Meg finds her way to the couch, sitting so close to me that her knees meet mine. “I’ll stay sober, too, then.”

But I can see that she’s not sure. “It’s okay,” I insist. “If you want to drink, I promise to behave. And I’ll be around to keep an eye on you both.”

Meg’s teeth find her bottom lip.

“It’s your choice. No pressure.”

Meg grabs her drink, taking a larger gulp and wincing. “Is there anything better than this available?”

“Nope!” Duke admits. “Cheers, Meg!”

“To self-control,” she says dryly, tapping his glass with hers.

I think I’m going to like Halloween this year.

19

Meg

I have to admit, this is waaaay more fun than the trunk-or-treat in third grade. I’m still not super sure about Emily or her motives, but she’s been friendly tonight in the rare moments we’ve crossed paths. But her basement is kind of dark and filled to the brim with people in confusing costumes, so I haven’t had the time to miss her or feel uncomfortable.

Plus, Duke’s concoction improves upon further sampling. Emily’s roommates also have a keg in the corner where people have been milling all night. Every now and again, a bunch of shouting and cheering will come from that corner as various people play drinking games with the tap.

I’m in the cozy space between not caring that all those guests are putting their slobbery mouths on the same piece of hardware and being absolutely certain that I don’t want anything to do with it.

If pressed, I would call myself tipsy, because I accidentally dribbled red fruit punch down my front.

One thing I didn’t know before this party was how much Duke likes to dance. And how much I would want to join him. His happiness is infectious, and this feeling of not caring—of not needing to hold myself a certain way or protect others from myself or whatever—is really something. Is this why Jesus drank wine? Did he just need to loosen up at the end of a long day of performing miracles and putting up with the Sanhedrin’s baloney?

If so, I get it.

I’m fanning my face and talking with a girl named Amelia or Amanda, who is dressed up like Cleopatra. I give the girl props. So many of the costumes here are just (insert title) (but make it sexy), but I feel like Possibly-Amy really tried to embrace the history of her character.

Also, Cleopatra is already sexy, so she didn’t have to stretch the truth.

“I love your tat,” she’s saying, tracing the wings on my back.

“Me, too,” I say.

“And your fringe,” she points out.