I ended up being the last to arrive.
By the time I stepped into the club, the bass was already vibrating through my bones, lights strobing across bodies packed too tightly together. Gwen spotted me first and waved like she was flagging down a plane, and somehow—miraculously—we were ushered into a private booth almost immediately. I didn’t question it. I’d learned not to question things like that anymore.
Shots came first. Always shots. Pregaming, Gwen called it, though she took it as a personal challenge. Within minutes she’d ordered so much alcohol the table looked like a shrine to bad decisions. Glasses clinked, laughter spilled over, and for a moment, I let myself relax.
We took snaps—too many of them. Chloe kept adjusting the angles, Natalie kept fixing her hair, and I kept ruining
