“Sure.” I smile effortlessly, because Evie is very pretty and making out with her, as we occasionally do at these things, is always very fun.

I take it back. Making out with Evie on her California king bed, which may just be the most comfortable thing I’ve ever bounced up and down on, is not just fun: it’s the bee’s knees.

The bee’s whole legs dancing the Charleston, frankly.

She hasn’t bothered to turn on the lights, and the only brightness in the room is her alarm clock, the 11:52 p.m. in the corner, and the hue of a party streams in through the door crack.

“Why are you bouncing so much?” Evie laughs in the dark when she joins me on her bed, which shifts slightly under her weight.

“It’s a very bouncy bed!”

“You’re ridiculous, H.”

We’re both whispering, and the party noises downstairs are reduced into strangely comforting background noise.

Evie suddenly stops our kissing.

“Is everything okay?” I ask. “Did I misread, um, this?”

It’s not our first time hooking up, but there have been plenty of parties where we do nothing more than wave to each other from across the room too.

“No misreading,” she says. “Um, do you have a condom?”

Oh.

Before I can answer, the door of her room swings wide open, bathing us both in entirely unsolicited, retina-scalding light.

I leap off Evie so fast, her hair gets a blowout. I expect a father with a baseball bat, but of course, it’s Corinne, standing at the door looking at us with complete shock. It’s as though she’s computing years of anatomy books, trying to figure out how to solve the puzzle in front of her right now.

“Can I help you?!” I yelp, tightening my belt buckle, even though it hasn’t even been unbuckled yet.

“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! I was looking for Henri!”

“You found him.” Evie sighs, dropping her head back on the pillow, staring at her ceiling.

“Knocking is nice!” I add. “Cori knocks, for the record!”

“I’m sorry!” Corinne yelps, hand still frozen on the doorknob, but her brow is now furrowed like she’s clocking a chemical reaction in a classroom lab and the frog suddenly starts to gasp back into life. “Were you two having sex?”

“Get out!”

“Okay, okay! Jeez,” Corinne says, excusing herself to the hallway roughly three minutes too late. “Resume your coitus!”

Corinne, Cori, CT, CeeCee, Riri—whatever name this door-swinging personality has, she is decidedly my least favorite now.

“Sorry again!” comes from the hallway.

“It’s okay, babe,” Evie calls after her with that easy laugh, even though there’s a clear hint of annoyance to her voice. She claps twice and the room floods with light. Fancy.

I turn back to Evie now leaning against her nightstand, a pillow clasped against her body, staring back at me with raised eyebrows.