The party had long since spilled out into the warm night, and I stalked the perimeter, looking for Penny. When I came around the side of the house, I saw two figures barely visible in the shadows. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I was able to make sense of the grotesque tableau. There was Brad Winkle—a senior at CDAH—with his back against the side of the house, head canted back in ecstasy, and, below him, my sister on her knees. I froze in horror for a moment that stretched an eternity before bolting back into the house.

I saw Emily, who had migrated onto the back porch.

“Did you find her?”

I shook my head, plunging my hand into a nearby cooler to retrieve a beer and drink it fast.

Sometime later, Penny appeared on the patio.

“Let’s go,” she said, nonchalantly. “This party sucks. Brad Winkle will not leave me alone tonight. He keeps trying to make out with me. Like, Jesus, I have a boyfriend.”

I hadn’t, thank god, told Emily what I’d seen Penny doing or with whom. In that excruciating moment I was flooded by several things at once: disgust at what I’d seen, confusion about Penny’s lie, but also a deep protectiveness, a desire not to embarrass my sister, not to let her embarrass herself.

We left the party and never spoke of that night again.

Liz Meets the Madman of Belgrano

THE WEEK between Christmas and New Year’s Eve is maddeningly quiet in Buenos Aires. Many of the shops and restaurants are closed, and my Spanish school is on break. Everyone decamps to the beaches in Mar del Plata and Pinamar, or so I’m told. My tour guide duties won’t begin for another week and a half. The normally bustling streets now have only the occasional couple or group of tourists passing by. The emptiness lets my mind fill with memories, and I feel myself hurtling toward a crisis. I call my mom in Idaho.

“Oh, honey, what’s up?” she says, my voice giving me away immediately.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I tell her.

“Do you want to come home?”

“No.” My parents are a comfort, but I can’t face coming home. At least not yet. “I feel like it’s good that I’m here. I just . . . I don’t know. I’m lonely, I guess. I really miss my friends.”

She knows how complicated everything is with Luke and Blair. My mom has always been a chief confidante, but now she’s my only one, which feels somehow unfair to her.

“What about the people in your Spanish classes?”

“They’re all college kids,” I say. “And like three random retirees.”