It ends just as quickly as it began, and as I pull away, my eyes flutter open and I remember where we are: surrounded by people, surrounded by the girls of Andrew’s past, the girls of Andrew’s present. I look away from him, trying to focus my eyes on anyone, on anything else.

“Collins, your turn to spin!” Danielle says. She hands the bottle to me and I take it with shaky hands, my heart still beating wildly in my chest. I feel slightly out of my body, like everything is happening to someone else and not to me. I sit back down, and the circle parts to make room for Andrew and Hannah on either side of me. Hannah squeezes my knee and I look over at her and she breaks into a big smile, clearly pleased with herself.

“Spin, Collins,” Danielle says again. She’s drumming her black fingernails against the wood floor.

I feel dizzy as I lean forward and place the bottle down. I don’t want to spin—I’m already too confused, too disoriented, and kissing Ryder or Chase or Simon or anyone will only cloud my head more. I want to think about what’s just happened with Andrew, to figure out what it means. If it means anything at all.

“Spin!” Ava shouts, her tone light and gleeful. I turn my head too quickly to look at her, and she blurs—two Avas in one, four boobs bouncing as she claps her hands together. She raises her arms up to cheer and a trail of light and color follows the motion. I have to shake my head to clear it away.

“Spin!” somebody else says, and then a chant starts: spin, spin, spin.

I lurch forward and raise a wobbly hand to my mouth.

“I don’t feel well,” I say. “I’m gonna be sick.” I trip as I try to get onto my feet, my sock slipping on the polished wood floor.

“Ouch, Reed!” somebody taunts. “How rank is your breath?”

I run down the hall to the bathroom and slam the door before anyone can come after me, shutting out the sound of the laughter and jeers from the other room. Leaning over the sink, I run some cold water and splash it over my face, then rest my head against the mirror, the cold glass making me feel better. Maybe I can hide in here, my face on the glass, until everyone moves on, keeps drinking, and forgets I was ever here in the first place. Would anyone even notice?

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Collins?” It’s Andrew, voice muffled. “Are you okay?”

I don’t answer.

“Can I come in?”

There’s a long pause as I consider if I can handle lifting my forehead off the mirror. I don’t know if I want to be near him.