“Hey again, you!” Sam said, wrapping his arms around me and drawing me to him. I gave him a taut peck, pulled back. “How come you didn’t text me back?”

“My phone died,” I said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” I couldn’t tell if he believed me. He ducked his head into my line of vision. “Hey,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

“Actually, can you give me a sec? I need to talk to Jojo about something.”

“Sure,” he said, but furrowed his eyebrows and continued to hold me. I wriggled out from his grip.

Jojo was still pressed up against her boyfriend, her arms encircling his neck, the two of them talking closely and swaying a little, like they were dancing. I poked her on the shoulder. She looked over, startled, and I was glad to have shattered their reverie.

“I need to talk to you,” I said.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“In private?”

“Oh.” She gave her boyfriend an apologetic smile. He kissed her on the forehead, finally taking off the other sleeve of his stupid jacket as we turned away.

I had her by the biceps, pulling her toward the nook of the kitchen, where Sam wouldn’t be able to see us. I burrowed into the crowd, trying to get as deep into the corner as possible, finally arriving and facing Jojo. Her face wore a fearful expression, and I realized I was squeezing her arm so hard my nails were digging into her skin. I, too, felt startled and scared by this action, as if my hand were a being separate from me, and let the vise spring open. She held her arm to her chest, massaging it, as if to communicate to it that it was safe now, it was back in its rightful place and she would protect it from me. But then there was her expression, hard and glaring.

“What is happening?” she said.

“Did you invite Sam?”

“Yes,” she said. “I did.”

“Why? You knew I didn’t want him here!”

“Because he’s my brother? And I did want him here?” Her shoulders were pulled up toward her lovely face, she was cowering from me, but there was that fierceness there, too, so bright it made me afraid. “Besides, I thought you did want to see him, you just were playing hard to get, or maybe weren’t letting yourself.”

“That makes no fucking sense,” I said, though my mind was swirling like a tornado. I couldn’t think straight; I was scared of what my body would do next. “Sorry,” I muttered, and pushed past her, jostling her.

“Wait,” she called after me, “what the fuck? You’re just leaving, without finishing this?”

But I walked briskly away from her, her voice melting into the loud crush of other voices. Sam was waiting for me where I’d left him, holding his jacket.

“Is everything okay?” he said again.

“Girl stuff,” I said. Jojo was probably pressing toward us. I needed to get out. I could run for the bartender, grab him and pull him out of the party and onto the street—he’s mine—but if I crossed the room to the couch, I would intercept Jojo. Besides, he probably wanted to stay with Celeste. He’s mine, I would say, and he would shake his head, like he’d done to the foolish dancer. No, he would say. Why ever would I be yours? My heart pounded in my ears. I turned to Sam. “Want to go upstairs?”