Liz pressed down on the gas pedal, then took a hairpin turn that threw a screaming Julia into the door, because tonight, they were unbreakable.
They arrived at the party nearly an hour late, and by then the bonfire was huge and the crowd could be heard from ten blocks away. People were already leaving, because a party of this size, with this much beer, would surely draw as many police officers as a donut buffet. Tyler Rainier was an idiot to throw such a party on a public beach, but Liz didn’t care. She took another swig as she got out of the car to make sure she didn’t.
Smoke was everywhere, a haze of bonfire and marijuana. There were strobe lights and colored spotlights, and it seemed as though the sky had descended and turned them all to hazy stars. The music made Liz’s brain tremble. It was only a matter of time before everyone scattered, but it didn’t matter. Not tonight.
Liz glanced at Julia, who was observing the entire thing with an expression that could almost be called disdainful. People called Julia stuck-up because she was quiet and rich and chic and had the posture of a ballerina and was something of a killjoy at parties. Julia was destined for a world of charity balls and pearls. She was a little too smart, a little too graceful, a little too conscientious for this hammered crowd.
And sometimes it made Liz jealous, but tonight was not one of those nights. Tonight, she looked over at Julia and had to fight down the urge to hug her, because Julia was uncomfortable and beautiful and hers.
“C’mon, killjoy,” Liz said cheerfully. Julia followed after a moment, and the lights swallowed them together.
“Liz!” Liz almost fell over as Kennie bowled into her. The bottle flew out of her hand and spilled all over Julia.
“Dammit.” Julia sighed, looking down at her soaked cover-up. Kennie giggled and licked a drop off her shoulder, ducking away as Julia slapped at her head.
“Get off, lesbo,” said Julia, but she was laughing too.
“It’s good,” Kennie said, picking up the bottle off the sand. She squinted at it. “Oh, my god. I’m not that drunk already, am I? Why can’t I read this?”
“Because it’s not in English, stupid,” said Liz, and Kennie laughed and threw back the rest of the wine. Her hair tumbled down her back, then fanned away as she tossed the bottle at Liz.
“Come on!” Kennie said, grabbing their hands and dragging them into the smoke. The heat was unbelievable; it made Liz’s throat itch, and she lifted the bottle again, but it was empty. She dropped it into the sand.
“Careful,” she shouted to Julia over the noise. “Don’t get too close to the fire! That much alcohol on you—”
“Bitch,” Julia called back, shrugging off her soaked clothes. “God, I smell like—”
“Like a Russian!” Liz hollered. She slung an arm around Julia. “Like you’re sexy!” She didn’t know exactly what she was saying anymore, but who cared? She didn’t. She also didn’t care about whatever Kennie was babbling about—either Kellie Jensen’s outrageous flab or Kyle Jordan’s outrageous abs—or about the s’mores and beer that she was trying to pull them toward, so Liz broke away and let the crowd surround her.
Jake Derrick, Liz’s official on-again-off-again, was out of state for the weekend at some football camp, most likely hooking up with whichever cheerleader had the biggest boobs, but she didn’t care. She grabbed the nearest boy by the belt and he took her hips. It was too smoky and he was too tall for her to make out much of his face, and she didn’t try very hard to get a good look. She wasn’t here to make memories. She was here for the flashing lights and the sweat and the smoke and the feel of someone else’s skin against hers. They were interchangeable, these boys. They didn’t matter. They didn’t matter at all.
While she was with Boy Number Four, Liz’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a text from Julia, saying that she and Jem Hayden, her potentially gay boyfriend, were leaving to check out some indie bookstore. She hadn’t seen Kennie for a while, but no doubt she was grinding with Kyle somewhere in the mob.
Doesn’t matter. There was too much marijuana in the air, and it was making Liz dizzy. Nothing mattered, not even the way Boy Number Four kept trying to kiss her. Why should it matter? Tomorrow she would wake up and this party would be a haze of lights. She wouldn’t remember any of it. So she finally turned her face and let Boy Number Four press his pot-flavored lips to hers, and he wasn’t bad.