“So Cassidy,” he said, “how’s your poetry going?”

“Fine.”

“You want something to drink?”

“No.”

Elise held out her glass to me. “It won’t bite you, you know. This beer is perfectly tame.”

“Elise, I thought you called me for a ride home.”

“I did. But you might as well have a good time while you’re here. Think how jealous Josh will be.” She turned and motioned to someone. “Hey, Brandon, come here. I want you to meet my friend.”

A tall guy with light brown hair and a football-player strut came over. He grinned. I tried not to look as uncomfortable as I felt.

“Cassidy, this is Brandon, super stud extraordinaire. Brandon, this is Cassidy, or—as she’s sometimes known—Cassi-Diem.”

Brandon sat down beside me. He spoke louder than he needed to. “So, you’re on the rebound, huh?”

“Sort of. I mean . . . actually I’m here to take Elise home.”

He took a sip of his beer. “Why don’t you tell me about it.”

“Well, I plan on putting her in the car and driving to her house.”

I glanced over at Elise. She was messing up Chad’s hair and laughing about something. I knew she wasn’t about to leave. She had set this whole thing up.

I sent her psychic kill vibes.

“No,” Brandon said, “I mean tell me about yourself.” He put his arm across the back of my chair. “I’m very compassionate—emphasis on the passionate. Tell me how you need someone to comfort you.”

“Thanks for the concern. I’ll be fine.”

He took a sip of his beer and gazed at me. “You have beautiful eyes. Kind of greenish, brownish—”

“Hazel,” I said.

The stereo system, which had been blaring loudly ever since I came inside, switched to a song Brandon apparently knew and liked. He looked at me and sang along. Almost on key.

I tried to catch Elise’s attention by staring at her, but she was completely occupied with Chad’s blond hair. I wondered how long she would take to finish her beer.

Three minutes. I would give her three minutes and then we were going.

While trying to ignore the second verse of Brandon’s song, I gave the room a good overview. The kitchen connected with the family room, so I could see a lot of people. A guy was stumbling out a version of Dance, Dance Revolution, while a few people cheered him on—probably waiting to see if he’d fall over. Everybody had drinks in their hands. Some people were talking and laughing. Some people looked bored. Some people appeared to be on the final lap of the race to unconsciousness. One guy lay under the coffee table—just lay there—staring up at the underside of the table.

I thought of all the people I’d passed on the way to the kitchen and how a lot of them wore dull expressions. One group sat in front of a laptop in the living room and watched YouTube videos. Did they have to come to someone else’s house to do that? What was the point?

Even those who seemed happy were being stupid. Brandon would have never sat down beside me, told me I had beautiful eyes, and broken out into song if he hadn’t been plastered.

I don’t know what I had expected to find at one of these parties. It’s not like I had expected everyone to be playing charades, but I’d figured something entertaining must happen. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized the alcohol was the entertainment. Apparently the idea was to slosh your brain until it had fun by itself—and then, lo and behold, staring at the underside of a table became a thing of joy.

The song ended and Brandon finished his serenade. He turned back to me. “I ought to start my own band. It would be great. I could play the guitar, get paid lots of money, and women would throw themselves at me.” He took a sip of his beer. “Have you ever thought about being a groupie?”

“Not really.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Elise’s three minutes were up. I motioned for her to come over.

She got up and pulled Chad along after her. Instead of looking at me, she leaned close to Brandon, and stage whispered, “How’s it going?”

“I don’t know,” Brandon said. “Your friend isn’t very talkative.”

I stood up. “That’s because Elise and I have to leave now.”

Elise ignored me. “Cassidy is kind of repressed. She needs to learn to enjoy life.”

I sent her more psychic kill vibes.

“You know what happens to repressed people,” she added as though she were a doctor delivering a diagnosis. “One day they snap, shave their heads, and start soliciting money from strangers in airports. You don’t want that to be your fate. You need somebody to sweep you off your feet.” To Brandon she said, “Be the broom. Be the sweeper. Be the . . .” she hiccupped, “you know, that plastic thing you sweep junk into.”

“The dust pan?” I provided.

She fluttered a hand in Brandon’s direction. “Yeah. That. Be that.”

“Elise,” I started, but I didn’t finish. While my back was to Brandon, he picked me up, literally sweeping me off my feet. He twirled me around—something intoxicated people really shouldn’t do. He stumbled once, and I suddenly had visions of cracking my head open and being rushed to the emergency room. Thankfully, after one twirl he set me up right again, still keeping his arm around my waist. I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to be romantic or just using me to steady himself.

“Wow,” he said looking at his feet. “The tile on the floor is moving. Have you ever noticed that?”

I turned to find Elise. She and Chad had headed out of the kitchen, holding hands.

I stepped away from Brandon, disconnecting his hand from my waist. “Elise, where are you going?”

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

I knew she wouldn’t be back in a minute. It was all in her diabolic plan. She was leaving me with Brandon, and an assortment of other wasted idiots, to fend for myself.

“So,” Brandon said, trailing after me, “Do you want me to sweep you off your feet again?”

I held up a hand to ward him off. “No, my feet are fine on the ground.”

“We can go out back and watch the stars.”

“It’s ten below outside.”

“My car has a heater and a sunroof.”

“I’ll take a rain check, Mr. Dust Pan. I’ve really got to go.”

I made a trip once around the downstairs searching Elise, then went upstairs to look for her there. As I walked by one of the bedrooms, I heard Chad’s voice from behind the door.

“C’mon, Elise. You’ll like it. I promise.”

All sorts of compromising situations came to mind. I put my hand on the doorknob but didn’t turn it. I didn’t want to embarrass Elise. Then again, I didn’t want to leave her in the room with Chad, either. It was wrong. In her state of mind she’d be easy to take advantage of.

My hand didn’t move.

What if she wanted to be taken advantage of? It was her choice, not mine. She constantly told me to let her live her own life. What if she hated me for walking in on her now?

But it didn’t matter. I knew I would hate myself even more if I walked away from the door.

I knocked to give them a moments warning, then turned the knob. The door was locked.

“Who’s there?” Chad called.

“Elise, it’s time to go home.”

“You’re supposed to be off having fun,” she told me. “Go Carpe your diem.”

Chad laughed then said, “Don’t worry about Elise. I’ll take her home.”

I rattled the doorknob again. “No. Open the door.”

I heard them talk quietly, then Chad came to the door. He hadn’t meant to open it all the way, but I pushed my way inside. Elise was leaning up against the bed. I started towards her, then stopped abruptly. A couple of oddly rolled cigarettes sat in an ashtray on the dresser.

I stared at them. “Is that marijuana?”

“No,” Chad said.

Elise held up her hands to stop my words. “I wasn’t going to smoke any.”

I turned to Chad. “You were giving her drugs?”

“It’s just a few joints,” he said, as though it were all a joke. “If you want the hard stuff, you gotta go downstairs to the den.”