Roy had never been much of a bully, but he enjoyed making Mr. Streko nervous. It distracted him from the fact that Wendy was avoiding him. Roy was becoming all the things he hated tonight—a bully, an insecure husband, an overly confident host. Or maybe he’d always been all of those things and he was only just discovering it.

“These two are brilliant artists,” he blathered on. “They created the Guy.”

“Brilliant,” Mr. Streko agreed and shook his empty beer bottle. “Good thing you guys have five bathrooms. Hey, is that your weed I’m smelling?” he asked Elizabeth.

“So, we’re still friends, platonically speaking?” Shy didn’t mean to be pushy, but something about Liam brought out the pushy in her.

“I guess.” Liam ripped up handfuls of grass and tossed them behind him.

“Good.” Shy eased her butt off the ground and into his lap. She settled her shoulders against his chest. It wasn’t very platonic.

Her Gucci sneakers were muddy and her black jeans were torn and frayed. Liam ran his thumb over her skin through one of the tears. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in a bad mood all weekend. My dog died. My family sucks. I didn’t want to drag you into it. Congratulations on the Ping-Pong tournament or whatever.”

“Shhshh.”

Liam stopped talking.

“Volo enim vos eritis mihi in amans?”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“That’s probably because I’m failing Latin now. I asked you to be my boyfriend.”

Actually she’d asked him to be her concubine, because there was no word for “boyfriend” in Latin except amasiunculus, which sounded like a disease that made your penis fall off.

Liam shifted his weight. Having Shy in his lap was almost impossible to endure bonerless. “I thought I already was.”

“Okay, good.”

Shy leaned back against him. Across the grassy area of the garden Mr. Streko was hungrily watching some guy who looked like he’d just stepped off a yacht in the South of France roll him a joint. She wasn’t in love with Mr. Streko anymore, she realized. She might still follow him on Twitter, and she might consider taking AP Latin with him next year, but Mum was right—his neck tattoo was gross.

Liam rubbed his chin against her hair. He didn’t know why he’d been so bummed out. He was in an absurdly good mood now.

The party was crowded and boring. The big man-doll thing had melted too fast, and now the fire was boring too. Ted shoved an aerosol can of insect repellent into his sweatpants pockets, picked up his father’s abandoned skateboard, and walked down the little side alley that led out of the garden and onto the sidewalk.