Later, June and I shared the corner of an L-shaped sofa. Normally I would have treated the gap between us like it might electrocute me if I touched it, but now, I collapsed into her, and she collapsed back and didn’t push away, and our hips brushed against each other every time one of us shifted or laughed.

And in the moment, this was the most important thing. I had forgotten about Bea completely.

I was aware of the conversation the way you’re aware of your nose: I knew it was there but I didn’t care to focus on it. I mostly paid attention to my nerve endings; the fact that June and I were so close to each other that the only motion required to kiss her would be to turn my head slightly to the right. I worried someone could read my mind, or that it was all too obvious. But no. They wouldn’t know. This was a completely innocent, sleepover sort of contact.

My ears perked up when I heard my name.

‘It’s so weird to see Sydney drinking.’ The statement came from Greg, who spoke with this sleazy smirk that I didn’t like.

I smiled and said, ‘Sorry, who are you?’, half because I was drunk, and half because I honestly didn’t know anything about him at all. It was funny enough to not be cutting, apparently, because the group laughed.

June asked on my behalf. ‘What does that mean?’

He proceeded to talk like I wasn’t there. ‘Like, in school, I guess. She’s just kind of quiet.’

June shifted. ‘You guys just don’t know her well enough. She’s a fucking loudmouth.’

I looked at her with faux outrage and elbowed her in the ribs, which resulted in her shrieking and spilling her drink; she kind of half-caught some of the liquid with a cupped hand. And I don’t know what came over me, I seized her wrist and licked her palm like I’d been dared to stick my tongue on a frozen flagpole, and June giggled like crazy, the sting from the alcohol and her laugh and the sheer publicness of it all blending into a moment that was almost euphoric. I watched as Greg leaned over to Heath and said loudly enough that we could hear but quiet enough that he could claim he didn’t mean us to: ‘Threesome just waiting to happen.’

We both stiffened, I think, but probably not for the same reasons. ‘Hey, man,’ Heath said, serious.

Greg smiled again. ‘Come on. You can’t blame me.’

Heath stood up, towered over Greg. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

‘Dude, come on, I –’

That was when June left, and stormed up the basement stairs, polished wood creaking beneath her feet.

I followed her. I don’t know what else happened with Heath and Greg, because I followed her.