Nick returns a few minutes later with another Coke for me. He smiles, but I don’t smile back.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I just met Kallie,” I say. The smile falls from his face. “She says she’s your girlfriend.”

“Oh crap,” Nick says. He looks guilty. Which probably means he is.

“Is she?” I ask. I try to remind myself that it’s not like anything’s ever happened between me and Nick. Maybe I don’t have the right to be mad. Obviously, I just misread the signs and thought he liked me, when in reality, he had no interest at all. I feel like an idiot.

“It’s a long story,” Nick says with a sigh, not meeting my eye. “But I can explain,” he adds.

“No need,” I say, trying to sound cool and casual, like I don’t care at all.

I turn away quickly and weave my way through the crowd, toward the kegs I know are in the back of the yard, near the fence. Despite myself, I hope he’ll follow me to apologize or explain. I’m even more hurt when he doesn’t. I really am a fool, I guess. Fine, I think, hating that there’s an ache inside me now. What is it with everyone in my life always letting me down? I’ve had enough for one day.

Nick’s friend Ryan is working the kegs when I get there. He laughs when he sees me and hands me a red plastic cup full of amber-colored beer.

“I knew you’d come over to the dark side!” he exclaims cheerfully as he thrusts the cup into my hand, sloshing some of it over the sides and down the legs of my jeans. “Bottoms up. Someone get this girl a shot!”

I glance behind me again to see if Nick has followed me, thinking that if maybe he has, if maybe he has an explanation, then maybe I shouldn’t do this. But instead of Nick, I see a hand come out of the crowd with a Dixie cup of liquid.

“What is it?” I shout over the noise, taking the cup and sniffing it.

“Tequila!” says the guy attached to the hand. I look at him in confusion. He laughs and adds, “Just gulp it. You’ll barely taste it.”

What do I have to lose? It’s not like there are paparazzi waiting in the bushes to capture this on film.

I gag immediately. Yuck! It tastes like rubbing alcohol and hurts as it slides down my throat. I start coughing as soon as I’ve swallowed. Ryan glances over and laughs.

“Woo-hoo!” he exclaims. “Drink some beer,” he tells me. “It’ll wash it down. It’ll burn less.”

I take a huge swig of beer. Then another. And another and another, until the beer—which tastes kind of like dirty socks but at least cools my throat—is gone.