Ha . . . what an idiot. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.

I walk over to the side of the dance floor and size up the guy she’s talking to.

Blond and skinny . . . boring looking. I watch them for a while, and Hayden seems very interested in everything the fucker says . . . I can’t even imagine what dreary shit he’s talking about.

Screw this.

I march off to the bar.

“Oh, Christo.” Bernadette runs after me.

Fucking hell, this woman is killing me.

I need some rat bait.

An hour later I’m standing talking to a group of people, and I catch sight of the kid who works here. He’s walking around and collecting glasses. I watch him for a while: so young to be in an environment like this. He seems totally unfazed and getting on with the job.

“Where are you from, Christo?” a woman asks me.

“New York, originally. I live in the UK now.”

“Oh, I live in the UK. Where are you?” She smiles.

There’s a group of guys to the left of the dance floor, rolling blind drunk and being obnoxious. I sip my beer as I watch them. I’m not sure where they come from, but they are speaking French. One of them steps back and bangs into the kid. He knocks the glasses out of his hands.

“Regardez ou vous marchez, putain l’idiot!” he yells at him. (Translation: Watch where you’re walking, you fucking idiot.)

The kid bends down to pick up the dropped plastic glasses. He glances up, but it’s obvious he doesn’t understand the language.

“M’as-tu entendu?” the guy yells as he stands over him. (Translation: Did you hear me?)

I pass my beer to the girl on my left and make my way over.

“Reponds-moi espece de putain de cochon grossier.” (Translation: Answer me, you fucking rude pig.)

Adrenaline surges through me, and I stand in front of the kid. “Recule la merde.” (Translation: Back the fuck up.)

HAYDEN

The music is loud, and the laughter is endless. This is the best night of my life. I’ve never had so much fun. I catch sight of Christopher on the other side of the dance floor, walking over to a group of men. His stance tells me something is off.

I stop dancing and watch him. What’s he doing? Without thinking, I begin to make my way over.

“S’excuser,” I hear Christopher say. (Translation: Apologize.)

“Va au diable.” (Translation: Go to hell.)

I frown as I walk closer. They’re speaking another language. Let me rephrase that: they’re fighting in another language.

Christopher is angry, and he pushes a young boy out of the way. Who’s he?

Huh?

What’s going on here?

“Hayden.” Someone laughs. “Got you.” I’m lifted up and playfully thrown over someone’s shoulder.

“Ahh, put me down.”

“Make me.” He laughs, thinking I’m joking. He runs me across the room, and as I’m trying to get out of his grip, I see Christopher push the guy in the chest. The guy stumbles back.

What the hell?

Next minute, all hell breaks loose.

There’s an all-out brawl.

Men, all-out fighting. Everyone is stepping in, and I have no idea who’s on whose side. But I see Basil and Bodie in there fighting alongside Christopher too.

What the hell?

The music stops, and the lights go on. Security guards grab the troublemakers and struggle outside with them. The guy Christopher was fighting seems super drunk, and he’s yelling something. Christopher is yelling back at him in another language as they get pushed outside.

Bernadette comes and stands beside me as we watch them get ushered outside.

I glance over at her, and she’s smiling goofily after them. “What?” I frown.

“He speaks French.”

I roll my eyes. “You mean fights in French.”

“That’s even hotter.”

I smirk, because she’s right . . . not that I’ll ever admit it.

The music starts, and she grabs my hand and pulls me to the dance floor, and we laugh as we twirl, the drama all but forgotten.

Still having the best night of my life.

I’m woken by the sound of hysterical laughter, men laughing like hyenas as they fumble and try to unlock the door.

I screw up my face. God, no . . . go away.

I roll over and snuggle back into my blanket in my bottom bunk. This is the first night I’ve actually been able to sleep all week. The three hundred drinks I had at the full moon party are responsible, no doubt.

The door busts open, and someone falls through it onto the carpet to deep belly laughter. It echoes down the quiet corridor. “Shh.”

“Shh.” They all giggle. “Shh, you noisy fucks.”

I screw up my face as I try to open my eyes. The sun is peeking through the blinds. It’s early morning.

More hysterical laughter.

What could possibly be so fucking funny at this godforsaken hour?

“Do it, do it,” Bodie slurs.

It’s the boys. They’re back from wherever they’ve been.

They line up in a row and start singing words that I can’t understand. “Ah, Macarena.” They all jump to the left and start doing the Macarena dance.

“They all want me. They can’t have me,” they sing.

Oh god . . .

Christopher and Basil have no shirts on. Bodie is missing his shorts and wearing underpants with his shirt open, and Christopher has a traffic cone on his head.

“What the hell?” I moan. Oh no . . . my head. It’s broken.

“Ah, Macarena.” They jump to the right and keep doing the dance.

“We’re fucking good at this,” Christopher says as they sing. “We should be strippers.”

“I know, right?” Bodie agrees.

They keep dancing to their off-tune singing, and I smile into my pillow as I keep dozing.

“Ah, Macarena,” they call as they jump to the left.

“Shut up!” I throw a pillow at them. I look up to the top bunk, and Bernadette is out cold. How is she sleeping through this?

“Ah . . . my number one favorite grump waited up for me,” Christopher slurs. He holds one finger up and raises his eyebrow. “Number one.” He drops to his hands and knees and crawls toward me until he’s millimeters away from my face. “See what I did there?”

I stare at him deadpan.

“One.” He widens his eyes as if making a great joke. “Get it?”

“I get it,” I snap. “And you’re going to get it if you don’t go to sleep immediately.”

He chuckles and then flops down, his face resting on my mattress, his body on the floor beside my bed. His eyes close in exhaustion. His traffic cone digs into my pillow, and I take it off him and hurl it at the other two fools who are still doing the Macarena. “Where are your pants?” I bark at Bodie.

“They got caught on the fence.”

“The fence?”

“The kebab man chased me, and I had to jump over the fence.”

I sit up onto my elbows. “Why did the kebab man chase you?”

“He stole his sauce bottle.” Basil hiccups. “Fucking funniest night in history.”