Raven Holtzclaw-Fontaine: I’m just really happy for you. And I’m not just saying that.

Me: Yeah? Hey, thanks.

Raven: Just be careful, that’s all. It’s so emotional. No matter how exciting it is, it’s so emotional.

Me: Uh … okay.

Raven: Take me, for example. Like how I got an art scholarship to RISD, right? But I’m not going to let it go to my head, even though it is one of the most prestigious design schools in the country.

Me: You got a scholarship? That’s awesome!

Raven: Wow. That is so nice of you to say so. I mean, I thought you might be all full of yourself, but you’re not. And I’m not going to be either. Unless I’m forced to.

Me: You’ll do great. I know it.

Raven: Listen, do you think I could paint your picture sometime?

Elizabeth Greene: Everyone sees me as just this kick-ass cheerleader, but there’s more to me than that, you know? And this internship I’ve been offered could be the opportunity of a lifetime. Only, a year is a really long time. And Antarctica’s friggin’ cold, there’s no getting around it.

Me: That’s true. I do think it would be cold.

Elizabeth: Plus there’s only this one research guy in the lab I’d be working in, and he’s ancient. He has one of those tubes in his neck to speak with, but apparently he’s not much of a conversationalist.

Me: Jesus. Don’t you think you’d get lonely?

Elizabeth: I think he’s self-conscious.

Me: Well, I guess you just have to ask yourself if it’s worth it or not.

Elizabeth: Oh my god.

Me: What?

Elizabeth: Nothing, you’ve totally put it in perspective, that’s all. Because you weren’t afraid to take on a whole new life, were you?

Me: I never … huh. I mean, I guess I wasn’t, was I?

Elizabeth, hugging me hard: You’re my hero, Jane. I’m going to go for it. I am!

Pammy Varlotta: Hey.

Me: Hey.

Pammy: Great party, huh?

Me: Man, it really is. I didn’t know parties like this even existed—you know, before I hooked up with Bitsy and Keisha and Mary Bryan.

Pammy: I know what you’re saying. I mean, not that I’m claiming to be in your shoes or anything. Is it awesome, being a Bitch?

Me, laughing: God, is that all anyone can talk about? It’s like every single person has to bring it up.

Pammy: But … you brought it up, not me.

Me: What? No, I didn’t.

Pammy: Yeah, you did. Just now when you talked about hooking up with Keisha and everyone.

Me: Oh.

Pammy, wistful as hell: You’re sooo lucky. And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person, that’s what everyone’s saying. So … is it awesome?

It was awesome, especially when I steeled my nerves and approached Nate Solomon over by the bar.

“Um … hey,” I said, smoothing my skirt over my thighs. If this Bitch thing was really working—really and truly and not just pretend—then Nate would respond.

He stayed focused on the task at hand, which was stabbing a hole into the bottom of his beer can with a pen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

His eyes strayed to me, and the beer slipped from his hands. Foam fizzed from the gash.

Mike Miller chortled. “Beauty, man. Smooth move!”

Nate turned red, and my head buzzed with the unrealness of it. He dropped his beer because of me. He was blushing because of me.

“Shut up,” he told Mike, bending down and snagging the can. He pitched it into the trash.

I giggled, and Nate grinned self-consciously. He wiped his hands on his jeans and stepped toward me. My body tingled.

“You’re Jane, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You, uh, want to shotgun a beer?” He gestured at Mike, who, having pierced the bottom of his can, was now pressing the hole to his mouth and guzzling away. “When you pop the top, it comes pouring out.”

“Oh,” I said.

“We have pony beers, if you’re not ready for full-size.” He ducked behind the bar and produced a beer in a six-ounce miniature can. Then he plunked a really big beer beside it, twice the size of a normal beer. “Or we have tall boys, too. Want to try?”

“No thanks,” I said. “But I’ll watch you.”

“Yeah? All right, cool.” He grabbed the tall boy, and Mike tossed him the pen. With sure aim, he punctured the aluminum. He drew the hole to his mouth, popped the top, and chugged.

“Rock it!” called Mike.

“Dude!” cheered another guy.

Nate’s throat was long and taut as he swallowed. When he lowered the can, Schlitz glistened on his upper lip.

“Ice bonus,” Mike said. He strode to the bar and slapped Nate a high five.

Nate wiped his mouth with his forearm, then checked to make sure I’d been watching.

My skin warmed with excitement.

But the best part of the evening came later, after most everybody had left or passed out. Mary Bryan steered me to the back entrance of the warehouse, and we went outside into the cool night air. Keisha and Bitsy, too. Just the four of us. An iron ladder scaled the brick wall, and I followed Mary Bryan when she started climbing.

“Ooo, I can see Jane’s knickers,” Bitsy said as she climbed up behind me.

“Shut up,” I said. Me, to Bitsy. I was heady with glory.

On top of the roof, we leaned against the metal housing of the air conditioning unit and reviewed the evening. Trucks rumbled by on a nearby thoroughfare, their headlights jogging over street signs. Occasionally they made the building shake.

“That was a very good time,” Mary Bryan said.

Keisha wrapped L’Kardos’s jacket more tightly around herself. “L’Kardos told me he loves me,” she said softly.

“Keisha!” Mary Bryan squealed. She gasped and grabbed Keisha’s hand.

“Took him long enough,” Bitsy grumbled. But she reached over and wiggled Keisha’s knee. “That’s fantastic, Keisha. He’s dead yummy, and you know I don’t lie.”

“That’s great,” I said shyly. I thought about Nate’s strong arms, but kept them to myself. “He seems really nice.”

Keisha smiled. She rested her cheek against his jacket.

“Well, nothing nearly so exciting for me,” Bitsy said. “Keisha gets a big romantic moment, and what do I get? A grope on the sofa and Brad’s tongue down my throat.”

“Ew,” Mary Bryan said.

“Not to worry. I gave him the boot.”

“Bitsy!” Mary Bryan exclaimed. “Are you serious?”

Bitsy shrugged. “I’m well shot of him. Anyway, I’ve got my sights on Ryan Overturf. Talk about yummy. Did you see those trousers he had on?”

“‘Those trousers’?” Mary Bryan teased. “Anyway, no, because Pammy Varlotta was using them as a cushion for most of the night. I’d say you’ve got your work cut out for you, Bitsy my luv.”

Bitsy snorted. “What a butter cow.”

“Only Ryan really does seem to like her.” Mary Bryan giggled. “Guess you’ll have to wear a retainer and talk with a lisp like she does. Apparently that’s what he goes for.”

“Is that why she talks like that?” I asked. “She has a retainer?”

“It’s on the inside of her teeth so you can’t see it,” Mary Bryan explained.

“Don’t be mean,” Keisha said.

“What? Saying someone has a retainer isn’t being mean.”

Bitsy stretched, an expansive, hands-over-head movement that pulled her top up to reveal her tummy. She let her arms flop down. “I think I’m up to the challenge of Pammy Varlotta. If not, there are always other ways.”