I lead them to the corner of the room, where there are two beanbags. They recline on them and laugh and throw their legs over each other with a comfort that makes it seem like they’ve been friends for years. When we all first met in class, they asked me what school I went to (the first question everyone asks in every single class, I discovered) and when I told them, they all nodded politely, having obviously never heard of it. They went to big Melbourne private schools, and had mutual friends and experiences and jokes, because Justin’s ex-boyfriend was friends with Sophie’s sister and Ruby had hung out with Justin’s best friend one time, and they had an instant built-in scaffolding for their friendship. They were a threesome and I was an outsider from day one.

I perch awkwardly on the edge of one of the beanbags, still holding the chicken onesie, now folded neatly, in my lap. Do I sit with them for the rest of the night? Am I in charge of them, like a babysitter or a parent or, let’s be generous, a fun, young aunt? I’m starting to think I would actually feel better if I was wearing the onesie.

Jesse comes over, holding the Polaroid camera that Harper told us was for taking photos of the party. That she insisted we use and take lots and lots of pictures.

‘We’ll put them all over the fridge,’ she said. ‘It’ll be our house’s thing!’ She’d tried to take a photo of Jesse and me, but we both backed away.

‘Let me get a picture for the fridge,’ Jesse says to us now. I am immediately suspicious that he’s making fun of me, even though his tone is mild and friendly.

He holds the camera up and Ruby, Justin and Sophie pose in increasingly silly ways against the wall, completely at ease in their costumes and with each other and the world, giggling joyfully at half-jokes that make sense in their drunken minds, and I am filled with an overwhelming desire to be part of the group. Or part of Harper and Penny’s group. Any group. I wish for anything other than what I have: my three new sort-of friends laughing uproariously while I hover anxiously to the side.

I think of Lauren saying to me once, ‘But don’t you want to let go? Don’t you want to unclench, just once?’

Unclench, unclench, unclench, I tell myself, but saying those words makes me clench my insides, my stomach, my jaw, my eyeballs, my mind, harder.

‘Brooke, get in the picture,’ Jesse says, his eyes shining and his dimple-smile working overtime to charm everyone.

‘Oh, no, I think I’m okay here,’ I say, fake-smiling at him.

‘Brooke, get in!’ Sophie shouts. ‘Put the onesie on and get in.’