I woke up with my first hangover, and thought it had been a one-time thing, spending the evening with those people, but then I got some texts from Paige. I guess I’d given her my number. She sent a lot of barfing emojis that made me smile to myself like I’d gotten a gift. That one night turned into others, and they’re my friends now, and Lottie’s too. And yes, I know that it could be short-lived, that it could be pulled out from under us, but so far, so good, although it feels like Lottie has more leverage with them than I do.

Maybe it was a fluke that they happened to be together without me. Still, I hate being left out, and I have to remind myself to keep it in check. I think back on whether there were times when they asked me to do something and I couldn’t. There is a yawning space between me and Lottie. She hasn’t seemed totally herself lately. She’s quieter, distracted, and every time I ask, she says she’s fine. I dunno. Things seem different. I can’t get a read on her, and I feel a creeping uneasiness.

Lottie stretches her long arms over her head. She is tall and lanky, and she would make a great model or high jumper, not that she wants to be either. Her features are a bit weird, some people say: her nose is very long and straight, her eyes wide apart and kind of big, her lips unintentionally pouty. But people are noticing her, whenever we’re out together, and usually they look like they can’t quite make up their minds if she’s pretty or not. She has this exotic look about her, like a doll made of buttons and string, nothing exactly where it should be. My mom says she will grow into her face eventually and be a real looker. She also says using a brush wouldn’t kill her. Even now her hair is a pattern of knots running down her back like angel-hair pasta that’s been sitting on the stove too long.

She presses her hands on her lower back and lets out a groan. “I have a ton of homework.” She sticks out her tongue and rolls her eyes, and I smile.

“Yeah, me too. I should get going.” I remember when we would have begged her parents to let me stay later. I look at her, her face relaxed into something distracted and a bit sad. “You okay?” I ask.

“Hmm? Oh, totally, yeah.” A weak smile. Not totally okay. I know her enough to know this, but not why she’s not telling me.

“Okay … well, talk to you later,” I say.