Sean was already blushing, realizing his smooth moves were maybe quite bumpy. “Just some of it. No biggy. Do you like, er, maths?”

“I wake up every morning and think, Thank God for maths.”

“Huh. You’re kidding, right?”

“Yes, I’m kidding.”

“Ha,” Sean said. “Ha.”

He hadn’t even said hi to me despite being in my history class. I tried to believe it was because we hadn’t been set history coursework yet, but understood it was because Sean had no interest in putting his hand in my bra. I stood there awkwardly, Sean blocking my exit to Kim and Amy—who were trying to get the boys to tell them their star signs. I clutched my empty Pokémon cup with one hand, and covered my midriff with the other, and looked around the conservatory with what I hoped was a cool, disdainful expression. Matt was watching us—his eyes flicking over to Jessica every three seconds or so between glugs of his Smirnoff Ice. Then I felt the warmth of Jessica’s hand in mine.

“I’m really sorry, but I’m dying for a wee,” she told Sean. “Fern? You coming?”

I compliantly let her tug me upstairs, while Sean watched us leave, looking slightly dejected. Jessica dashed into the loo, and when she reappeared, the alcohol she’d drunk visibly colored her face. “Do you want me to wait?” she asked.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll meet you down there.”

The noise of the party quietened when I closed the toilet door. I sat on the loo seat and folded over, resting my head on my knees as my depression found me. Rushing in, numbing me out. Pathetic. Disgusting. Weak. Invisible. It started calling me names, as I replayed Sean blanking me to hit on Jessica. Because you are nothing and no one and... I pushed the voice down ’til I felt nothing, and spent many minutes sitting like that, blinking occasionally at the yellow shower curtain, the music vibrating through my toes. Time suspended, and I was totally lost in nothing until I was jolted out of it by a loud knock at the door, and a “What the hell are you doing in there?”

Downstairs, I found everyone had got very drunk in the short time I’d been gone. Eric was cradling a bottle of something as if it was the Baby Jesus, a smug smile carved into his red face.

He brandished the bottle at the girls. “Tequila?” he asked. “It’s the real deal.”

We all shared a nervous look.

“Where did you get that?” Jessica asked.

“My parents brought it back from Mexico this summer. It’s the real deal,” he repeated. “It’s got the worm in and everything.” He held the bottle up for us to see the floating maggot and Kim shrieked. “Gross!”