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and shrugs.
    Then we all do our best to stroll casually into The Emerald, which isn’t really seedy at all—at least not to look at. It has red leather banquettes and a small dance floor with a disco ball, and a hostess with bleached blond hair who appears to be the definition of the word “blousy.”
    “Table for six?” she asks, like we’re all absolutely old enough to drink.
    We pile into a banquette. When the waitress comes over, I order a Singapore Sling. Whenever I’m in a bar I always try to order the most exotic drink on the menu. A Singapore Sling has several different kinds of alcohol in it, including something called “Galliano,” and it comes with a maraschino cherry and an umbrella. Then Peter, who’s ordered a whiskey on the rocks, looks at my drink and laughs. “Not too obvious,” he says.
    “What are you talking about?” I ask innocently, sipping my cocktail through a straw.
    “That you’re underage. Only someone who’s underage orders a drink with an umbrella and fruit. And a straw,” he adds.
    “Yeah, but then I get to take the umbrella home. And what do you get to take home besides a hangover?”
    The Mouse and Walt think this is pretty funny, and decide to only order umbrella drinks for the rest of the night.
    Maggie, who usually drinks White Russians, orders a whiskey on the rocks, instead. This confirms that something is definitely going on between Maggie and Peter. If Maggie likes a guy, she does the same thing he does. Drinks the same drink, wears the same clothes, suddenly becomes interested in the same sports he likes, even if they’re totally wacky, like whitewater rafting. All through sophomore year, before Maggie and Walt started going out, Maggie liked this weird boy who went whitewater rafting every weekend in the fall. I can’t tell you how many hours I had to spend freezing on top of a rock, waiting for him to pass by in his canoe. Okay—I knew it wasn’t really a canoe, it was a kayak, but I insisted on calling it a canoe just to annoy Maggie for making me freeze my butt off.
    And then the door of The Emerald swings open and for a moment, everyone forgets about who’s drinking what.
    Standing by the hostess are Donna LaDonna and Sebastian Kydd. Donna has her hand on his neck, and after he holds up two fingers, she puts her other hand on his face, turns his head, and starts kissing him.
    After about ten seconds of this excessive display of affection, Maggie can’t take it anymore. “Gross,” she exclaims. “Donna is such a slut. I can’t believe it.”
    “She’s not so bad,” Peter counters.
    “How do you know?” Maggie demands.
    “I helped tutor her a couple of years ago. She’s actually kind of funny. And smart.”
    “That still doesn’t mean she should be making out with some guy in The Emerald.”
    “He doesn’t look like he’s resisting much,” I murmur, stirring my drink.
    “Who is that guy?” Lali asks.
    “Sebastian Kydd,” The Mouse volunteers.
    “I know his name,” Lali sniffs. “But who is he? Really?”
    “No one knows,” I say. “He used to go to private school.”
    Lali can’t take her eyes off him. Indeed, no one in the bar seems to be able to tear themselves away from the spectacle. But now I’m bored with Sebastian Kydd and his attention-getting antics.
    I snap my fingers in Lali’s face to distract her. “Let’s dance.”
    Lali and I go to the jukebox and pick out some songs. We’re not regular boozers, so we’re both feeling the giddy effects of being a little bit drunk, when everything seems funny. I pick out my favorite song, “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge, and Lali picks “Legs” by ZZ Top. We take to the dance floor. I do a bunch of different dances—the pony, the electric slide, the bump, and the hustle, along with a lotof steps I’ve made up on my own. The music changes and Lali and I start doing this crazy line dance we invented a couple of years ago during a swim meet where you wave your arms in the