Once adjusting to the yard, I notice something unusual. The back of Gary’s house is made up to look like a sort of castle. A facade of fake stone shaped like castle ramparts has been erected against the wall and along the roof. Colored banners hang from the ramparts, right over a raised DJ booth where a young man is pumping out “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas. Next to him, another young man is operating a makeshift bar, mixing drinks for guests and pouring them into red plastic cups. I look down at the silver crown in my hands and think what a strange theme this is for a party full of models.
“Dylan!”
I turn around, caught off guard. A young man with sandy blond hair is waving at me from a group of people. Logan Ames. I’m relieved to find someone I recognize.
“Logan, hi!” I say
