Adam makes the rounds, saying hello to kids I recognize from school and others I don’t think I’ve seen before. I hate feeling like I don’t belong, so I hang back and grab a beer from the cooler.

Across the room, someone opens a box of glow sticks and snaps them to life. Someone else turns out the lights, and people start throwing the gel around so it covers the walls. All I can think is that my parents would kill me if that happened at home. Not even Connor was stupid enough to throw parties in our apartment.

In the eerie light, I start looking through the bookcases. You can tell a lot about people by what they read and listen to, and while I’m not particularly intrigued in the private interests of the Haynes family, it at least makes me look as though I’m doing something.

Have you read that? I turn to see a boy pointing at a book. The spine says, Brideshead Revisited.

I shake my head and say, No, but my friend James kept trying to get me to watch the BBC version. He was obsessed.

You should give it a try, he says. The boy has dusky skin and a cute, timeless look. Black eyes and dark short hair. No eyeliner. No club clothes. No effort.

He tells me he’s eighteen, his name is River, and he’s David’s cousin, visiting from Amherst for the week.

I stare at him, thinking of David’s blond curls.

My mom is Black, he says as if he can read my mind. I wonder how many times he’s been asked about it tonight. My dad and Dave’s dad are brothers. He’s using me as the excuse for this party, but it really isn’t my thing.

He smiles easily, and I find myself smiling back, slightly overwhelmed by the amount of information he’s just thrown at me. Parties aren’t my thing either, I confess.

The music changes and catches my attention. My confusion must be obvious because River says, Talking Heads, “Psycho Killer,” I have no idea what it’s about, but it’s pretty cool. Very New York.

I sometimes wonder about the New York that only exists in the minds of tourists.

I have this whole album on cassette if you want to hear it, River says, gesturing down a hallway at a closed door.

He looks at me expectantly, and I feel a flash of attraction and curiosity. I don’t usually assume that any boy who talks to me about books and music is hitting on me, but something about this boy is different. Or maybe I’m different. Maybe it doesn’t even matter.

Maybe it’s simply time for me to stop waiting for everyone else to tell me what to do. Or what not to do. Maybe it’s time to just be myself.

River smiles, and before I can chicken out, I channel my brother, say, Lead the way, and follow River to the guest room.

The room looks like a holding tank for 1975. Shag carpet, lava lamps, even a beaded curtain.