were almost as pretty—they had good faces or nice bodies or glossy hair, but Devi had the whole package. Even my grandmother, whom Devi once affectionately called Genghis Khan with boobs, said she ought to model, but Devi had no interest.

“I want to be an astronaut,” she said, and so she spent her time studying astronomy and physics.

We’d become friends in grade school, after Tanya Brides had threatened to beat me up if I didn’t trade my pudding cup for her applesauce. Devi had defended me by telling the teacher, and for it, I’d given her half the pudding cup in thanks. Besties ever since. Behold the magical power of butterscotch.

After boy number twelve left Devi’s side, dejected that she’d blown him off, she slumped against me, letting my much squatter self hold her upright.