Chapter 13

At the end of the night, I still won’t own a private jet or a series of islands in the fucking Caribbean. “Do whatever you want; I’m no good at hair or makeup.”

Miranda lets out a small sound of excitement, downs her champagne, and pours us both another round.

I wish I could drink it.

I have a feeling I’m going to need it to get through tonight.

The walk down to the beach is easy, lined with solar-powered lanterns that give the winding, pebbled walkway a warm yellow glow. Picking my way down in the stilettos that Miranda brought me is no easy feat, and I’m sure I look like I’m already drunk by the time we get to the bonfire. Doesn’t matter, I suppose, since it looks like everyone else here already is.

“Mandy!” this redheaded girl calls out, waving her arms like she’s on c***k. At my old school, she might have been. Here … she still could be. Instead, she stumbles over to Miranda with her heels hanging from one hand, the distinctive red bottoms of the Lo