“I love you!” I yelled back to her, and her alone, wrapping my arms around her neck.

“Let’s get another drink!” she said, once the song she liked faded into one she didn’t. I could have danced with her forever. I could have stayed in that moment forever.

I liked the weightless feeling I got from the pink drink. The way my forehead felt detached from my body, my brain acting on its own accord.

We drank another cup.

Then we danced. Catherine and Annie popped in here or there. Then the two hot guys who invited us. Then Catherine and Annie again.

We drank another cup, and time was nonexistent. I had no clue where in the night we were. I hadn’t seen Ruthie in ages. Or had I? Had we just been dancing? Or was that hours ago? How many drinks had I had? Did any of it really matter?

“Ruthie?” I knew I said it—loud, I think—but I couldn’t hear the words actually come out of my mouth. I was looking around, my lips moving the way I told them to, when I felt hands around my waist.

“You look amazing.”

Timothy was standing behind me, his chin pressing into my shoulder a little too hard, too much of his weight pulling me down.

I turned and before I could even fully register that it was him, his thick hands cupped my lower back and he started kissing the side of my neck. It felt, and sounded, like a suction cup; like he was pulling my skin into his mouth and then popping it back into place. His five-o’clock shadow felt scratchy but I stopped noticing when I realized his hands were moving down my body, from my back to my butt to between my legs. I could feel the heat building there, a sensation I’d only experienced to this degree once before. In a car, in a gas station parking lot, looking at a strange boy’s contorted face as he orgasmed for the first time.

“Kiss me on the mouth,” I told him, surprising even myself. I could feel him get hard at my demand and I pressed my knees together to get rid of the tingle, sucking in like I had to pee. He pressed against me even harder as he started to kiss me, with tongue, without tongue, his mustache scraping my upper lip. The pins and needles I’d felt in the car—the same I had when Timothy pushed me against the tree a few days ago—started to fade as we stood in the center of this barn, his hands gentle, careful, nervous even. I started to get bored and my mind started wandering to Ruthie—what was she doing? Was she seeing this? Or, even better, was she kissing someone, too?

He stepped back and took my hands in his. “Want to go outside?” he asked.