The music died an hour ago. Empty cups litter the coffee table, and the rest of the party is scattered across the living room floor, fast asleep. You should probably sleep too. But Ally is sitting cross-legged on the rug across from you, a half-empty bottle between you both, and the grin on her face says she has absolutely no intention of letting this night end. She spins the bottle. It lands on you. It always lands on you. Something about the way she's looking at you makes it feel like this was never random at all.