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hard to get on right. I tug her shirt down until it covers her belly. Next up: underwear. I work them up over her legs and onto her hips.
    I slide her jean skirt up and over her legs, straightening it until she looks pretty much decent. She’s still passed out, breathing deeply. She hasn’t moved since I came in. I reach out and brush her hair off her face.
    And suddenly I’m overcome. What’s going on ? How did things get so messed up for my best friend? I rub my hands over my face. A black thought gnaws at the edges of my mind. The thought that, maybe if I hadn’t screwed things up so badly back in June, Lindsay and I would be together right now. That maybe she wouldn’t have gone away for the whole summer and come back a sleazy guy pleaser who only cares about looking good, being thin and beating her friends at this stupid game they’re playing.
    That maybe she wouldn’t have to wake up and realize she’s just lost her virginity to two guys at a party where she was drunk and high on E.
    That maybe—if I’d manned up and tried harder to actually straighten out the mess between us—this never would have happened.

Chapter Ten
    I look at the clock: 10:21 . I lie down next to Lindsay, curling my body against hers. I think about how much I’ve let her down. And then I think about what I can do to make it up to her.
    Eventually her steady, deep breathing lulls me to sleep.
    I wake up just after midnight. The music is still thumping. Party’s going strong. I prop myself up on one elbow. Lindsay is waking up. She moans and opens her eyes. She sees me. Covers her face with one hand.
    â€œMike,” she whispers. “It’s you.”
    I touch her hair.
    Without a word, she rolls toward me. I put my arms around her.
    â€œI feel like shit,” she says. “Where are we?”
    â€œAt Erin’s,” I answer.
    She’s quiet for a moment.
    â€œWhy are we in the bedroom?” There’s dread in her voice.
    Briefly, I consider lying to her. Maybe I can save her from herself.
    But no. That’s not going to work. I can’t lie about this.
    Choosing my words carefully, I tell her what happened. That she drank, and dropped E, and then took Josh into the bedroom. That Bryce came too. That I tried to stop her, but that she shut me out. I don’t tell her that Bryce threw me down the stairs.
    â€œBoth of them? Did I…what happened?” She looks up at me. “Josh and Bryce? Was it…did they…?” Her voice trails off. Closes her eyes. She can’t even finish the question. “Are you sure?”
    I nod.
    She doesn’t want to hear it. “But I’m wearing all my clothes, Mike,” she says. Her voice is pleading. It trembles and rises a bit, panicky. “I didn’t. They couldn’t. Look, see? I’m still wearing all my clothes.” She looks up at me desperately.
    I smooth her hair off her hot forehead. I wish I could lie, but I can’t.
    â€œI got you dressed,” I say.
    And then she starts to cry.
    She cries and cries, and I hold her and try to think of something to say that will make her feel better. But I can’t.
    When her tears finally run dry, she stays there, face pressed into my shirt, for a long time. Finally she pulls away and wipes the last smudges of makeup from her eyes. Her face is red and blotchy.
    She lets out a shaky sigh. “You must think I’m awful,” she whispers.
    I’m surprised by her words. “Why would I think that?”
    She ignores my question. “I never meant for this to happen. I don’t know what I meant to happen, but it wasn’t this. I never wanted this. I don’t care about those”—she shudders—“those losers. None of them. None of them matter to me. They’re all jerks.”
    So all this crap since she came back from summer holidays…there’s no point to it? It’s all just been for