Penelope is at the island with a line of shot glasses already poured. Mara is climbing onto a barstool with the energy of a girl who is already drunk and wants to drink more. Gianna is yelling at Stanley. Benson and Lucy are in the corner with his arm around her shoulders, and her head turned up to his.
Stanley sees me first. His head turns toward the doorway. He is mid-sip of his Solo cup, and he freezes. He lowers the cup.
He says, slowly and very clearly, “No.No.”
The whole kitchen turns.
Stanley walks across the kitchen toward me with his arms out at his sides like a man approaching a vehicle accident.
“Bluey. Golding. What is this? What are we looking at?What is happening on your back right now?”
Benson is grinning.
Gianna is grinning.
Even Percy, in the corner with his paperback closed in his lap, looks up.
“Stan.”
“No. No, no, no. Don’tStanme. You explain this. You explain this to me right now.”
Melly, lightly, beside me, explains, “Wardrobe malfunction.”
Stanley turns to her. He looks at her like she has just landed in his kitchen from the moon. “Wardrobe malfunction?” His eyes go to her costume. The jersey.GOLDINGon her back. The hat. The mustache.
Stanley’s whole face changes.
“Golding.” His voice has gone reverent. “Blue.You gave her your jersey.”
“Her zipper broke.”
Stanley doesn’t seem to care. “You gave her yourjersey.”
Benson is laughing into Lucy’s hair. Lucy is laughing — small, into her drink, shoulders shaking. Gianna is still grinning. Mara has appeared at Stanley’s elbow with her phone out, taking photos.
“This is going on Instagram immediately.”
“Mara,” Melly says.
“Immediately.”
I stand in the kitchen in white wings with a halo on my head, and I don’t say anything. I don’t say anything because I can’t. I would normally be backing out of this kitchen, walking up thestairs, and locking myself in my bedroom for the rest of the night. I’m wearing fuckingwingsin front of my whole team.
My feet don’t move. I’m still standing here. I’m not, somehow, dying.
Penelope pushes a shot glass across the island toward me. “Welcome, angel.”
I grab the shot. Melly is next to me, so she grabs hers. We make eye contact over the rims as we tip them back. She’s grinning at me with the crooked mustache I drew on her face two minutes ago, and her eyes are crinkled at the corners, and I —
I laugh. Once. Out loud. A real laugh.
The rest of the kitchen grabs their shots.
Stanley lifts his and says, “Cheers to the angels.” He looks at me. “Fucking bastard. After that talk we had at dinner the other day.”
Benson puts his shot glass down. “Don’t listen to him, Blue.”
A song everyone knows comes on in the living room. The girls start screaming. Mara grabs Melly’s hand and yanks her toward the doorway. Gianna grabs Mara’s other hand, and Penelope follows them with her shot glass empty in her grip, and Lucy follows Penelope, and the four of them are gone in the space of about three seconds, leaving Melly looking back at me over her shoulder as Mara pulls her through the doorway.
