Danni shakes her head, then gestures vaguely behind her. On the bed is her phone, and the screen isn’t black. It’s in the middle of a video call with Rachel, who I recognize from Danni’s photos. “I was drinking with Rachel,” she says. “Except she’s drinking soda.”

That’s why I couldn’t reach her.

Suddenly, her shoulders tense. “Oh. Oh no,” she says.

“What?”

“I just remembered why I came here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m really, really sorry.”

“What?” I demand, my voice near shouting-level. “What happened?”

“I … I was talking to Harriet.”

“And?”

She did take something. And now it’s Russian roulette from here, isn’t it?

“And … I’m sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I didn’t want to. But we kissed.”

The words make no sense at all.

“You kissed … Harriet?” I repeat numbly.

“She kissed me,” Danni says. “But I couldn’t stop her. I didn’t realize what was happening until we’d already kissed, and some guys saw us. I’m so sorry, Rose. I didn’t—”

“Rose!” someone says from the doorway.

Molly, Eleanor, and Harriet are gathered, looking in on us. I can see from the look on Molly’s face that her fears echo mine. As soon as Danni looks over at them, Molly relaxes.

“Are you okay?” Harriet asks Danni.

“So that’s where my vodka went,” Eleanor says, craning her neck.

I zero in on Harriet. She kissed Danni. She kissed my very drunk girlfriend, against her will.

The fear from the last few minutes swirls and spirals and suddenly explodes, and I’m untangling myself from Danni and advancing on Harriet. She steps backward in alarm.

“I asked you what you did to her,” I hiss. Eleanor and Molly spring away from Harriet, wearing identical expressions of concern.

Harriet’s eyes widen. “I—I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, you didn’t want to explain to me why you thought it was okay to force yourself on my—friend?”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“She can’t even hold herself up!” I cry, throwing my arm backward to where Danni lies on the bed.

“She wasn’t that drunk when we kissed.”

“When you kissed her,” I shout.

“Rose, keep your voice down,” Molly urges.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I cry, ignoring Molly.

Theodore has arrived to see what all the shouting is about. He makes eye contact with me in a silent question, while Harriet holds her hands up in surrender. I reel on her, wanting to slap them down. “I’m sorry!” she cries.

“No, you’re not. You don’t even know what sorry is. I’m going to make you so fucking sorry, you’re going to spend the rest of your life recounting tonight to your therapist.”

“Rose,” Molly says in horror.