“It’s just a house party,” Pip said, trying to wrestle her face out of Cara’s grip.

“Yeah, but you’re lucky—you can pull off eyeshadow. Stop wriggling. I’m almost done.”

Pip sighed and went limp, submitting to the forced preening. She was still sulking that her friends had made her change out of her overalls and into one of Lauren’s dresses that was short enough to be a T-shirt. She thought she’d looked fine before, but Cara and Lauren were both overexcited about their first calamity and wanted to go all out. Lauren was wearing a new sequined dress, and Cara’s usual eyeliner wings had grown by an inch. They didn’t normally do this kind of thing.

“Girls,” Pip’s mom called up the stairs, “you’d better hurry up. Victor’s started to show Lauren his dance moves down here.”

“Oh jeez,” Pip said. “Am I done? We need to go and rescue her.”

Cara leaned forward and blew on her face. “Yep.”

“Awesome,” said Pip, grabbing her shoulder bag and phone. “Let’s go.”

“Hello, pickle!” her dad said loudly as Pip and Cara made their way downstairs. “Lauren and I have decided that I should come to your kilometer party too.”

“Calamity, Dad. And over my dead brain cells.”

He strolled over, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and squeezed. “Little Pipsy’s going to a house party.”

“I know,” Pip’s mom said, smiling. “With alcohol and boys.”

“Yes.” Her dad let go and looked down at Pip, a serious expression on his face, and his finger raised. “Pip, I want you to remember to be, at least, a little irresponsible.”

“Right,” Pip announced, grabbing her car keys and strolling to the front door. “We’re going now. Farewell, my strange parents.”

“Fare thee well,” her dad said dramatically, waving them off.

---

The three of them strolled up to the front door, and Pip raised her fist to knock. Even the pavement outside was pulsing with the music. The door swung open to reveal a writhing cacophony of slurred chatter and poor lighting.

Pip took a tentative step inside, her first breath already tainted with the acrid smell of vodka, sweat, and the slightest hint of vomit. She caught sight of the host, Ant’s friend George, making out aggressively on the stairs with a girl from the grade below, his eyes wide open and staring.

Pip, Cara, and Lauren walked farther down the corridor, Lauren having to step over Paul-from-econ, who was slumped against the wall, loudly snoring.

“Well, this looks…like some people’s idea of fun,” Pip said as they entered the open-plan living room and took in the chaos there: bodies grinding and thrashing to the music, towers of precariously balanced beer bottles, wet carpet patches, and couples pushed up against the condensation-dripping walls.

“You’re the one who was so desperate to come,” Lauren said, waving to some girls she took drama with.

Pip swallowed. “Yeah. And present Pip is always happy with past Pip’s decisions.”

Ant, Connor, and Zach spotted them and made their way over, maneuvering through the staggering crowd.
“All right?” Connor said, giving Pip and the others clumsy hugs. “You’re late.”

“Are there cups?” Lauren said, holding up a bottle of vodka and lemonade.

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” Ant said eagerly, taking her toward the kitchen.

Lauren returned with a drink for Pip, who took frequent imaginary sips as she nodded along with the conversation, laughing at Cara’s ridiculous dance moves. How was she so fearless? When the opportunity presented itself, Pip sidled over to the kitchen sink, poured out the cup, and filled it with water.

Later, when Zach offered to refill her cup, she had to pull the stunt again, regretting it immediately when she got cornered by Joe King in the kitchen. He sat behind her in English, and his only form of humor was to say something absurd, wait for his victim to pull a confused face, and then say: “I’m only Joe King.”

Pip finally excused herself and went to hide in a corner, not quite back in her comfort zone, but close enough. Standing there alone in the shadows, she scrutinized the room, watching the dancers and the overenthusiastic kissers, searching for any signs of shifty hand trades or clenching jaws. Any overwide pupils. Anything that might give her a possible lead to Andie’s drug dealer.

Ten minutes passed and Pip didn’t notice anything dubious, other than a boy named Stephen smashing a TV remote and hiding the evidence in a flower vase. She watched him wander through the adjacent family room and toward the back door, reaching for a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket.

Of course.

Outside with the smokers should have been the first place on her list to scout out. Pip made her way through the mayhem, protecting herself with her elbows.

There were a handful of people outside. A couple of dark shadows rolling around on the trampoline at the end of the yard. A tearful Stella Chapman wailing into her phone at someone. Two girls on the swing set having a very serious conversation, punctuated by frequent hands-slapped-to-mouths gasps. And Stephen Thompson-or-Timpson, who she used to sit behind in math. He was perched on the garden wall, a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he searched in his various pockets.

Pip wandered over. “Hi,” she said, plonking herself down on the wall beside him.

“Hi, Pippa,” Stephen said, taking the cigarette from his mouth so he could talk. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Pip said. “Just came out here, looking for Mary Jane.”

“Dunno who she is, sorry,” he said, finally pulling out a neon green lighter.

“Not a who.” Pip gave him a meaningful look. “You know, I’m looking to blast a roach.”

“Excuse me?”

Pip had spent an hour online that morning, researching the current street names on Urban Dictionary.

She tried again, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You know, looking for some herb, the doob, a bit of hippie lettuce, giggle smoke, some skunk, wacky tobaccy. You know what I mean. Ganja.”

