Sloane frowned down at the piece of paper she was working from and pulled the pencil out of her hair, which fell down around her shoulders. She pushed it impatiently out of her face and scribbled something on the paper, then twisted her hair up again and stuck the pencil through it. “The arrabbiata?” she asked. “My aunt taught me. And I know I took a picture of her recipe, but I didn’t write it down. And now I can’t find what camera it was on, so I’m just trying to remember . . .” She stirred something that was bubbling on the back burner. “So this might be terrible,” she said, not sounding too bothered by this. “Just warning you.”

But the pasta had been delicious, and we’d eaten it in Anderson’s study, both of us perched on the leather couches with our plates, getting more and more involved with Willa, the heroine, who worked at an animal clinic and could communicate with the animals in her care, using their knowledge to help her solve crimes.

“Awesome,” Sloane said now, as she stretched. “I think I’ve got two more in me tonight, how about you?”

“Absolutely,” I said, though I had a feeling we were going to end up watching the whole first season and falling asleep sometime when the sun started to rise. We’d done it before. I stood up and gathered the plates, noticing that both our glasses were empty. “You want a refill?”

“Sure,” she said, as she curled up on the couch, cuing up the next episode. “Or why don’t you grab the wine that’s in the fridge?”

“Okay,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound thrown by this. Sloane always insisted her parents didn’t care if we drank—even if they were home—but it was so different from how I’d grown up, I still had trouble getting my head around it.

I walked across the downstairs to the kitchen, a little slower than I needed to, trying to take it all in. Sloane’s house couldn’t have been more different from mine, with its antiques and rugs and oil paintings with individual lights. I crossed into the kitchen without turning on the light, and put the plates in the sink. Unlike my house, where the kitchen was the hub and everyone gathered there, it seemed mostly unused in Sloane’s house. The first time I’d opened her refrigerator, I’d been shocked to see there were only some takeout containers, a bottle of champagne, and a few ketchup packets. I honestly hadn’t known that it was possible to have a refrigerator without a bottle of ketchup in it. I pulled open the fridge and reached for the bottle of white wine.

“Having a nice time?” I whirled around, my heart hammering, and saw Milly sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, a glass of red wine in her hand. I hadn’t known that Sloane’s parents had come back but realized they had, as usual, come back from someplace fancy—Milly was wearing a floor-length beaded dress that pooled at her bare feet.

“Oh,” I said. I looked down at the bottle of wine I was holding in my hand and realized how this must look. It was one thing for Sloane to tell me her parents were fine with us drinking; it was quite another for her mom to catch me taking her chardonnay. “Yeah. Um . . .”

“Close the door, would you, dear?” Milly asked, holding her hand up to block the weak refrigerator light. I closed it, and the kitchen fell into darkness again.

“Um,” I said, trying to decide what I should do. Hide the wine? Put it back? Pretend like I was cool with this too? “Thanks so much for letting me stay over.”

“Of course, Amanda,” she said, giving me a smile as she took a sip. “It’s our pleasure.”

I just kept the smile on my face, not sure if I should correct an adult, Sloane’s mother, about this. It seemed less embarrassing for both of us if I just let it slide. But there must have been something in my expression, even in the darkness, that gave it away, because Milly lowered her glass and squinted at me. “Not Amanda,” she said, shaking her head. “My goodness, where is my mind?”

“It’s Emily,” I said, with a laugh I hoped didn’t sound too forced.

“Yes, of course,” Milly said, with a laugh of her own. “I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached to my neck.” I nodded at that, and was about to say something else on some safe topic, like the weather, when Milly went on, thoughtfully, “No, Amanda was Sloane’s best friend in Palm Beach.”

She sipped her wine again, like nothing was wrong, and I tried not to let it show just how shocked I was. Sloane had never mentioned an Amanda.

“And then it was . . . What was that girl’s name in South Carolina?” Milly asked, drumming her nails on the table, now seeming to be talking more to herself than to me. “When we were with my sister Laney . . .” I realized, all at once, that this was definitely not the first drink she’d had tonight. There was a looseness in her voice that I wasn’t used to hearing, and it made me feel nervous. Between that and the fact that I was holding a bottle of wine in front of an adult who wasn’t lecturing me, it suddenly felt like there was nobody in charge. “Charlotte!” Milly said triumphantly, taking a sip of her wine.

I gave her a weak laugh in return, though my head was spinning. And it hit me that I probably couldn’t ask Sloane, demand she tell me about other friends she had. Or if I did, she would probably just tell me about them, girls I’d never thought to inquire after since I’d never until this moment imagined they existed. I knew, rationally, that this was no big deal and I was getting bothered by nothing. But still.

“Em!” I turned in the direction of Sloane’s voice, and realized she was probably wondering what had happened to me. “Come on! This next episode is called ‘The Diamond and the Dachshund,’ so you know it’s going to be amazing.”

“I should . . . ,” I said, taking a step toward the door.

“Of course,” Milly said, giving me a vague smile. She wasn’t demanding her wine back, so I just took it with me. “So nice to see you again, dear.”

I made myself smile back at her. “You too.” I couldn’t have said why, but I had the feeling that she had already forgotten my name. I walked straight back into the library, not stopping to look around this time, and took my spot next to Sloane on the couch.

“Finally,” she said, as she took the wine from me and poured us each a glass. “I was getting worried you’d gotten lost or something.”