“You’re lucky,” she corrects me. “You don’t have to think about this stuff yet. But then again, you’ve only got a few months until you’re done with high school for good.”

“Don’t remind me,” I sigh. “What am I supposed to do with myself after graduation?”

Audrey uses her elbows to prop herself up on the bed. “You don’t have to figure everything out right away. I mean, look at me. I graduated a couple of years ago and I have nothing figured out. Maybe we’ll end up being college freshmen together in five years,” she teases.

“Sounds good to me,” I reply, grinning.

“Anyway, will you go out with me? I need to drown my sorrows.”

“Go out where?”

“To dance and have drinks,” she explains, before clasping her hands and batting her eyelashes, sticking out her bottom lip. “Pretty please? You deserve to do something fun, you’ve looked miserable lately.”

“I’m underage,” I remind her.

She lets out a bark of laughter, waving a hand in dismissal. “As if that’s ever stopped you before.”

I open my mouth to protest, before realizing the photos in my room prove her point. “Touché.”

“Besides,” she says. “You already look nineteen. What difference does a year make? Plus, Mom is on her fancy business trip, so you don’t have to worry about being interrogated.”

Biting my lip, I will myself to turn down her offer, knowing full well it’s the smart thing to do. But the idea of putting all of my worries behind me, even temporarily, is a tantalizing offer, something I’ve been subconsciously desperate for the past few weeks.

A loud, throbbing club is probably the last place I should be as someone with a lingering head injury, but I’d be willing to endure it for a slight reprieve.

“Well . . .” I halfheartedly try to conjure an excuse to say no.

“You’re into the idea,” she says, nudging my arm. “I can tell.”

Standing up from the bed, she pulls me with her, and I stumble to my feet. “Maybe a little,” I say sheepishly.

Her face softens. “I know you said you were okay, but you really have seemed down lately. Is it about Damien?”

It takes everything in me to hold back a laugh. She takes my expression as hesitation and holds a hand up.

“Never mind. We don’t have to talk about boys. But you do have to go out with me.”

I make a show of sighing dramatically. “Fine. If you insist.”

“Yes!” she cheers, and it’s hard not to share her enthusiasm. “Change into something cute!”