Maybe sometime when she's actually planning on getting really, really drunk, questions about the details of sex will work. Until then, she's more grateful than she'd like to admit that Sonia doesn't appear to be planning on continuing in that vein. It leaves her feeling much younger than her friend, like there's more of a gulf between their lives than it usually seems like.

Of course, then it turns out Sonia never graduated high school, either, and maybe there isn't.

"Wait, really?" That is disbelieving, but in a sympathetic way. It doesn't seem right--it certainly isn't fair. And then she remembers, ten years. There might be a school in the village, but there isn't in camp, and who'd let a thirteen-year-old go back and forth between the two during a war? "Neither did I. Let's both drink."

The point of this, after all, isn't for Sonia to get drunk(er) and Beth to watch. She'd like to drink her glass, even if she probably shouldn't. Swallowing another little mouthful, she offers, "I never kissed a boy who survived. All of them are dead now."