‘We are no longer going to conform to society’s arbitrary, bullshit “beauty standards”,’ Ruby says. ‘Well at least not tonight. I do have to look good tomorrow morning in case that cute barista is working at the coffee shop.’

‘Fuck society and fuck society’s expectations,’ Justin says, vigorously fanning his hot face and unzipping his suit a few more centimetres. ‘But yes, that barista is hot. You should wear that cute skirt you just bought.’

‘Oooh yes,’ Sophie says.

‘Can I get you all a drink?’ I say.

‘We’re good. We brought our own. And we drank quite a bit at home,’ Sophie says. She has the soft, gooey eyes of an emotional drunk who’ll start crying later.

‘Oh wait!’ Ruby yells. ‘I forgot. We brought you a onesie too!’

‘Yes,’ Sophie says, clapping her hands, and together they rummage through a grubby bookshop tote bag filled with clinking bottles until they pull out a bundle of cheap, fluro yellow material with a flourish.

‘Ta da!’ Ruby says. ‘It’s a chicken!’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’ I hold it in my hands and consider what to do next. I am touched and pleased that they thought to include me, but the chicken suit looks pre-worn and I have no faith that Ruby has washed it since someone from her school might have worn it last year. Also, it’s a chicken suit.

‘Put it on,’ Jesse says gleefully from behind us, where he has apparently been listening to everything from the couch with great amusement. That makes me determined not to put it on.

‘It might not fit,’ I say. I think I see some sweat stains on the fabric.

‘It’s one size fits all,’ Ruby assures me.

‘You don’t have to,’ Sophie says kindly, touching my arm. ‘You look quite sober.’

‘Yeah, what are you drinking?’ Justin says. His hood has fallen forward and the stegosaurus eyes are goggling at me.

‘Oh nothing. I mean, nothing right this second.’

‘You need to catch up. Someone get this girl a drink!’ he shouts.

‘It’s fine.’

‘No, no you need a drink.’

‘I’m fine, truly.’

‘It’s your party. You have to drink.’

‘I will, I will,’ I say.