Fair warning: Drugs and alcohol are mentioned in this chapter.

When we pull up to Sean's house, a mid century modern home on Patti and Moth's side of town, there are already cars lining the street, so we park about a half a block down. His road doesn't have street lights and all of the houses are pretty well-spaced out, so the only glow I use to light my path out of Thatcher's jalopy comes from the huge glass windows from Sean's house.

Thatcher comes around to my side of the car with the stack of cones in his arms and he smiles. "Got them," he says.

I smile back. "I can see that. Ready?"

"Yep, let's go."

"Wait," I say. "Are we sure we want to go to a party with alcohol? What if the police come? Remember how my mom reacted last time?"

"As long as we aren't drinking, we will be okay. But if you're really uncomfortable, we can go back home. It's not that big of a deal to me, it means more to me that you aren't freaking out."

I take a deep breath. "No, we should get to know everyone."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I say, dragging out the S-sound a little too long to sound convincing.

He laughs. "Sure?"

"Promise you'll stay with me the whole time?"

"I promise."

"Okay, then I am sure."

He smiles, walks toward me, and plants a kiss on the top of my head without letting the cones fall from his arms.

"After you, my Juliet."

The closer we get to Sean's house, the more clearly I can hear music coming from inside, and the more cones I see spotting his yard.

"Oh man, where will we put our cones?" Thatcher asks.

"How many do you have there?"

"Four."

"I have an idea," I say.

Thatcher follows my lead to leave two of the cones on his front porch beside the two large planters holding tall, ornamental grass, and before ringing the doorbell, we place the other two cones on our heads. We are going to reverse Trojan Horse these cones inside Sean's house.

From underneath the cones, I obviously can't see anything, but I hear the music become louder as someone opens the door, and then I hear Sean's voice say, "Yes, oh my goodness, yes. First people to show up with the cones on their person. One hundred points for Gryffindor."

"Excuse me sir, we are here to talk to you about your eternal soul. Have you considered the impending cone reckoning?" Thatcher asks from under his cone.

I tip the front of my cone up so I can see what's going on. Sean laughs his characteristically quiet laugh, the kind that people usually do when they've lost their breath, but that Sean does anytime he laughs.

"May we come in and discuss your immortal cone soul with you?" I ask, following Thatcher's lead.

"You two are perfect, yes. Come in," Sean finally says, and Thatcher and I remove the cones from our heads and leave them inside by the door and all the shoes.

"I know this is super strange," Sean says once we are inside, "because we are drinking and dancing and making a mess, but if you could take off your shoes before coming upstairs, my fam would appreciate it."

"Are they here?" Thatcher asks.

"Oh god no, they're at a concert in Philly and spending the night. I'm not a country fan, so as the black sheep of the family, I've been left at home with strict instructions not to let anyone in the house with their shoes on. They didn't say anything about not having a shoeless party, though, so here we are."

"Won't they be mad if they find out?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "My dad low key left out his least favorite liquor and told me not to get the cops or ambulance called, so as long as it's clean by the time they get back, they don't care. Follow me to the party, guys."

Sean's front entrance reveals that the house is actually sort of set up like a split level, with a little foyer and then a staircase going up to the main floor and a staircase going into the basement to the left.

The main floor has a clear glass half-wall partition keeping people from falling into the foyer, and some people I recognize are leaning against it with red Solo cups in hand, namely Emma and Greg, Layla's guy friend. When Emma sees us coming up the stairs, she stops her conversation to briefly greet us, and Greg peers over his shoulder, acknowledging our presence for a hot second and then turning back around to face Emma. Hello to you too, Greg.

Once onto the main floor, the house opens up. To our right is a small hallway where Sean tells us the bathroom and bedrooms are, but the rest of the space is an open concept kitchen, dining, and living space. My years watching off brand home improvement shows with Mom really paid off in this moment, as I appreciate the finishing touches in his home and wonder how much money his family must have put into the upgrades, unless they bought it already remodeled. Everything in the house is white--white cabinets, countertops, walls, ceilings, light fixtures, couches--with accents of green, red, and yellow all over in the throw pillows, rugs, hanging plants, and books meant for decoration neatly stacked on the white coffee table.

