I hadn’t spent much time at all in downtown Hartfield, and was glad that Sloane was providing directions. Considering it was also a weekend night, the main strip of bars and restaurants was packed, crowds of people walking along the sidewalks and spilling into the street, the slow-moving parade of cars trying to edge past them.

“We should try and find parking,” she said, as I passed a lot where the prices had been raised to ten dollars for the night, and guys with glowsticks and flags were trying to direct people in.

“So we’re doing something around here, then,” I said, glad to have some indication of what was going to be happening tonight.

“Maybe,” Sloane said, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe not. Just—there!” she pointed ahead, where the car in front of me was, miracle of miracles, pulling out of its parking spot.

I put on my blinker and turned quickly into the spot, and it was a good thing, because three other cars had zoomed forward toward it, one from the opposite side of the street, and were currently blocking traffic. “You know what?” Sloane said, as I killed the engine and handed her my iPod to lock in the glove compartment. “I think that’s a good sign. I think it means tonight’s going to be the best ever.”

“So?” I asked as I unbuckled my seat belt and turned to face her. “Do I finally get details?”

Sloane pointed across the street. “McKenzie’s,” she said with a grin.

I turned to look, not quite understanding how this was going to happen. McKenzie’s was a straight-up bar, with no all-ages dining area, which bugged Sloane to no end, since there was also a stage at the back and great bands were always performing there, and we could never get in to see them. “Did they change their policy or something?”

“Nope,” she said. She pulled something out of her bag with a flourish, then took my hand, opened my palm, and dropped something into it. I picked it up and held it up to the light from the streetlights to get a better look. It was a Nevada state ID card, with my picture, an address I didn’t recognize, and the name Penelope Entwhistle. “What is this?” I asked, looking closer at it and seeing a birthday that was five years earlier than mine.

“Your first fake ID,” she said, leaning over to look at it. “Want to see mine?” She dropped it into my palm, and I could see that hers was from Utah and her name read Alicia Paramount.

I smiled at that. “Nice name.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking it back. “Ready to go?”

It hit me, much later than it should have, that we were going to use these IDs to get into a bar. And we were going to do it now, before I’d had any time to wrap my head around the idea. “Wait,” I said, as Sloane’s hand was already on the door handle. “We’re going to use these for McKenzie’s?”

“That’s the best part,” she said with a smile. “Call Me Kevin is playing there tonight. Totally not advertised. We’re going to get to see them in a crowd of, like, fifty. Isn’t that amazing?” She grinned at me and got out of the car, leaving me to scramble out behind her, locking my door and then hurrying to join her as she crossed the street, darting across the traffic rather than waiting for the light to change.

“Sloane,” I said, as she got into the line that led to McKenzie’s entrance. I saw that the door was guarded by a hulking guy in a black leather jacket, who was shining a flashlight down on the IDs people were handing to him.

“Alicia,” she corrected.

“I don’t think we should do this.” I lowered my voice as I looked forward in the line. Everyone around us seemed much older than we were, and I was sure they—and the door guy—would all be able to tell that we were high schoolers attempting to get in somewhere we weren’t allowed.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Sloane said, lowering her voice as well. “I had the guy who made Sam’s do these for us. And he never has a problem with his.”

I could feel panic start to rise up, and I didn’t even know why, exactly. “I just . . . ,” I said as I looked down at the ID. In the glare of the streetlight, it looked incredibly fake, like it had been made at home on someone’s computer. “Why Penelope?”

Sloane laughed. “I don’t know, I just thought it sounded right. Oh,” she said, leaning closer to me as the line moved forward and my heart started beating double-time, “don’t forget to memorize your address and birthday. Just in case they ask.”

“Are they going to?” I asked, and I could hear my voice coming out high and stressed.

“I don’t know,” Sloane said, starting to sound exasperated. “It’s my first time.”

“I don’t think . . . ,” I said, even as I took a step forward. “I don’t think that this is a good idea.”

“Emily, come on,” Sloane said. We were just one person away from the door guy, who now seemed twice as big up close. “Just relax, okay? It’ll be fine.”

“No,” I said, not joining her as she took another step forward. “I don’t want to.”

She looked at me, and I could see the confusion on her face. “It’s okay,” she said with a smile, but glancing back behind her at the door guy. The people behind me in line were starting to shift, and I knew that I was holding things up by not moving forward. “Come on.”

“I’m not going in,” I said, taking a step out of the line, and the couple behind me immediately filled my place.

“Why are you—” Sloane started, then let out a breath and shook her head. It felt like we were in uncharted territory, like we suddenly had to use a language neither of us was fluent in, because Sloane and I didn’t fight, not ever. She told the couple behind her to go ahead, and they took her place eagerly. “I want to go in,” Sloane said, and I could see that she didn’t understand why I wasn’t just agreeing with her.

“I don’t,” I said quietly. I didn’t know how else to explain it.

“Okay,” she said, glancing at the door guy, then back at me. She looked at me for a moment, and it was like I could feel her waiting for me to change my mind, go along with her like I always did. After a long moment she said, “I guess I’ll see you later.”

I drew in a breath; it honestly felt like someone had punched me. I’d just assumed that Sloane would leave with me, that we were in this together. The vagueness of her later was terrifying to me. “Sure,” I said, not telling her any of this, not telling her what I was feeling, just making myself give her a trembling smile. “See you.” I turned to head back to the car, my ankles wobbling in the heels she’d picked out for me, the clothes she’d chosen for me feeling too tight and itchy.