“Go,” said Caitlin bossily. “Alexa. Go.” Alexa searched her mind and came up empty. “If you don’t go,” said Caitlin. “I will.” She refilled Alexa’s glass, which didn’t need refilling. And for some reason that very causal gesture set something loose in Alexa. It was something about the presumption of the triple sec, about the alcohol-softened, expectant, predictable faces of her friends, maybe about the fact that they still had their fathers and Alexa no longer had Peter, or maybe, beyond that, the fact that they didn’t know grief. They had never known real grief—they were untouched by its cold, dark fingers, and that wasn’t their fault, obviously, but it somehow made her unable to stomach being in the same room with them, especially when her mom and Morgan were cozy at home together. Without Alexa. She half-hoped the wind would blow the roof off. She wished, illogically, fervently, for something to happen that would take her attention from the sorrow and the rage she felt bubbling up inside her, that she could tell was about to spill over onto Caitlin and Destiny, whether she liked it or not. It was preordained. (It was Destiny.)

Caitlin was on her third serving of triple sec. Destiny’s eyes were turning glassy. They were both looking at her. Looking, and waiting, and expecting. Alexa could hardly stand it.

“One. I failed my driver’s test the first time I took it and never told you guys. Two. I’m not going to college. Three. I’ve cried every day since Peter died.”

“Whoa,” said Destiny. “This just took a turn.”

“You failed your driver’s test?” said Caitlin.

“I don’t know,” said Alexa savagely. “Did I?”

“I think the game is supposed to be a little more lighthearted?” said Caitlin. She was clearly buzzed, because she had started ending every one of her sentences with a question mark. “Something along the lines of how Destiny did it? Here, I can go. Want me to go, Alexa? One. I have never been swimming on a beach where there’s been a shark sighting. Two—”

She stopped and stared, because now Alexa was standing, almost quivering.

“Well I’m sorry if I don’t feel like playing this game. I’m sorry I’m not lighthearted enough. I’m sorry that my dad died and I didn’t get over it immediately. I’m sorry if it’s been a little—complicated on my end.”

Destiny glanced nervously at Caitlin. Alexa watched their eyes meet, watched a look pass between them that was definitely not meant for Alexa to share. It was the look an exasperated set of parents would pass back and forth over the head of a toddler in a tantrum, a look that said, Here we go again. Let’s just wait it out.