Text from Lila: will pick u up at 7:15, ok?

I realize then that I haven’t asked my aunt if I can go to a party at the Barn. She thinks we’re making lasagna tonight. Crap. Having a social life is complicated. The other messages are confirming the time for lunch tomorrow. Quickly I send replies: yes, yes, and 2:30, see you then.

If I do some prep work, we can probably put together the pasta before I leave with Lila. So I head to the market to do the shopping, then I get to work in the kitchen.

Later, when Aunt Gabby calls, I say, “All we need to do is finish up when you get here.”

“This much ambition means you want something.”

She’s sharp, my aunt. “Y’know. I forgot to ask earlier, but … is it okay if I go with Lila to a party out at the Barn tonight? Transportation is covered.”

“No drinking to excess,” she says. “And be home by midnight.”

It’s cool that she doesn’t ask if there will be liquor or parental supervision. Since my aunt grew up here, she knows what goes on out at the Barn, and I’m sure she partied out there a time or two, back in the day. Instead she trusts me not to drink until I vomit or do anything ridiculous.

“Done,” I promise.

“And I expect to hear about Shane while we fix the lasagnas. Those are my terms.”

“I accept.”

Just then, I hear the bell jingle, which means she has an actual customer, not an order from the interwebs. “Gotta go. See you in a bit.”

I spend the rest of the day getting ready for the party. This is my first time, but I figure nobody dresses up, so I go with jeans and a sparkly cream sweater. In the dark, I doubt anybody will notice, but I think it’s pretty. Then I put on an apron in case I manage to get red sauce on me. I’ll do my hair and makeup after we finish.

When my aunt gets home, I have everything set out with military precision. She laughs at how prepared I am. “You really want to go, huh?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “I’d like to see what it’s all about.”

“I’m really glad to see you branching out, making new friends. I’m looking forward to meeting them all tomorrow.”

“Should be fun.”

“So … Shane,” she prompts, filling the bottom of the pan with lasagna noodles.

Aunt Gabby is a pro at putting all of this together, so I stand back. I’ve done my share by getting it all ready and I’ll handle the salad tomorrow, plus cleanup. Taking a seat at the table, I watch while she spoons in the veggie and soy filling, cottage cheese, mozzarella, then the next layer of pasta.

“He’s phenomenal.”

“Two words aren’t getting you to a party tonight.”

I grin … and recount how the date went. Pretty much the only things I leave out are the kissing and the fact that he spent the night in my bed. I tell her that he’s a gifted guitar player and that he applied at the P&K after she told me about the HELP WANTED sign and that he got the job to help out with family expenses. I don’t share that his dad is a long-haul trucker who doesn’t even live with him. Asshole.

“A musician, huh?” Her smile seems extra curvy. “I dated one in college. Just wait until he writes you a song. That’s a guaranteed panty-dropper.”

“You did not just say that. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to use that phrase.”

She shrugs as she puts the lasagna in the fridge. “You’re sixteen. Get over it.”

So Aunt Gabby only gets awkward and embarrassed when discussing her prospective sex life. Mine is apparently fair game. I mumble something about doing my hair and makeup and escape to my bedroom. As I’m getting ready, I wonder if there will be a bonfire out at the Barn—what it’ll be like exactly. This is what cool people do on weekends instead of seeing movies or hanging out in the square.

Just past seven thirty, Lila pulls up in the promised golf cart. I laugh when I see it because the thing is totally decked out with running lights. It looks like somebody featured it on an episode of Pimp My Ride. Aunt Gabby stares out the window, eyes wide.

“Are you two kidding me with this?”

“How did you think I was getting there?”

“Eh. I figured you probably caved on the car thing.”

I shake my fist, making a supervillain face. “Never!”

Then I shrug into my vintage faux-leather jacket. It has a nicely grungy look to it and a vaguely military air. Overall, I look pretty good, so I’m feeling confident as I peck my aunt on the cheek, grab my bag, and run out to join Lila before she reconsiders this idea.

“How many people honked at you on the way over here?” I ask, climbing in.

“Six.”

“Seriously?” I want to ask if it bothers her, but she’s grinning, so that would be a no.

“Yep. But this thing’s fun to drive. I kick it up to the highest setting and it gets pretty close to thirty miles an hour.” I have no idea if that’s fast, and I guess she can tell. “Normal ones do fifteen.”

I wave to my aunt as we pull away. Lila is careful to take back roads as we leave the subdivision and head out into the country. A few cars honk at us as they pass, but since the drivers are smiling and waving, it doesn’t seem like a big deal. The cops might be less amused, but the farther we get from town, the less likely it is anyone will bother us. Since the golf cart is open, it’s cold as hell, but worth it when the alternative is riding in a car. It takes about half an hour to get to the Barn, and by that time, it’s pretty late. There’s a fire crackling away, sending orange sparks up toward the dark sky. I’m glad to see it, as I wish I’d worn a scarf and gloves. Beyond, there are a bunch of cars parked in the field. Lila picks a spot where she’s not likely to be blocked in. Somebody must be in charge of the music because it’s blasting from one of the trucks.

“This is it,” she says. “Impressive enough for you?”

“I guess.” I hop out of the golf cart, ready to be amazed.

“Let me give you the grand tour. Here, we have the social types.” Lila gestures.

The ones she indicates are clustered around the fire while others run around. By the stumbling, it seems like they’re already pretty wasted. I follow Lila across the uneven ground, glad I opted for boots instead of Chucks. She points at the drunken game of tag.

“Those are the hard-core drinkers. They were probably toasted before they got here.”

“Note to self—avoid the pro drinkers to keep them from hurling on me.”

Lila grins at me. “In some cases, you’ll have to be quick. That guy’s kind of a ninja barfer.”

“Why, God, why?” I mumble.

“Hey, you wanted to come.”

I answer her smile with a smirk. “I feel like Jane Goodall, studying apes in the wild.”

“Take good notes. Maybe you can publish your findings later.” She continues by pointing at the open barn doors. “Inside, you’ll find couples doing things they should reserve for seedy hotel rooms and the backseats of cars. Beware the hayloft.”

“Do you know how scratchy hay actually is?”

“Not firsthand. But I’m not the kind to put out in a barn, regardless of what Dylan says.”

I touch her shoulder lightly. “He’s an asshole. Let’s go see who’s here.”

She ignores the kegs and the coolers full of beer. Luckily I spot some Cokes mixed in with the Budweiser and grab two of them for us. I’d prefer hot chocolate or tea, but this is strictly low-rent. A few people have brought bags of marshmallows and packs of hot dogs. I take the former from a guy who might be in my chemistry class. Because I have nothing better to do, I focus on toasting my marshmallow to the perfect shade of light brown. This feat requires absolute patience.

I’m about to eat the perfect marshmallow when Dylan Smith says, “Wow. I can’t believe you have the nerve to show up here, Lila.”

In the flickering firelight, her face is pale and tense. Given how much he hates her for breaking up with him, there’s no way this doesn’t get ugly.