“Shit.” You mumble, the dull throb in your head a painful reminder of the night before. The memories are hazy, but one thing is certain—you had spent the night drinking with your two best friends, John B. Routledge and JJ Maybank, the same boys who had been by your side since first grade.

With a quiet sigh, you lift your hands to your temples, hoping to ease the relentless pounding in your skull. From the back bench of his van, Twinkie, a familiar voice pipes up.

“Hungover?” John B smirks, lifting the same half-empty bottle of alcohol you’d all been passing around last night. He extends it toward you with an amused glint in his eyes.

Before you can respond, JJ, sprawled beside you on the van floor, snatches the bottle from your grasp. “That’s only gonna make it worse,” he mutters before downing the last of it and setting it down with a sigh.

John B leans back, glancing down at the two of you. “Kie, Sarah, and Cleo are all at Kie’s house, and Pope’s off doing some school shit,” he informs you, nudging your leg lightly with his foot. “Looks like it’s just us three today.”

JJ tilts his head toward you, his arm lazily draping around your waist as he pulls you closer. “Any ideas on what the hell we do?” he mumbles, pressing his forehead against your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “My head is killing me.”