After a few songs, Zak runs over and shouts, “Seriously. Suck it up and dance with us.”

I shake my head, because it’s not that easy. Zak can go from zero to one hundred in a second. But I’ll try, then stop, and that’s worse than not trying at all.

“She asked you to dance,” he says. “You know what that means.”

I know what he thinks it means, but maybe she’s only being friendly.

“Don’t let this go in your do-over diary,” Zak says.

“I don’t have one.”

“You will if you mess this up.”

I look over his shoulder at a girl I’ve only just met who makes me feel so many things. Brave isn’t one of them. But she’s dancing like no one’s watching, and, even though people are always saying that, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.

Zak puts his hands on my shoulders. “Tom. It’s not embarrassing if everyone’s doing it.”

I don’t say that depends what they’re doing. I let him lead me on to the dance floor, and Amy says something I can’t hear over the music. I move a bit, then try to stop, but they don’t let me. They move my arms and laugh, and I try to do what they’re doing.

“Are you having fun?” Zak yells.

I’m not. And then, suddenly, I am. And it’s my best mate who eventually pulls me away, holding his side and saying, “Cramp.”

Every now and then, Amy tops off her drink, then swigs directly from the flask until she turns it upside down and pokes out her bottom lip.

“All gone,” she mumbles.

She’s rocking slowly from side to side, and, when she leans over to tell me she needs the toilet, her booze-breath slaps me across the face.

A few people are giving her funny looks, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s the new girl or because she’s not exactly shy when she dances.

Or maybe it’s because, as I guide her to the toilets, she knocks into people and says things like, “Whoops…drunk person coming through.”

The tiniest slur creeps into her voice, and I think about Gary and how we got so used to it that he sounded weird when he wasn’t drunk.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Do you want some fresh air?”

Amy shakes her head. “Fresh air doesn’t help. You sound like Logan.”

I think it, stop myself, then say it anyway. “Is Logan your boyfriend?”

She grins and says, “Why? Are you jealous? Don’t worry… He’s no one.”

Amy tries to walk but loses her balance and giggles as I struggle to hold her up. Someone taps my shoulder and, when I turn, a bouncer says, “She needs to leave.”