Maybe you weren’t meant to come to this party, and your gut had been right all along, or you really needed to throw up. Either way, you needed some air. You walk out to the house’s backyard, scooting past people to get to the fence gate. You don’t go out to the driveway, just leaned against a tree and finally took a deep breath. You were hoping for some alone time, but you could never get what you wanted.

Some punk in a hoodie—Frank? Was that his name?—was staring at you, judging you?