Stephen burst into laughter. “Oh my god,” he cackled, “you are so trashed.”

“Certainly am.” She tried to feign a drunken giggle. “So, do you have any? Some shwag grass?”

When he stopped hooting to himself, he turned to look her up and down, his eyes very obviously stalling on her chest and pasty legs. Pip squirmed inside; a slurry of disgust and embarrassment. But she had to play along; she was undercover.

“Yeah,” Stephen said, biting his bottom lip. “I can roll us a joint.” He searched his pockets again and pulled out a small baggy of weed and a packet of rolling papers.

“Yes, please.” Pip nodded, feeling anxious and excited and a little sick. “You get rolling; roll it like a…rolling pin.”

He laughed at her again and licked one edge of the paper, trying to hold eye contact with her while his stubby pink tongue was out. Pip looked away. It crossed her mind that maybe she had gone too far this time for an assignment. Maybe. But this wasn’t just a project anymore. This was for Sal, for Ravi. For the truth. She could do this for them.

Stephen lit the joint and took two long sucks on its end before passing it to Pip. She took it awkwardly between her middle and index fingers. She turned her head sharply so her hair flicked over her face and pretended to take a couple of drags.

“Mmm, nice,” she said, passing it back.

“You look nice,” Stephen said, offering the joint again.

Pip tried to take it without her fingers touching his. Another pretend puff, but the smell was cloying, and she coughed over her next question.

“So,” she said, “who do you buy from? You know, so I can get in on that too.”

“Just this guy in town.” Stephen shuffled on the wall, closer to Pip. “Called Howie.”

“And where does Howie live?” Pip said, passing back the weed and using the movement as an excuse to shift away from him.

“Dunno,” Stephen said. “He doesn’t deal from his house. I meet him at the station parking lot, down at the end with no cameras.”

“In the evening?” Pip asked.

“Usually, yeah. Whatever time he texts me.”

“You have his number?” Pip opened her bag and reached for her own phone. “Can I have it?”

Stephen shook his head. “He’d be mad if he knew I was just handing it out. You don’t need to go to him; if you want something, you can just pay me and I’ll get it for you. I’ll even discount.” He winked.

“I’d really rather buy direct,” Pip said, feeling a prickle of annoyance creeping up her neck.

“No can do.” He shook his head again, eyeing her mouth.

Pip looked away quickly, her long dark hair a curtain between them to hide her frustration.

She was just about to give it up when the spark of an idea pushed through.

“Well, how can I buy through you?” she said, taking the joint from him. “You don’t even have my number.”

“Ah, and what a shame that is,” Stephen said, voice so slimy it practically dripped out of his mouth. He pulled his phone from his pocket, jabbed his finger at the screen, and handed her the unlocked phone. “Put your digits in there.”

“OK.”

Pip opened his contacts and shifted her shoulders, facing Stephen so he couldn’t see the screen. She typed the name in the search bar, and it was almost too easy: Howie Bowers and his phone number.

She studied the sequence of numbers. Damn, she’d never be able to remember the whole thing. Another idea flickered to life. Maybe she could take a picture of the screen; her own phone was on the wall just beside her. But Stephen was right there, staring at her, chewing his finger. She needed some kind of distraction.

She lurched forward, launching the joint across the lawn. “Sorry,” she said, “I thought there was a bug on me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” Stephen jumped down from the wall.

Pip had just a few seconds. She grabbed her phone, swiped left into the camera app, and positioned it above Stephen’s screen.

Her heart was thudding, her chest constricting uncomfortably.

The camera flicked in and out of focus, wasting precious time.

The shot finally cleared and she took the picture, dropping her phone into her lap just as Stephen turned.

“It’s still lit,” he said, jumping back up on the wall, sitting far too close to her.

Pip held out Stephen’s phone to him. “Um, sorry, I’ve decided that drugs aren’t for me. I have to go.”

“Don’t be a tease,” Stephen said, closing his fingers around both his phone and Pip’s hand. He leaned into her.

“No thank you,” she said, scooting back.

Then Stephen grabbed the back of her head and lunged for her face. Pip twisted out of the way and shoved him so hard that he fell off the garden wall and sprawled on the wet grass.

“You stupid slut,” he said, picking himself up and wiping off his pants.

“You degenerate, perverted ape!” Pip shouted back. “I said no.”

That was when she realized. She didn’t know how or when it had happened, but they were now alone in the backyard.

Fear flushed through her in an instant, her skin bristling.

Stephen climbed back over the wall as Pip turned, hurrying toward the door.

“Hey, it’s OK, we can talk for a bit more,” he said, grabbing her wrist to pull her back.

“Let me go, Stephen.” She spat the words at him.

“But—”

Pip grabbed his wrist with her other hand and squeezed, digging her nails into his skin. Stephen hissed and let go, and Pip did not hesitate. She ran toward the house and slammed the door, flipping the lock behind her. Turning away as Stephen knocked angrily at it.

She wound her way through the crowd on the makeshift dance floor, jostled this way and that. It was too dark and stuffy inside the crush of all these bodies, and Pip couldn’t find Cara anywhere. Couldn’t find any of her friends. She stood there alone, surrounded by people, an aftershock of fear quaking through her.