The ride over

You lean against the doorframe of the newly organized closet—your handiwork, and it genuinely looks good—and shake your head at Priya's suggestion.

"I'd love to, but I don't have my ID on me." This is technically true. Your wallet is in your crossbody bag, which is downstairs, and your ID says Riley Bennett, Male with a photo of someone who looks nothing like the girl standing here in a sage jacket and smoky eye makeup. "And honestly? I can't really afford to go out right now. Not until my first paycheck clears."

Priya waves a hand like you've said something ridiculous. "Okay, first of all—I know a way to get you in without an ID. My brother's friend works the door on Sundays. I just text him." She's already pulling out her phone, thumbs flying. "Second of all, I'm covering your tab. Non-negotiable. You just spent three hours performing miracles on Janelle's disaster zone—consider it payment."

"Priya, you don't have to—"

"I want to." She looks up from her phone, dark eyes firm. "Besides, don't tell me you've never gotten a free drink from a guy. This is the same energy, just from me instead of some sweaty dude at a bar."

Janelle, sitting on the edge of her bed surrounded by the last few folded items, rolls her eyes so hard you can practically hear them rotate. "She's been waiting her whole life to say that line."

"It's a GOOD line and you know it." Priya grins, triumphant.

Wren tucks her camera into its padded case and slings it over her shoulder. "I'm driving. My mom's car. She said I could have it until seven." She pauses. "It's a minivan. But it has good AC."

"A minivan is perfect," Priya declares. "We can fit everyone plus the nachos."

Janelle stands, smoothing her jeans, and catches your eye. That same quiet look from earlier—you okay with this?—and you find yourself nodding before you've fully decided.

Free nachos. Good company. A chance to just... be normal for an evening.

Downstairs, Colette intercepts you at the kitchen door with a tupperware container and a look that could stop traffic.

"Riley. Banana bread. Take it." She presses the container into your hands. "And I do facials at the salon on Thursdays—Colette's Crown, on Main Street. Half price for you. You come by anytime."

"Thank you, Colette." You tuck the container into your crossbody bag. "I'll try to make it."

"You WILL make it." She squeezes your shoulder, then turns to Janelle. "Home by eight-thirty. No exceptions."

"Mom, we're going for nachos, not to a rave."

"Eight-thirty."

The four of you pile into Wren's mom's silver minivan—Priya riding shotgun, you and Janelle in the middle row, Wren behind the wheel adjusting mirrors with the careful precision of someone who got her license three months ago. The AC hums. Priya connects her phone to the Bluetooth and something with a heavy bassline fills the cabin.

"The Lantern is like ten minutes," Wren announces, checking her mirrors. "Everyone buckled?"

Janelle's knee bumps yours as she reaches for her seatbelt. She doesn't move it away.

The minivan pulls out of the Osei driveway and onto the tree-lined street, late afternoon sun slanting golden through the windows. You catch your reflection in the glass—sage jacket, messy bun, smoky eyes—and for a moment you don't recognize the person looking back. Then you do, and it feels right.

Going out with friends. Being treated. Being included.

Priya turns from the front seat. "Okay, important question. Nachos: classic or loaded?"

"Loaded," Janelle and Wren say simultaneously.

Priya points at you. "Riley? Tiebreaker."