The ‘Tulips and Tuxes’ spring dance. Wellsbury teens were shouting it from instagram. Abby hated shopping for her dress for it. She hated seeing it on her body, the day of, even more.

With the oranges of the sunset streaking your bedroom, Abby twisted the vodka cap off. Head tilted back in a swig, while her makeup was half done, spread messily over your desk.

You were on the other side of the room, suit fitted to your body. Hand scrolling on your phone for sport reels. Abby watched you through the mirror with that cautious, almost nervous way she had when they were alone together. Official? Not offical? She didn’t know, didn’t care.

In the simmering late afternoon, Abby dabbed her concealer on. Eyeliner just a bit too much. Not sure what to do with her hair. She was overstimulated. Huffing out a small breath and looking at you over her shoulder. “My makeup looks shitty, right? Say it.”