Diane’s hand went behind her back. The bottle knocked against her skirt. Little clink.
Somebody in the crowd said it low.
“She doesn’t smell like alcohol.”
Diane’s face dropped for half a second. Then she got loud again.
“She’s messed up on her meds! Who fakes a heart attack at a party?”
Mark threw in his two cents, in the voice you’d use on a dog that won’t settle.
“She needs to calm down. We have it on video.”
“On video?”
I stared at him.
“Your mother filmed it. You’re using your mommy’s footage as evidence against me?”
Mark didn’t touch that one.
“Go back inside.”
“My ankle’s still bleeding.”
I stuck my leg out. The blood had dried into a dark red line.
“Did your mom film that too?”
Diane cut in.
“You were drinking.”
“I’m standing right here. Have everybody smell me.”