Sean leads us into the kitchen where there's a large assortment of drink options sprawled out on the countertop along with a few boxes of pizza beside a stack of paper plates on the kitchen island.

"All the drinks are clear for obvious reasons." He pauses and moves his hand to his mouth to fake whisper, "the couches are white and I'm not trying to be murdered tomorrow." When he reaches the corner of the kitchen, he turns around and leans his hands on the counter to explain all our options to us. "So, there is vodka and rum there with sprite as a mixer. Over there are the seltzer vodkas that Moth's sister got for us if that's more your speed. There's water, of course, or you can just have sprite. I think there's some plain seltzer in the fridge too. No beer, even though that's also in the fridge. My dad actually likes that, so we aren't going to touch it."

"We are good with water," Thatcher says for both of us, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"No problem, help yourselves," Sean says.

The doorbell rings.

"Be right back," he says, passing us to answer the door for the next guests to come.

Thatcher holds me by the top of my arms. "How are you doing? You okay?"

"Yes, I'm okay. Are Patti and Moth here already?"

He shrugs. "Let's see."

We grab cups, fill them with water from the fridge dispenser, and, hand in hand, make our way into the living room space to check the couches for our friends.

Patti is sandwiched on the couch between two seniors, but she's facing only one of them and, by the looks of it, is having an intimate conversation, since their faces are pretty close to each other's.

"Patti, hi," I say over the music, some trap song I don't know because I don't like this kind of music.

He looks away from the guy next to her. She's wearing her usual red lipstick. It looks like some has been stripped away by her red Solo cup, but it would be impossible to tell. She wears a matching red sundress, similar to mine except that hers has little frilly cap sleeves at the shoulders, skin-colored tights, and black Mary Janes.

"Oh my gosh," Patti sort of slurs. How late did Thatcher and I get here? I thought we were only, like, forty-five minutes late, but apparently Patti has been busy with some drinks while we took our time getting here.

Thatcher laughs at her. "Hey girl, are you having fun?"

"So much. Hey, have you two met Bryson? He's a senior," she says, winking at us.

Bryson extends his hand out to Thatcher first and then me. "I think I know Thatcher in passing, but Janie it's nice to meet you."

"You're the guy cast as Theseus, right?" Thatcher asks.

"Yeah, that's me," he says.

"He's awesome," Patti adds.

"Want to maybe come get some water with me?" I ask her.

"We can go together," Bryson offers. "I need a refill anyway."

He stands up first and then turns to offer Patti his hands to help her up.

"What a gentleman," she squeals.

"Always," Bryson says.

"Hey, but Patti... Patti, let's stick to water for a bit, though, okay?" I ask, though it's more of an instruction as I slip between her and Bryson to take her arm.

"He's so cute and he told me I'm cute too," Patti tries to whisper to me, though it's only a few notches quieter than her normal speaking voice.

"Good, that's promising. Hopefully he likes you tomorrow too," I say.

"Hey," Bryson interjects, and I turn to face him. "I really do think she's cute, her tipsy-ness aside."

"Aww," Patti says, holding her heart.

"Let's maybe encourage her to take her time with the drinks then, okay bud?" Thatcher tells him.

Bryson nods and shrugs. "It's a party, sorry. I'll keep a better eye on her. I want to get to know her better."

"Awww," Patti says again. "I'm sorry too. I was thirsty, so...." She shrugs.

I laugh. "Water is for thirst, girl."

"If you slow it down, you'll have a better time," Thatcher tells her. "Tips from an alcoholic's son."

The three of us are kind of at a loss for words at this comment. I feel like such a jerk for not even thinking about that when Thatcher told me he wouldn't drink and for questioning him more than once about it. I should have remembered. No wonder he has no problem staying sober with me.

