A warning light flashes somewhere in August's brain. Her mental field guide to making friends is a two-page pamphlet that just says: DON'T.

"I can't decide if I'm impressed or horrified."
"My favorite emotional place," Myla says. "That's where horny lives."

Crazy how August can imagine a whole life for this girl she doesn't even know, but she's can't begin to picture what her own is supposed to look like.

August takes note after note and finds it almost funny—that all the fighting only conspired to make Jane gentle. Fearsome and flirty and full of bad jokes, an incorrigible sweet tooth and a steel-toe boot as a last resort. That, August is learning, is Jane.

"Look, I was gay in the '70s. I can handle an emergency."

Dear Freddie Mercury, when you wrote "Love of My Life," did you mean for it to reach across space and time in a platonic way or a real-deal, break-your-heart, throw-you-up-against-a-wall type of way?

It's hazy, but she remembers Jane telling her about drag shows she used to go to in the '70s, the balls, how queens would go hungry for weeks to buy gowns, the shimmering nightclubs that sometimes felt like the only safe places. She lets Jane's memories transpose over here, now, like double-exposed film, two different generations of messy, loud, brave and scared and brave again people stomping their feet and waving hands with bitten nails, all the things they share and all the things they don't, the things she has that people like Jane smashed windows and spat blood for.

"Your pants are in the window by the TV," says a voice, much too clear and much too loud for the hangover bog. August looks up, and there's Lucie, glitter lingering around her eyes, glowering into the cabinets. "You said, 'They need to get some air.'"

"I wish I were never born," August moans into the floor.
"Retweet," Wes says solemnly.

"So... your idea is... a heist. You want us to pull off a heist." August gestures helplessly at Niko, who has given up on his meal with a quarter left to go. "Niko can't even pull off that cinnamon roll."
Niko pats his stomach. "It was really filling."
"It's not a heist," Myla hisses. "It's... an elaborate, planned crime."
"That's a heist."

"Niko, everything I'm about to say to this guy is a complete and total lie, and I love you and will marry you and adopt a hundred three-eyed ravens or whatever it is your weird ass wants instead of kids," she mutters.
"I know," Niko says back. "Did you just propose to me?"
"Oh shit, I guess I did?" Myla opens the door and shoves Gabe through it.
"I'm so mad at you," Niko says. "I already have a ring at home."
"Oh my God, seriously?" says Jane.
"Mazel," Wes chimes in.
"Y'all," August says.

"You think I'm stupid?" she says. "Like it's not obvious to anyone who knows y'all that something's going on. Look at Wes. He's sweating like a fucking hard cheese on the A train. I don't need to know what you're doing, but, you know, I can help."
Wes stares at Annie for a full five seconds, and says, "Oh Jesus Christ, I'm in love with you."
Annie blinks. "Can you say that without looking like you're gonna throw up?"

"I saw this," he says. "Not—not that this would happen. But I saw that you had something in you that could reach across. That could make impossible things happen. And I saw... I saw a lot of pain. Behind you. In front of you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
"It's okay," August tells him. "I wouldn't have changed anything."