“Lou, baby, you made it!” As though she heard my plea, our magnificent hostess Sacha finally makes an appearance. She’s clad in sequins and wearing hoops like Ferris wheels. She pushes her hips into mine and holds a shot under my nose. She smells of Malibu. “Why don’t you have a little fun?”

Sacha’s a horny drunk, and the sequins of her dress are digging into my skin through my clothes, but she’s alright, really. She’s got a tenacious spirit and can take rejection like no one. Oddly enough, that doesn’t apply to women. If a girl hurts her feelings, she’ll never be forgiven. I like Sacha, we’ve been acquainted since we were in diapers.

I take the offered shot and toss it back. I love the way it burns on the way down. “Thanks, Sacha. Can I change the music?”

She giggles. “If you can get past François. He made the playlist.”

“Yes, I can hear that.”

She shakes her head; her massive earrings catch the light like a disco ball. “Be nice to François, he thinks you’re so cool.”

The hell with François, I need Lucie to like me again. With a grimace, I toss back a second shot, then I slowly wade my way through the mass of flailing limbs, laughing mouths, and glitter hairspray.

Near the sound system, François is trying and failing to light a cigarette. The ridiculous hat perched on top of his almost red head says “2008” in gigantic gold letters. He’s drinking a blue cocktail with a paper umbrella in it.

Behind me, Lucie is pretending to have fun dancing to Enrique Iglesias and rubbing her arse against Lars, our only Danish student. He looks both mystified and terrified she might disappear if he makes the wrong move. A side glance informs me that Agnes has had enough of Tony. He’s hovering on the edge of the crowd, his brow furrowed. The responsibility to save this party is solely mine.

But to get to François, I must first go through Yasmine. I must proceed with caution. She takes shit from no one, especially not from Tony or me, whom she’s known since before kindergarten. She will flatten me with the back of her hand if I dare make a bad joke. She’s also fiercely protective of François for reasons beyond my understanding.

She sees my sweaty face and arches a perfect eyebrow. “What do you want, Mésange?” Uh oh, the oldest trick in the book, calling me by my surname. She’s all business. My only way out is to feign drunkenness.

“Yas’! I’m so glad to see you!” I manage to throw her off by flinging my arms around her neck, and, in my hasty demonstration of affection, knock over her glass of champagne. The liquid splatters over her navy dress, and she lets out a curse that makes François jump off his perch on the TV stand. I don’t have to fake the look of apprehension on my face; I’m honestly terrified she might punch me. “I’m sorry, Yasmine. I was just so happy to see you.”

“Now I’ve got to get cleaned up! Don’t move, I’ll come back for you.” Her murderous eyes do not leave me as she stomps out of the crowd and towards the main corridor.

That’s a problem for future Louis. Immediately, I slither into the tight space between the wide armchair and François and light his cigarette with the flick of my thumb. He watches me with wide eyes. I, too, light a cigarette, and I accidentally blow smoke in his face before I start giggling nervously. “I don’t get how spilling some champagne on a dark dress can cause so much fuss, but I’m not exactly great at understanding fashion.”

François gives me a look, but he doesn’t smile. He takes a large swig of his cocktail and almost dips his nose in it. He’s not having fun at all. I’ve never even seen him looking so downcast.

This looks serious. I remove my sunglasses and put them in my pocket. “What’s up with you?”

“One of these days…” he sniffles. “Everyone’s having a good time but I just can’t.” He looks at my puzzled face and shrugs. “Ignore me. I think I just need to get laid.”

I give him an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Then get laid.”

“Do you think it’s as easy as saying ‘get laid’? Unless you have someone for me?”

I shake my head and he lets out a long, terrible sigh. Poor François. He’s an absolute dildo, but no one should be miserable on New Year’s Eve, take it from me.

“Hang on, hang on.” After a short while ruffling through my pockets, I fish out a joint, perfectly rolled yesterday by Lucie’s small and expert hands. “I can’t help you get laid, but I can help you get high, and then you won’t worry about it anymore. How about that?”

François accepts my offer and even returns a smile. “Thanks, Lou, that’s nice of you. Are you sure you want to give it to me?”

“That’s all right. I smoke too much anyway.”

“You know…”

“What?”

“Since you’re nice to me, can I tell you something helpful?”

“Sure. I’m all ears.”

François picks up one of my locks and drops it with a grimace, “Your hair, you should, you know…wash it once in a while.”

“It’s grunge.”

“It’s disgusting. And you would be so good-looking if you made an effort.”

I’m already good-looking, and François commenting on the way I look just feels even more awkward. I have zero idea what to think about it, and even less on what to say about it, so I stick my lighter under his nose to light up the joint.

“So, François, Sacha has asked me to change the music.” Smooth transition. Impeccable. 20/20.

“That’s impossible,” François declares, blowing out smoke from the joint. “Sacha hates your music. Everyone does.”

Rubbish, but that’s not the point.

I force a smile. “But Sacha likes me. She said I could change the music.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Yes! And do you want to celebrate the new year listening to this crap, or do you want a hymn that represents youth and hope and ideals and—”

François holds up a hand. “Lou, come on. Stop lying. Tell the truth for once. And maybe, maybe, I’ll let you play your music.” He rolls his eyes and doesn’t budge when I try to nudge him away from the sound system.

I give up with a frustrated sigh. “The truth? Really? I need Lucie to like me again.”

“Why, what have you done this time?”

I open my mouth to speak, but I suddenly don’t know what to say.

François clicks his tongue. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Your girlfriend is always mad anyway.” François would know. Lucie used to hang out with the Golden Fork before she discovered her inner rockstar and ditched them all to hang out with Tony and me. However, they’re still friendly.

“I thought you liked her.”

“I do,” he says, “but she’s always angry, that’s true.”

“She’s only angry with me, not with anyone else.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’m always late, among other things.”

“That’s true. People call you Ever-Late Lou behind your back.”

Wrong! It’s not behind my back if I know about it, dumb-dumb. But anyway. “If you don’t do it for her, do it for me. Or I’ll spend the first day of the year single and miserable, and it will be your fault.”

François puts his head in his hands and groans. “Fine! But only because you gave me weed.”

Works for me. François steps away from the sound system and seconds later, the comforting and feverish sound of Kaiser Chiefs is blaring through the speakers, and Yasmine is glaring at me from the kitchen door, knowing full well what I’ve done. Gesturing at François with a grin, I show her I have his permission. There’s nothing she can do to me now.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Tony joins me, shaking his head. “I wish my life was as easy as yours. You always get what you want.”

Dancing in place, I pretend I didn’t hear him. “What did you say?”

He’s drunk so it doesn’t matter. What matters is Lucie. She has this baffled look on her face that she reserves just for me, the one that says: “I can’t believe I’m dating Fake Kurt Cobain.”

She runs into my arms and laughs in my face, all of her anger forgotten. Tony, bobbing up and down, is shouting more than singing out the lyrics. Midnight is seconds away, and all of our faceless bodies are dancing together, too happy and too drunk to hurt or to care.

10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 6 … 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …

Not yet eighteen but at the top of my world, obsessed with my own madness, sandwiched between the two people I love the most in the world, I don’t want it to end.

I think I’ve got it all figured out.