Free New Girl by Paige Harbison

these few days, had dropped a few degrees. But at least today it hadn’t rained.
I clutched the fabric of my new peacoat closer to me and walked to the boathouse. I measured my breath carefully, loosened my grip on the book I still had in my hand and opened the door. I could tell immediately that the mood here was better than at the last party. Not so somber. I was met with a few astonished faces, and an immediate approach from my across-the-hall neighbors.
“You came! Finally! ” Madison said, her smile big.
“I did.” I smiled, too. “I’m sorry I’m here so late.”
Julia hooked her arm with mine, as if we were best friends. “It’s no problem.”
I could smell that she’d already been drinking, and I could see by looking at and hearing everyone else that they had been, too. She dragged me across the musty room.
“Take a shot of this,” she said, holding up a blue bottle. “It is whipped-cream-flavored vodka and it is so good.”
I let her pour it into a shot glass and tried not to mentally relive the experience of the last time I’d had straight liquor. No one I hung out with back home really drank because we were always driving places, and didn’t want to bother with the expense anyways. Sometimes at parties if someone else was driving I’d have a drink or two if Leah was, but not usually. One time, we were at my friend Lucy’s aunt’s house on Vilano Beach. I had about seven margaritas, made for me by someone else. That night I learned what it felt like to not care about how intimately close I was becoming with a toilet, and what it feels like to wake up with the imprint of a bathmat on my cheek. Bad. That’s what it feels like. Freaking. Bad.
Especially when it doesn’t go away for the next forty-eight hours. The sickness or the imprint.
“How do you get this stuff in here, anyway?” I asked, warily postponing the shot.
“Take it!” Madison said, and the two of them clinked their glasses with mine, sloshing the slightly syrupy liquid onto my hand.
Three, two, one. And with the burning, numbing yuck came the memories and the churning stomach. They laughed at my facial expression, and I indicated that Madison should hand me a can of Sprite. My head spun instantly, and the deep bass of whatever heavy bass song was playing vibrated right through me.
“Whoo,” I said, after a few sips of the soda. “It’s been a while.”
“Let’s do it again!” Madison said, and poured another.
“No, really, I had a terrible hangover once—”
Julia put a hand on my shoulder. “Look. I drink all the time. I’m not gonna let you get a hangover. Cuz we’re friends, right?”
I mean, that might be a slight exaggeration.... “I believe you,” I said, “I just—”
Before I could object, they refilled my glass. I hesitated before taking it with them, and decided that one more shot couldn’t hurt. And clearly this was the way to get in with these girls.
I downed some more Sprite and took a deep breath.
“So,” said Julia, inching a little closer to me. “So. Who do you like?”
“Who do I what?”
“Like! I mean, so far do you think anyone is hot?”
I tried not to think of Max Holloway. “I don’t really know anyone yet.”
“You don’t need to know them.” Madison looked at me like this was obvious.
I felt under pressure, trying to think of someone, anyone besides Max to say. But I couldn’t. “Really, I don’t even know anyone’s name.”
“Just look around and point at someone!” Julia said, a little louder.
They were clearly not letting this go. I looked around for someone to point to, and landed my gaze on Johnny. He was smiling at some girl with strawberry-blond hair. I thought of what Blake had said earlier.
“Johnny?” Madison asked.
The girls exchanged a meaningful look.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean him, I was just looking at him. I didn’t mean him—”
“Let’s go back outside.” Julia pointed toward the door.
Madison grabbed me and the next thing I knew, we were outside