“Oh my Marx, who claimed to be nice?” Daria stared at me, horrified. “What a mediocre goal to have in life.”

April gave us two thumbs-up, nodding. “Yeah, dude, this chick is your ex’s current girlfriend. You’re not supposed to protect her. Why did you two break up, anyway? You never even said.”

“Break up?” Daria lifted a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

No. No, no, no. I’d totally forgotten I’d told April this little white lie to cover for the fact that I was an emotional mess when I arrived at Boon.

Daria swiveled her head to me, screwing her pouty lips into a scowl. I thought of signing to April that Daria didn’t know. Daria would get the hint. She wouldn’t rat me out. But it didn’t feel okay to lie to April anymore. She was a friend now.

“I’m sorry,” I signed, my shoulders sagging. I really was.

April shook her head. “It’s okay. We’ll talk about it when we get back to Boon. Break a leg, Lu.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Oh, and Lu?” April smiled, just as I was about to close the MacBook. “You’re not the girl I met the first day we arrived at Boon. You’re much stronger. Make sure he knows that.”

The beach house where Daria threw the party belonged to one of her rich friends and sat on Huntington Beach. The owners were two architects who lived in Europe half the year. It looked like an elaborate fishbowl. The floors and walls were all made of glass. You could see the blond sand and tranquil ocean under your feet. The living room, huge and mostly empty, spilled onto a large deck with crystal bannisters. The only proof people inhabited the carefully designed space was the second floor I’d caught a glimpse of when we parked. There was some light furniture scattered around there.

Who could live in such a place?

“Stephannie!” Daria squealed as she hugged a girl who looked like the dark-haired version of her. They held each other for what seemed to be a century before disconnecting. Daria introduced us and told Stephannie (who pointed out that her name was spelled with a double N. Why couldn’t rich people just let normal names be?) that I couldn’t talk, but I could hear and text, waving it off like it was hardly an issue.

And so, Stephannie didn’t treat it as one. It was definitely refreshing.

“Where is Penn?” I asked Daria as we wandered to the deck, where she began arranging drinks on a long table.

She tossed her glossy hair, her signature move. “Oh, trying on suits with his friends in New York. He’s taking the wedding thing uber seriously.” She rolled her eyes, laughing.

“Don’t you?” I panicked. One thing we could credit our parents for—they sure gave us good examples of how successful, happy marriages should look.

Daria shrugged, pouring champagne into tall, thin glasses with a precise accuracy that would make an AA counselor flinch. “I take the marriage seriously. The wedding? Not so much.”

My eyes raked over her face, searching for clues. Daria was one of the most materialistic people I knew, so hearing her say that surprised me.

She put the empty bottle of champagne on the table, popping open a new one.

“Look…” She turned to me. “When you find the one, all the other details blur together. I don’t know what I want to wear when I wed him. I don’t know what my hair is going to look like, or how many guests I want to invite, or if I want a beach wedding, or one in a fancy hotel, or to elope in Vegas. All I know is that I want to be with Penn. Every hour. Every day. Every year. And that’s enough for me. It’s more than enough. It’s everything. Don’t you feel like that about Knight?” She cocked her head.

I wasn’t so sure anymore. Our relationship was such a mess. He was torn apart by his mother’s situation and me sleeping with someone else, and I was scrambling to become normal, finally out of my parents’ nest, with banged-up wings and frayed feathers. We both had so much going on. Communicating effectively was not our strong point these days.

An hour later, the place was jam-packed. Vaughn came with a bunch of his artsy friends, skulking in the corner of the room. They looked much older and terribly worldly. Knight walked in with Poppy on his arm. She wore a canary yellow mini dress and a sweet smile. They were talking and laughing.

They looked happy.

Genuinely happy. I didn’t know what had happened between the day before Christmas, at the shelter, and now. But whatever it was, they seemed to have overcome it. Overcome me. Maybe I needn’t fulfill Rosie’s wish after all. Maybe Poppy would be there to pick up the pieces so I didn’t have to.

So I didn’t get to.

“Don’t look at him, and definitely don’t say hello,” Daria warned fiercely when she saw me looking.

I cradled my glass of champagne and glared at the wall. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t one to play games. Then again, Daria was now blissfully engaged to a guy who’d once made a promise to ruin her life and hated her guts but now adored the ground her fancy heels walked upon. I was morbidly single. She obviously had game, and I could use a few pointers.

Hours dragged. Music played. People laughed. When it became apparent that Knight and Poppy weren’t going to acknowledge us, too engrossed in their own little universe, Daria dragged me to the dance floor and convinced me to shake my butt. It was nearing midnight, and the acute sense of time running out slammed into me.