"So water then?" Patti finally asks, yanking my arm toward the kitchen.

"Yes," I agree and lead her to the fridge where I fill up a new cup for her while it looks like Thatcher might be presenting Bryson with the typical "take care of our girl" speech.

While I get Patti settled with the water, a cloud of smoke pours out of the hallway, I'm assuming from one of the bedrooms. At first glance, I think maybe something is on fire, but once I take a breath, I know it's something a little more illegal.

"I have an idea where Moth might be," I tell Thatcher from across the kitchen space.

He takes a deep breath and smiles. "Yep, I think you might be onto something."

"That's right, Timothy is here too," Patti says. "He's sooo cute too, I miss kissing his face."

"I can imagine," I say.

She laughs. "But maybe I can kiss a different person's face." She winks. "Like Bryson's."

I smile. "Yeah, I got that. Maybe take your time with that too. Like, maybe no kissing tonight."

"I don't have a whole quarter to flirt with him like you had with Thatcher, though, so...."

"Hey, Patti, what's that about?"

"Sorry, I'm just sort of, like, freaking out a little, you know?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Like, with leaving to go to Hollywood. It's so exciting, but I'll miss this stuff. I won't get to be a regular teenager while I'm there. So I should drink and kiss boys tonight, right? Because when will I be back? I don't know."

I smile at her and push her hair off her shoulder. "You have time. This won't be your last party. You have many more years to drink and kiss boys. You don't have to make it all happen tonight."

"Promise?" she asks, pouting her lips.

"I promise you. Slow it down tonight, okay? I'm going to find Moth and then maybe he can get a little dance party going in the living room, what do you think about that?"

"Oh my gosh, yes please, let's do that, please."

I laugh. "Okay. Hey Bryson, want to take this girl and her water back to the couch to talk?"

"Yeah," he says, stepping forward and extending his hand to Patti.

She takes his hand and steps forward before Thatcher leans down to tell Bryson, "No handsy stuff, got it?"

"Got it," Bryson replies. Even though Bryson is more built than Thatcher, the half of a foot height difference must be enough for Thatcher to actually intimidate this guy, because he flinches as he answers.

Once the two of them pass us, I pull Thatcher close to me. "You are so cute when you act like a good guy."

"Am I not always a good guy?"

I stand on my tiptoes to kiss his nose. "You are."

"So what you're saying is that I'm cute always?"

"Let's find Moth before this goes to your head."

"Too late," Thatcher jokes as I take his hand and pull him toward the bedroom door that's opened just a crack, enough to let the marijuana smell leak out.

When I push the door open, I see a circle of people sitting on what I can only imagine is Sean's room, since I doubt he'd allow people to smoke marijuana in anyone else's room. I don't know why he's allowing anyone to smoke at his house at all, especially since I wouldn't think people in theater would need to smoke. I always thought that people did that to escape reality or be rebellious, but theater allows you to escape reality and be weird enough that it's like a social rebellion, so... who are these people smoking in here?

I don't want to judge, but I can't step in the room, the scene looks too unacceptable for what I want the scenes of my life to look. It's probably not anything too crazy for other people, but for me, the very presence of marijuana is enough to turn me off from crossing the threshold.

But, lo and behold, Moth sits at the head of the circle on a bean bag facing Thatcher and I, and when we open the door, he continues to ask a question I can only assume is part of one of his deep, real conversations he likes to have with people who smoke.

"But if that's what you think the soul is, what happens after we die, you know?" He looks up at us in the doorway. "Oh hey, guys. Want to come in?"

The others in the room turn to face us. Emma is here now, in the middle of a puff, I guess. She holds a lighter to a little glass thing and continues sucking in her cheeks as she looks at us. To my surprise, Layla is in here too, right between Greg and Taylor in the circle. She never struck me as a drugs person, but apparently unless someone is stereotypically acting like a stoner, I have no idea what they do in their free time. Then Emma passes the little glass thing to the person next to her as she coughs through a greeting, and as the smoke clears, I see the person next to her is Paige.

