“This is Amanda.” Nick introduces me to a group of guys and girls, all about his age, who are holding red plastic cups and who, to my relief, look as casual as I do. The girls are wearing jeans or denim skirts; most of the guys are in board shorts and tees. I feel myself start to relax a bit. Still, it’s weird to hear myself introduced as Amanda. And my nerves are on edge, because I’m waiting for someone to realize who I really am.

“Hi.” A small girl with short dark hair is the first to extend her hand to me. “I’m Anne.”

Nick puts an arm around her.

“I’ve known Anne since we were kids,” he says. I feel a weird little flicker of jealousy. It makes me feel funny to see him put his arm around her.

“I’m Ryan,” says one of the guys, shaking my hand and looking me up and down. “Dude,” he says to Nick, “she’s cute.” Nick laughs, and I blush.

The others in the group introduce themselves too. Only one of them is giving me a funny look.

“I swear I’ve met you before,” says Todd, a guy with bright blue eyes and blond hair tucked into an orange University of Florida Gators cap. “You look so familiar.”

“I get that all the time,” I say, averting my eyes and pushing my glasses farther up the bridge of my nose. My heart is pounding.

“Are you sure?” Todd asks. He’s studying my face intently. “I could swear we’ve met. Do you go to UF?”

Nick jumps in and saves me. “Amanda just moved here from California.”

“Weird,” he says, shrugging. “You must look like someone I know or something.”

A half hour later, the party is filling up. It’s in the backyard of Ryan’s parents’ house. They’re out of town this weekend, he explains, and he’s home visiting from the University of Florida, where he’s a freshman.

“Can I get you a beer?” he asks. “We’ve got three kegs out back. We’re totally getting wasted tonight.”

I shake my head. “I don’t drink,” I say. Ryan laughs and then whistles, loud and low. “A goody-goody!” he exclaims with a hoot.

He laughs, and I can feel my cheeks heat up. It’s not like I object to drinking or anything, necessarily. I’ve just never really done it. My mom would obviously never let me have a beer. And since I can barely sneak Doritos past her, I seriously doubt I could be tossing back Budweisers all the time. But maybe Ryan’s right. Maybe that does make me a goody-goody.

If only he knew that at this very moment, I am supposedly in rehab for alcohol addiction.

Nick appears out of nowhere, hands me a Coke and slips an arm around my shoulder.