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in front of the toilet bowl. I attempt to puke, but nothing comes out. I can’t believe how drunk I am. I can’t believe I just fooled around with Amos. I can’t believe Rachel saw us. I can’t believe my mom didn’t come to graduation. I know deep down she doesn’t love me, but I guess I’m always hoping for her to prove that wrong.
    I slump against the bathtub, sobbing. Someone bangs on the door. I keep crying and eventually they go away. After a while I wipe my face with some toilet paper and wander out of the bathroom. I grab my sandals from where I’d slipped them off under the kitchen table and stumble through the house.
    As soon as I get outside, I see my car parked on the grass. I know for a fact I’m in no shape to drive. Besides, Sam has the key. Even so, I check the doors. The back is unlocked, so I toss my sandals onto the floor, grab my phone, and walk down the empty street.

I hear a car pulling in the driveway. It’s pitch-dark. I’m not really awake, not really sleeping. Mostly, I’m just gripping the edges of my mattress, trying to keep the room from spinning, trying not to heave up whatever is sloshing around in my stomach.
    I fumble on my bedside table for my phone. The light from the screen pierces my eyes. No missed calls. No voice mails. No text messages. I moan and drop my phone onto the bed.
    I hear an engine cutting out. I hear a car door opening. Is it Sam? Should I go down and talk to him? What would I say?
Thanks for returning my car. It was nice knowing you. Sorry I fucked everything up.
    I hear a car door close. I hoist myself out of bed, but the second I’m upright my stomach seizes. I barely make it to the bathroom in time to puke my guts into the toilet.
    “V?”
    It’s bright out, brutally bright, and the doorbell is ringing. My clock says 7:14 A.M. , but it’s way too bright to be 7:14 A.M. Besides, who would ring the doorbell at this brutal, brutal hour?
    “V?”
    My grandma is at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to my room. This used to be the guest room, but I’ve been staying here ever since last January. It actually took me eight months to unpack my bags. But once I learned that Aimee had moved to Florida, and my grandparents convinced me to stay here for senior year, I folded my clothes into drawers, taped up some photos, and bought a beanbag chair. It probably doesn’t sound like a big deal to most people, but to me, at the time, it was huge.
    I press my face into a pillow. My temples are pounding even worse than last night.
    “There’s someone at the door for you,” my grandma is saying.
    Oh, my God.
    Is it Sam?
    Oh, my God.
    “It’s the FedEx guy,” my grandma adds. “I think something from Aimee.”
    I mumble that I’ll get it later and then burrow my face deep into the pillow.
    “V?”
    My grandma is back at the bottom of the stairs.
    “We’re heading to work,” my grandpa chimes in.
    I attempt to open my eyes, but it’s even brighter than before.
    “She must be sleeping still,” my grandma murmurs.
    “I’ll call her later,” my grandpa says. “See if she wants to have lunch.”
    Argh.
    My grandma works in Rochester, so I’m off her radar most of the day, but my grandpa is a dentist in Brockport, which means he’s constantly inviting me to have lunch with him or go for afternoon power walks on the canal.
    “That sounds good,” my grandma says. “I know she had a hard time yesterday.”
    As their footsteps recede down the hall, I turn onto my side, hug my knees to my chest, and fall back asleep.
    My phone is ringing, but I can’t find it anywhere.
    I glance at the clock: 10:23 A.M.
    The ring tone is this tinny version of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Sam put it on there a few days ago, after I snuck “Oh, Shenandoah” onto his phone. I know it was funny in the moment, but when you’re just waking up from the worst hangover of your life, the last thing you want to hear is “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” courtesy of