I'm already disappointed with everyone in the room except Moth, since I know he never actually uses marijuana, but now that I see Paige, I'm disappointed with the party's guest list too. I knew she'd be here, but when I didn't see her in the main area, I tricked myself into believing maybe she wouldn't come.

"No, thanks, we're good here," I say, finally answering Moth's question after recovering from the shock of seeing people I thought would make better choices in here. Clearly I'm failing at not judging them, I think to myself.

"Hey guys," Paige says, exhaling smoke, and immediately proceeding to cough. Then, as if she sees the judgement in my face, she adds, "I've never done this before. I thought I'd try it since everyone else was."

"Everyone else isn't, but that's fine," I say.

"Calm it, Janie," Layla says under her breath as Moth passes the little glass thing along to her.

"Moth," Thatcher starts, "we were actually hoping you could get a dance party started out here."

"Dance party?" he asks, lighting up. He moves his focus over everyone in the circle. "We will continue our metaphysical debate later. The dance floor calls."

He hops up out of the bean bag chair and crosses through the circle, patting Paige on the head before joining us in the doorway.

"Wait, you're going?" Paige asks.

"I must go where I am called," he says, and then dramatically extends his arms to her as he backs into the hall. "Oof," Moth whispers to me, "talk about peer pressure, am I right?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean that poor girl will do anything if she sees other people doing it. I actually hope she keeps it up and comes out here, so she can at least dance her own moves for a while," he says.

"Paige?" I whisper.

Moth nods, eyes wide. "You never know a person until you party with them, I guess."

"What are you guys whispering about?" Thatcher asks.

"I'll fill you in later," Moth says. "Now, I must do my soul's work."

Moth breaks away from us to strut toward the coffee table where Sean has placed a Bluetooth speaker and a phone. With Sean's help, Moth logs into the phone and after a minute or so, changes the song to something a little more dance-able. The beat drops and he starts stepping and swaying in sync with it.

"Yes," Patti calls as she jumps up from the couch and joins Moth in the center of the living room space, moving her body more like a rag doll than a human being, but like Moth says, if you are openly weird, others will join you.

True to Moth prophecies, people start standing and dancing. First Bryson behind Patti, then Sean after he dims the lights in the room and moves the coffee table out of the way, then me and Thatcher, and then it seems like everyone else.

We jump and do interpretive dance moves to the lyrics like we've been known to do, Thatcher, Moth, Sean, and I in our own little mini circle at the center of the room, while Patti and Bryson dance together off to the side, not quite grinding, because gross, but still moving together while Bryson rests his hands on Patti's hips. As long as she is happy, I am happy, but I'm still skeptical, given how tipsy she seemed earlier. I decide to keep an eye on her for myself, and have fun in the meantime. Three songs come and go while we dance, and by the fourth, I notice while jumping around in a circle, that Layla, Taylor, Greg, Emma, and Paige are now dancing close behind us.

Paige and I somehow make eye contact in the split second I glance at her, and she uses this as an invitation to dance closer to me. And Thatcher. I can't help but think about that little detail as she says, "Hey girl, I'm so messed up."

"Cool. Do you feel okay?" I ask, because I'm a nice person most of the time, but I hope she hears the subtext I meant for the question to have: Do you feel cool?

"Actually, I think I could use a drink of water. Come with me?"

I audibly groan, but apparently the music is too loud for her to hear, because she takes my hand and starts to pull me from my place beside Thatcher. I tap his arm before I am too far away and tell him that I'll be right back.

He sees Paige is pulling me, so he smiles and gives me a thumb's up. As far as he knows, I'm making friends and getting close to another friend of his. As far as I know, I'm walking away from a fun time to help someone who lied to Patti get a drink. 

Let's see where the truth lands this time.