“Fitz? Baby?” The words are slurred, her eyes glazed.

Immediately, I twist away, attempting to extricate my arm from her grasp without drawing too much attention.

“Now isn’t a great time.” I keep my voice low, which means I have to lean closer to her while also trying to pull away.

Never would be a great time.

“I really miss you.” Her eyes fill with tears and she stumbles into me, forcing my arm around her to keep us both upright.

I’m stuck like a duck in a dry pond.

Trying to keep my cursing on the inside, I offer an apologetic smile to the guys and pull Abby to the side of the yard, as far as we can get from the thumping bass and music and crowd.

“What do you want, Abby?”

“I want to talk.”

“Okay.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Talk.”

Her mouth opens and she flails like a fish for a few seconds before I help her out.

“We’re over. There isn’t anything to talk about.”

“Fitz, you’re my best friend.”

“Friends don’t treat each other the way you’ve been treating me.”

“But that’s the thing. Friends aren’t always sweethearts and it’s like we shouldn’t have done what we did but it’s my fault for always needing . . . needing something. I don’t remember.” She laughs, but the sound isn’t happy. It has sharp edges, hysteria threaded through the middle.

“What are you talking about? I tried to be your friend, Abby. You tried to manipulate me for . . . I don’t know, some kind of sick amusement?”

She winces. “You make it sound so cruel.”

“It was cruel!” And now I’m yelling. I stop and take a deep breath. “I can’t do this.” I start to walk away but Abby grabs my hand.

“Fitz, please. We need to talk.”

“Maybe when you’re sober.”

I pull my hand away and get a lucky break when one of Abby’s friends comes over to talk to her. Grabbing a play from one of Reese’s books, I hide behind the nearest bush, stepping between the hedges and into the shadows.

And of course, only a few feet away is Reese herself. I swear she was on the other side of the yard before. She must’ve been circling the perimeter.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing hiding in the bushes again? I figured you’d be luxuriating in your win. You know you can hide behind the locked door. No foliage needed.”

I think she laughs a little, but it’s too dark to see her face. “I was but . . .”

“But what?”

“I had to use the bathroom and when I came back, uh, there was . . .”

I groan. “Don’t tell me someone was doing it on the bed in there. Didn’t you lock it?”

“I did lock it. It’s not that. They weren’t inside the room, they were up against . . . They were,” her hands flitter like clumsy birds in the dim light, “using the door.”