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“What? You’re not enjoying your glory days?” Riley asks with mock astonishment, gesturing toward our fellow partygoers.

I look around at the party unfolding all around us. Some rich kid’s parents are out of town, and the entire school has descended on their McMansion to spend the night getting wasted, listening to someone’s crappy iPod playlist, and making questionable choices about who to sleep with. I nearly step on two people going at it right in the foyer, writhing all over each other in a drunken tizzy. With a wild yell, some kid tries to swing on the crystal chandelier, only to miss and fall flat on his face to onlookers’ uproarious laughter.

“If these are our glory days,” I say to Riley, “We’re in serious trouble. ”

“Come on,” she laughs, slipping her fingers through mine, “I’m sure we can find a quieter corner somewhere. There must be, like, a hundred rooms in this place. ”

I let Riley tug me off through the party, ignoring the tipsy dudes who make lesbian jokes about us along the way. As gorgeous as my best friend is, with her silky black curls, tanned skin, and amazing curves, I’ve never been the least bit interested in “experimenting” with her. We’ve only ever loved each other as sisters. But the fact that I’ve never had a real boyfriend leads some people in my school to question whether I’m into guys at all. The short answer is, I’m plenty into guys. But finding one that’s worth the time of day at my Connecticut high school has proven to be impossible.

Well... just about impossible, anyway.

The party is just a forest of legs and torsos from my vantage point. At five foot three, I’m what you might call “vertically challenged”. Being petite is great for hide-and-seek, but not so great for feeling like anything close to an adult. Or being treated like one.

But in a couple weeks’ time, the world will have no choice but to acknowledge my adulthood—at long last, I’ll finally be turning eighteen. The only question that remains is how quickly I can get out of town and be on my own once I’m officially a grown-up. As Riley and I climb the sweeping staircase and sidle into the master bedroom suite, we pass a passed out classmate who’s had his face graffitied with permanent marker penises.

Yep. Adulthood can’t come soon enough.

We poke our heads into the master bedroom, and I note with relief that it’s far quieter in this corner of the house. Maybe we can just hang out here and ride out this shit show in peace.

“Uh-oh,” Riley mutters, glancing down at me with a wicked glint in her eye. “Look who’s here, Abby. ”

I peer around my best friend, scanning the dozen or so people already hanging out in the master bedroom. It only takes half a second for me to see who it is she’s talking about. My solar plexus rocks on its axis as a very familiar set of blue eyes turns my way from across the room.

“Shit!” I squeak, ducking back around Riley’s taller form. “I didn’t know he was going to be here!”

“The entire school is here, Abby,” Riley laughs, “You could have guessed. ”

“He’s supposed to be too cool for this sort of thing. Or whatever,” I say, rolling my hazel eyes. “Come on. I don’t think he saw me. Let’s just go—”