Paige opens the door while yelling and laughing at something over her shoulder. She glances at me, smiles, and gives me a singsongy “He-ay.” She turns around, disappearing into the house, her hair swinging at her back. I quickly kick my shoes off and follow her into the basement, which is huge and loud with music.

There are a bunch of kids there from school; I recognize a few of them, including this new girl, Dee, who I’ve been seeing around. She’s leafing through a paperback from a bookshelf behind her, ignoring everyone else. She doesn’t say much, like she’s too cool or something, but always seems to be watching, judging. She looks at me now and holds my gaze until I look away.

People are sprawled on chairs and sofas, arms and legs all over each other, hanging on and off one another’s words and bodies. Lottie is there, sitting on a couch and talking to some blond jock, laughing. I try to shake off the hurt feeling of her coming without me, but it’s got teeth and won’t go so easily. She looks so comfortable, and I wonder again if she’s been here before, and when, and what she and Paige did together, and why they didn’t ask me. God, why do we do this? I consider leaving, cutting my losses and bolting, but then I look at Lottie again, and a spurt of competitive juice surges in me. She waves briefly, happily, when she sees me, and then turns back to the guy.

If she can do this, I can. I get a couple of nods and some blank faces, and I sit on the floor and try to act normal. Maybe this is my chance to branch out a little, to reinvent myself, or at least experience a taste of what all those eighties movies were getting at. I look bored and bob my head to the music.

I am nothing if not an overachiever. I have always gotten top marks, excelled at everything I decided I wanted, even if it elicited eye rolls and exchanged looks. Me, Stevie, holding up an award with a shit-eating grin: that is the essence of every photo in our house. Lottie, on the other hand, has some kind of genetically blessed blasé, an effortless ease that has only ever made me look like I am trying too hard. You can’t really overachieve while being cool, which is the terrible paradox for people like me, but I’ll be damned if I won’t give it a go. I’m here, aren’t I?