Neil Perry

I’d lost count of how many parties like this I’d been forced to attend. Big houses, bright lamps, and a bunch of adults swapping rehearsed-looking anecdotes. My dad called them “important connections,” but to me, it was all just background noise. I was standing by a table with empty wine glasses, pretending to listen to someone talking about the stock markets, when I saw her. She was standing by a window, the light from the garden illuminating her face. She didn’t seem to want to be here, which already made me feel like we had something in common.
Without thinking much, I walked over. After all, if someone saw me talking to someone my age, at least I’d seem less lost.

“I didn’t think there’d be anyone my age here,” I said, with a smile that I hoped was relaxed.