I climbed over the logs and seagrass to her. “I’m coming with.”

Sean was right behind me.

“Muir, no, we just got here.” Kira’s voice was strained, and when I stood beside her, I could see she was near tears.

“Kira, stay,” Sean said. “You can wear my hoodie, come on!”

She stepped back. “Thanks, but seriously, I smell like a brewery. I think I’m done for the night. Muir, you stay. Please.”

I turned to Sean. “Listen. We have a packed schedule of braiding each other’s hair and having tickle fights in our negligees to get to.”

“Well, sure,” he said. “That goes without saying.”

“Muir,” Kira groaned. “Stay…”

“Sean,” I said. “Walk us out?”

“Of course.” He put his hand on Kira’s elbow. “What happened?”

She shook her head.

As we maneuvered around the bonfire to the road, Tiana’s screech rose above the music, and I could see her shadow jumping from the crowd, waving frantically. “Bye, Kira, have a great night!” Then laughter.

Kira did not spill beer on herself.

Sean stood with his headlamp beside the road, and as Kira got in the car, he pulled me quickly to him. “She’s not okay,” he whispered.

“I’ll find out.”

“See you in the morning?”

“See you in the morning.”

He kissed me again, fast, and opened the passenger door for me, and waved as we pulled away for the quiet, beer-drenched drive back to her house.

“How’d she do it?” I asked.

Nothing.

“Kira. Did she pretend it was an accident?”

She nodded.

“What did you say?”

Silence.

“Kira. Why? You are a badass; you could shut her up for good in two seconds!”

“You didn’t say anything to Sean?”

“No. I didn’t and I won’t. But, Kira—”

She held the wheel tight. “Nine more months,” she said, tears spilling. “After graduation real life will start, and I’ll never have to see either one of them again. Just let me do it the way I need to, okay? Please?”

Already I was hatching a secret, elaborate plan to get Tiana expelled.

Friend, not “life or death” dependence. You’ll be gone after graduation, too.

“You’re right,” I said. “You’re right. I’ll leave it alone. I will.”

I will try.

Chapter Eleven

“MY HAIR STILLS SMELLS like smoke,” Kira groaned. It was morning, the sun was barely up, not yet seven. “Now I have to wash my pillow.”

“At least you don’t smell like Natty Light anymore.” I yawned from my sleeping bag on the floor.

“Oh, please,” she said. “I’m sure it was European or a local microbrew. They’ve got their parents’ money and highbrow taste in what they prefer to throw up.”

We’d somehow gotten back to her house, clothes into the washer and Kira into the shower, without a parental run-in.