“Eeks,” she whispers.

“Okay,” I say, screwing the cap back on the Beam. “So you want to hang out here, or . . . ?”

“Let’s just say hi to Ash and head home.”

“You want to leave?”

“You don’t?”

“We just got here,” I say. “We should stay a little longer.”

“Oh. Ian,” she says. “Is he here yet?”

“Yeah. I saw him. We kissed.”

“What? When?”

“Like five minutes ago. On the swing set.”

I anticipate a big reaction. Girlish squeals and poking and teasing and swooning. What I get is something far more restrained. Barely a smile. It’s a sort of distant, misty-eyed look.

“You’ve been losing your mind over me and Ian, and now something actually happens, and you look fully unenthused.”

She’s flustered. She’s doing these odd little sighs, opening and closing her mouth like a day-old goldfish. Her shoulders twitch.

“What?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m emotional.”

She’s crying. Actually crying.

“Scarlett?”

“It’s not me!” she says. “I’m not crying.”

“Sure,” I say, snatching a cocktail napkin for her to use as a tissue.

“It’s not me,” she repeats. She’s genuinely upset.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she says, wiping her eyes. “Let’s find Ashley.”

I stand stunned for a moment before following her inside.

By the time I get into the house, she’s already gone. I’ve lost her.

I see Ian; he’s hard to miss. He’s the tallest person here, costumes included. He towers over the T. rex heads and bad wigs. He talks to someone out of view.

“Hey, you!”

Ash stands behind me, a convincing Morticia.

“You look amazing,” she says. “Love it.”

“I look like I’m about to get the train run on me by the Merry Men,” I say. “You can’t lie to me. I’ve seen this porno.”

“I believe it. You watch a lot of porn,” she says, giggling.

These are the kind of things old friends know about you. It’s what makes them as dangerous as they are precious. They’re plutonium.

“Anyway. You look beautiful,” I say. “Have you seen Scarlett? I lost her.”

“No, I haven’t seen her yet,” she says.

I wave her in close to me. “Okay, two things. One, I kissed Ian.”

She screams.

“Shhh,” I hiss. I wave her in again. “Two, I told Scarlett and she basically burst into tears. And I’m not sure they were happy tears.”

“What do you mean?”

“She seemed upset! She kept saying, ‘It’s not me.’ Whatever that means.”

Ash scrunches up her face. “Maybe it’s about . . .”

She doesn’t say his name out loud. She mouths it.

Matty.

That motherfucker.

“I guess I didn’t think,” I say. “That’s it, I guess. I didn’t think.”

“No, no,” Ash says, digging some stray wig hair out of her cleavage. “She doesn’t talk about it. It’s impossible to get a read on her. You’re the same way. I thought maybe you’d have more insight into the situation. With him.”

I shake my head.

“I learned a long time ago it’s pointless to try to get anything out of either of you,” she says. “I can’t believe you kissed Ian.”