“Oh, is that a problem?” She sat again, crossing her legs coquettishly. “Did you invite another girl?”

“No! Jesus.” He motioned to the door. “Do you want something?”

“Water,” she said. “Ruby?”

“You’re still not drinking?” Tyler sounded amused.

“Nope.” She examined her thumbnail.

“I make one comment—”

“Ruby, do you want a drink?” she asked, louder.

“I’ll have a Shirley Temple,” I answered, and immediately wanted to bury my head in these disgusting cushions till I passed out from shame.

But the model clapped. “Oh my God, I love those! I’ll have one too. But put some vodka in mine.”

The dance floor in the other room had started filling up in the time it took to get our drinks. As I wobble-walked out with them, I found myself matching step with the bass beat whether I wanted to or not. My Shirley Temple had tasted slightly off, so I was guessing I’d also gotten the Sam upgrade. It felt . . . interesting.

We bobbed around the side of the room, making fun of the music—dancing with exaggerated enthusiasm. Ironic dancing? This was new.

Then Jules pointed to the front door. “I have to eat.”

Out on the street, everybody headed north, like they were psychically linked and had already decided on a destination.

Joey hung back. “Are you a senior?”

“Yeah, next year.”

“Us too. Do you know where you’re applying for college?”

Normal. I loved normal. I could totally normal. I wobbled and Joey caught my elbow.

“Um, not yet.” I jogged to catch up with the others, crossing the street past dark office buildings to a glowing diner. “I need to pick a life direction first. Where I can make the most impact.”

“Oh, right,” Joey said, but he looked confused.

We followed everybody inside to a corner booth the waitress was still clearing. The place was packed—our timing had been impeccable.

Joey slid in beside me. “Are you going to stay in the city? I applied to Northwestern, but there’s no way I’ll get in.”

“You’ll get in!” Sam turned to me. “He’s a math genius.”

I coughed, abruptly on the spot, like Joey and I were on a blind date.

Joey flushed. “I get good grades, that doesn’t mean I’m a math genius.”

Genius. I pictured tuxedoed Oscar sitting at Nora’s table at the Met gala tonight, smiling under the ballroom lights, the set of his jaw, fingers idly tracing a tune against the edge of the tablecloth . . .

“You calculate derivatives faster than me.” Sam opened her menu. “And I’m totally a genius, so.”

“Have you decided on Binghamton yet?” Tyler asked Jules. The subject hadn’t changed, exactly, but this had the tone of a private conversation.

Jules sipped her water as her boyfriend kissed her shoulder. “Nope.”

He straightened. “Nope, you’re not applying, or nope, haven’t thought about it.”