“That explains it.” Jules pressed her cherry-red lips together as if in concentration, and I took the awkward beat to check out her outfit—blousy short-shorts, black ankle boots, a floppy T-shirt bearing the image of a fishing lure under a paper-thin blue leather jacket. Her hair was loose, jagged at the edges like a craft project, and she appeared to be wearing no makeup except for those lips. And yet it worked. She was art.

She blinked like she was clicking her face out of safe mode. “Listen, I’m going out. With some friends.”

“Oh, okay.” I started to back up.

“I don’t have anything remotely in your size, but let me grab you something . . .” She waved at me, squinting. “Yeah. And then we’ll go, okay? I’ll be two seconds.”

“Oh.” We.

She was already back inside her brownstone, taking the steps three at a time. In what felt like no more than the two seconds she’d promised, she was back downstairs, holding a drapey red tank dress out to me.

“Um . . .”

“It goes over . . .” She glanced wistfully over her shoulder at a passing taxi. “Let me do it.”

Before I could protest, she was shoving this thing over my head and I was pushing my arms through like a toddler and blinking down at my getup and . . . holy hell, it worked. I looked like someone who went out at night.

She flagged the next taxi and waggled the door until I joined her inside.

“Fifty-first and Eleventh,” she said, then pulled out her phone to text as we glided away.

“Where are we—?”

“My friend’s brother tends bar at this club in Midtown, so we get to sneak in. It’s terrible but we’ve made it our own. The music is awful.”

She beamed like that was a selling point.

My heart hammered louder the farther west we drove. Out. To a club. With strangers. I knew this was normal, this was what everybody did at all the schools around me—this was a real-life experience—but it felt jarringly like a dream where you’ve woken up in Spain with no shoes on.

We got out of the taxi in front of a nondescript bar with a bored-looking bouncer manning the steel-gray door. My outfit gave me a burst of courage. This was a costume. I was someone else. I drew a breath and started toward the door.

Jules grabbed me from behind and steered me away, face frozen casual.

“Oh.” I glanced back. “Is that not—?”

“Do you have a fake ID? Didn’t think so. We go in the VIP entrance.”