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Be polite.

“My dad has a place in Ibiza, just outside Ibiza Town, so I’ve been out there most of the time. It’s pretty cool. Lots of clubbing, beaches, you know.”

“Sounds great,” I said, though as a quiet bibliophile and cellist, I wasn’t sure it would be my scene.

“You?”

“My uncle… um… guardian has a place in France. I went there with him and his girlfriend.”

“Oh, not your parents?”

“No.” I closed the subject down as my chest echoed with pain.

We walked in silence for a bit.

“Whose party are we going to?” I asked in the hope of keeping the conversation alive but not about me.

“Friend of mine. His folks are away, and you know what they say…”

“Oh.”

“So what subjects are you doing?”

This was an easier and safer topic. I told Leon and found out he was studying French, Spanish, and English. He gave me a rundown on the school in general and more specifically about some of the teachers. He’d started in the prep school when he was four, so it was the only school he knew.

Music pulsed down the street as we approached the party house.

Loud, thumping dance music.

My heart sank as anxiety fluttered unwelcome in my stomach. Oh great. Perhaps coming here was not a good idea. It was going to be harder than I anticipated.

The house was big like Dylan’s, full of young people, and there was a pervading fug of teen mixed with weed.

One of those parties.

Leon took my hand and led me through the throng. The music was pumped throughout the house via a discreet sound system, which meant everyone had to shout to be heard. Leon pulled me through the hallway and into the kitchen, greeting several people as he went. In the kitchen, he grabbed two drinks from the worktop in large plastic cups and gave one to me.

“What’s this?” I shouted at him in the hope of being heard.

“No idea.” He took a sip. “Tastes okay. Strong,” he shouted back.

I took a sip, and the effect was immediate as the alcohol scorched my throat.

Strong didn’t cover it. Lethal did—and sweet, very sweet and fruity.

Tutti-frutti sweet.

Leon took my hand again, and we headed into a large conservatory. This had been set up as the chill-out room. Among the potted ferns and palms, monster-size beanbags were scattered on the floor where young couples were talking, kissing, looking at their phones. Here the music wasn’t so loud.

I took another sip of my drink. I needed all the courage I could muster.

Leon stepped through large French doors, and we were on a deck. Several people sat around in small groups, talking, drinking, and vaping. A few were smoking weed.

“Hi, Leon.” A young woman with wide, wild eyes jumped up and kissed him, hard on the lips.

“Hi, Caz, this is Emily,”

“Hi, Emily.” Caz kissed me like she’d kissed Leon.