Tully marched over to the poorly decoupaged water bed, grabbed the paperback novel out of Kate’s hands, and threw it across the room. “I can’t believe you brought a book.”

“Hey!” Kate tried to sit up; waves rolled around her. “Wulfgar was tying her to the end of the bed. I have to find out—”

“We’re going to a party, Kate. Enough with the romance novels. And just for the record, tying a woman to a bed is S-I-C-K.”

“Yeah,” Kate said slowly, frowning. “I know, but—”

“No buts. Get dressed.”

“Okay, okay.” She shuffled over to the pile of clothes Tully had laid out for her earlier—a pair of Jordache jeans and a clingy bronze halter top. “My mom would die if she knew I was going out in this.”

Tully didn’t respond. Truthfully she wished she hadn’t heard. Mrs. M. was the last person she wanted to think about right now. She focused instead on getting dressed: jeans, pink tube top, and navy platform lace-up sandals. Bending over, she brushed her hair for maximum Farrah volume, then sprayed it with enough Aqua Net to stop a bug in flight. When she was sure she looked perfect, she turned to Kate. “Are you—”

Kate was dressed for the party and back on the bed reading again.

“You are so pathetic.”

Kate rolled onto her back and smiled. “It’s romantic, Tully. I’m not kidding.”

Tully grabbed the book again. She wasn’t sure why, but this really pissed her off. Maybe it was Kate’s glossy idealism; how could she see Tully’s life and still believe in fairy-tale endings? “Let’s go.”

Without waiting to see if Kate was following, Tully went out to the garage and opened the doors and then slid into the cracked black driver’s seat of her grandmother’s Queen Victoria, ignoring the way the stuffing poked into her back. She slammed the door shut.

“You have her car?” Kate said, opening the passenger door and poking her head in.

“Technically it’s my car now.”

Kate slid onto the seat and closed the door.

Tully popped a Kiss tape into the eight-track player and cranked up the volume. Then she put the car in reverse and eased her foot onto the gas.

They sang at the top of their lungs all the way to Karen Abner’s house, where at least five cars were already parked. Several of them were tucked into the trees and out of sight. When someone’s parents left town, word spread fast; parties sprouted like mushrooms.

Inside, it was a smoke-fest. The sweet smell of pot and incense was almost overpowering. The music was so loud it hurt Tully’s ears. She grabbed Kate’s hand and led her down the stairs to the rec room in the basement.

The huge room had fake-wood-paneled walls and lime-green indoor-outdoor carpeting. In the center was a cone fireplace surrounded by an orange half-moon-shaped sofa and several brown beanbag chairs. Over to the left, some boys were playing foosball and screaming at every turn of the handle. Kids were dancing wildly, singing to the music. A couple of boys were on the sofa, getting high, and a girl was over by the door, shotgunning a beer beneath a huge painting of a Spanish matador.