Harriet rolls her eyes. “They just say that to look like they’re taking drug use seriously if anyone asks. As long as we don’t make them look bad, they don’t actually care.”

Before long, we reach our spot: a clearing that was set up by students long before we arrived at school, presumably for similar purposes. Harriet and Florence kneel beside the fire pit and pull wooden blocks and towels from Harriet’s backpack while Eleanor, Molly, and I take our places on the logs we’ve always used as makeshift benches. Unlike other years, Molly and I do our best to sit as far apart as possible. And as though we’ve barely had a break in our longstanding routine, Eleanor opens the canvas bag she brought—and always did bring—with her and passes out cans of hard cider as though she’s Santa handing out toys from his sack.

Harriet and Florence bring the fire from a spark to a pleasant crackle, at which point they pass around their own toys for the boys and girls.

When I take a joint for myself, Molly’s eyes fix on me in an intense glare. Quite apparently, she cares about me doing this rather more than I expected, though I can’t understand why. Nor do I understand why she chose to come along tonight. She doesn’t drink, or smoke. Did Danni want to come?

Is it possible Danni wanted to see me?

I steal a glance at Danni—something I’ve been doing as little as possible lately—and find her taking a dainty sip of cider and scrunching up her nose at the taste. Apparently, she’s not much of a drinker. She looks so adorable, I smile to myself without quite meaning to, only to avert my gaze as rapidly as I can when she catches me looking.

On the ground beside me, my phone buzzes, but before I can reach for it, Eleanor snatches at it and reads the message with a playful look. “It’s from Alfie,” she says in a singsong tone. “He says he has a surprise organized for your birthday. Apparently it involves … what’s this? Whips and chains?”

Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what Alfie has just messaged me. Slow clap. I wrestle my phone from Eleanor’s grip, and find that the message from Alfie, in fact, asks if there’s any birthday gift I particularly want. Well, gosh, after the standard I set with my birthday gift to him, the sky might be the limit here.

“Are you having a party this year?” Harriet asks.

I shoot Eleanor a dirty look, locking my phone, and she beams back at me. “Of course,” I say. “Right after the New Year. I’ll get invites to you all soon.”