A group of girls wearing crop tops and faded denim were watching him from a line of plastic chairs at the side of the room. They all clasped disposable red cups between both hands. One wearing too-red lipstick smiled at him. She was pretty but, even with the vodka, he wouldn’t know what to say if he went over there alone.

At ten to midnight, Quinn slipped off the dance floor and hid in the corridor by the loos. He didn’t want to be exposed at midnight. Music Melvin would start playing ‘Lady in Red’ or some other saddo slow dance. There’d be the awkward shuffle as people tried to line themselves up with someone to kiss, his mates nudging each other, merciless in their mocking of both success and failure. He couldn’t deal with that kind of pressure. He replied to another text from his mum, the fourth of the evening, ‘Happy New Year, Mum. Honestly, go to bed, I’m fine.’

When he looked up from his phone there was a girl standing in the corridor opposite him. She had straight blonde hair, soft freckled skin, and a bright, cheerful face.

‘Don’t mind me,’ she gave a little shrug and leant back against the wall, resting one foot up behind her. ‘I’m just hiding from lemming o’clock on the dance floor.’

Quinn gave a nonchalant nod.

‘Don’t you hate how everyone just gets off with whoever they’re standing next to at midnight? It’s such a meat market. I bet most people don’t even know the name of the person they’re kissing. So gross,’ said the girl, shaking her head and making a disapproving little scowl.

Her cheeks were flushed and she rubbed her neck with the heel of a palm. Music Melvin was playing ‘Two Minutes to Midnight’ by Iron Maiden – not so predictable after all.

‘Yeah, gross,’ Quinn said quietly, then after a pause. ‘Did you say lemming o’clock?’

‘Lemmings all copy each other, don’t they? They don’t think for themselves.’

She gave him a coy smile. Then she looked off down the corridor and pushed her foot away from the wall. Quinn felt as though she was about to leave. He didn’t want her to go. He tried to think of something else to say.

‘Apparently there are like, thirty different species of lemming.’

Of all the things to say, why had he gone with that? How did he even know that? He must have picked it up from one of the nature documentaries his mother watched. This is exactly why he didn’t talk to girls. He glanced up at her face, convinced she was going to laugh at him.

‘Good knowledge,’ she said, leaning back against the wall again, ‘I love a lemming fact.’

Quinn felt his shoulders relax.