“I’m going to miss you guys next year,” Molly says, and maybe it’s just the alcohol that’s got us feeling all sentimental, because I barely know Molly Moye. Well, that’s not true. I know all of the facts about Molly: she’s dating Edwin Chang, she’s played field hockey since fifth grade, she’s going to Dartmouth in the fall. But knowing these details about Molly’s life doesn’t mean I know what’s going on inside her. And yet, when she says she’s going to miss me, I understand what she means. Because I’m going to miss Molly too. She’s part of my ecosystem. I’m used to her life orbiting mine, like she’s always just on the edge of my vision. And I know after we graduate—after summer is over, when I go off to California, and Hannah leaves for New York, and Molly for New Hampshire, I’ll probably never see Molly Moye again.

I wander around the house feeling slightly lost in the crowd of people, the sweaty mass of bodies. I’m already on my second margarita and the tequila is blurring them together, morphing them into strangers.

In the kitchen I find Danielle and Ava. I guess Danielle must have peeled herself off Andrew’s lap. Where has he gone?

There’s a cookie sheet on the counter and they’ve sprinkled tortilla chips and cheese on it, their fingers greasy. Because these are Danielle nachos, there are other ingredients too: black olives, jalapeños, sliced onions, and tomatoes. I can picture her cutting vegetables up before the party started, putting them in little bowls like my mom does.

“Collins!” Ava shouts when she sees me. “Come eat the last supper with us! We’re making a feast.” Ava operating an oven is probably a bad idea, but I’m happy she’s moved from kaleories to nachos. Hopefully Danielle will keep her from burning the house down.

“Where’s Andrew?” I ask, grabbing a chip off the tray and biting into it.

“Wait!” Ava shrieks. “They’re not ready yet!”

“Let’s make guacamole.” Danielle grabs some avocados from the basket of fruit on the counter and then picks up a big knife.

“Don’t!” Ava says. “You’ll cut your hand off. I read an article about it on BuzzFeed—like hundreds of people are going to the hospital with guacamole-related injuries.”

“Do you even know me at all.” Danielle slices expertly into the skin of the avocado, sticking the knife into the pit and throwing it into the compost. “If I ever wound myself on an avocado, please finish me off.”

“Have you guys seen Andrew?” I repeat.

“Not for a while.” Danielle puts the tray of nachos into the oven. “Just wait until these start cooking and then he’ll magically appear. Guys can’t resist melted cheese. It’s science.”