“The pleasure’s all mine.”

“That’s some accent you’ve got,” Kay said. “It’s like Brooklyn-by-way-of-Georgia. Are you new here?”

I laughed. “I transferred from Loyola.”

“In Chicago?” Kay asked.

“No, Loyola New Orleans.” I’d worked on different accents on the bus ride up and finally settled on a Lakeside drawl. Most of my high school classmates had been from the affluent area across Lake Pontchartrain, so it was one I could pull off without much trouble.

“Yeah.” Kay wagged a finger at me. “You sound like that singer guy. Harry What’s-His-Name.”

“Harry Connick, Jr.” Spencer rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Kay. I need to go. Moira isn’t going to wait forever.”

“I’ve been dying to go to Mardi Gras. Is it awesome? I bet it’s awesome,” Kay said, clearly unconcerned with wasting Moira’s time.

“It’s a blast,” I said. “You should definitely go if you get the chance.”

“Okay, well, this is super-interesting, but unfortunately, we have somewhere to be.” Spencer tugged her friend’s arm again.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, not wanting to burn the one bridge I needed to cross. “I won’t keep you any longer. It was nice to meet you, though.” I tipped my head to Kay. “Both of you,” I added, smiling at Spencer in a way I hoped made clear that she’d been my favorite part of the introduction.

She swallowed hard and tugged on Kay’s arm one last time. Finally, the girl obliged, and I stepped aside to let them pass. Kay leaned in to whisper something, and Spencer shook her head.

I waited, counting under my breath. One…two…three… Spencer turned her head and looked back at me over her shoulder. When I waved, she quickly turned back and picked up her pace, dragging Kay along with her.

I walked in the opposite direction. When I was sure there was enough distance between the girls and me, I reached into my pocket again to pull out the map. I carefully unfolded it and couldn’t help but grin at the red plastic rectangle in my hand. I turned it over and pressed the button on its top edge. Spencer and a small group of her sorority sisters smiled back at me from the cell phone’s screen.

CHEERFUL CELTIC MUSIC greeted me at the open door of the OIA house. I’d assumed OIA stood for Omicron Iota Alpha, but after a little digging, I’d learned this sorority wasn’t Greek or even affiliated with a national charter. The Order of Irish Augustinians was unique to Balanova and explained why all the sisters had last names like Murray, Ryan, and Donnelly. I made a mental note to tell Maggie about the group and their apparent devotion to all things Gaelic.

Colorful bundles of maize decorated tabletops and hung from light fixtures. The room was a sea of orange-, brown-, and green-clad sorority sisters and their guests. I’d settled on a blue button-down and tan cargo shorts, but then, I hadn’t realized what this party was supposed to be celebrating before I’d decided to crash it. I scanned the room for a familiar face and found Kay by the picture window that occupied a large portion of the front wall of the living room. Orange wildflowers were woven into her hair, and she stood next to a guy with hawkish features and carefully arranged bedhead. When she saw me, she flashed her Colgate smile and waved me over.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said.

“Yeah.” I ducked my head in feigned sheepishness. “I’m sorry to show up without an invitation.”

“No worries.” She turned to Bedhead. “This is Shane. He’s from New Orleans. Cool, right?”

Bedhead jutted his chin in the barest of acknowledgments, moving in closer to Kay in an obvious attempt to stake his claim.

“Hey.” I gave him my own bare acknowledgement. “So listen,” I said to Kay. “I think your friend…” I paused, as if searching my memory. “Spencer? I think this belongs to her.” I held up the phone in its red case.

“Oh my god! She’s been looking for that everywhere.” Kay grabbed my arm. “Let’s go give it back to her.”

We left a dejected Bedhead standing by the window, and I allowed Kay to lead me through the crowd of partygoers.

“There she is,” Kay said, moving toward a small group gathered in one corner. I’d already seen Spencer before Kay pointed her out. She was pretty hard to miss in the strapless green dress that Kay had so accurately predicted she’d look hot in. As we got closer, though, my opinion changed. Hot wasn’t really the word. It was more like stunning. An uncomfortable warmth spread through my veins, and I was suddenly second-guessing my plan.

“Nah, you’re totally off, man,” said a lanky kid with long, straight hair tucked behind his protruding ears. He waved his hands wildly as he spoke. “Brian Jones created the Stones. They wouldn’t have been anything if it hadn’t been for him. Jaggar and Richards are so overrated. They were total fools to replace him with Ronnie Wood.”

Another kid, this one in an ugly orange hoodie, hissed in disgust. “Seriously? Please tell me you’re kidding. Jones could barely play the harmonica, let alone the guitar. By ‘66, he wasn’t even recording with them anymore. He was banned from touring because of his multiple drug convictions. They had to replace him. They had no choice.”

The lanky one sneered and opened his mouth, but Spencer beat him to it. “Actually, you’re both wrong,” she said. Everyone turned to look at her, and the girl who’d partially obscured her until now shifted so that Spencer was in full view of the group.

“How’s that?” Lanky asked.

“Well, first—” Spencer directed this at the kid in the orange hoodie. “—Jones made several pretty big contributions to the group, even after Richards and Jaggar took over as songwriters.” He crossed his arms and pursed his lips doubtfully, but gestured with a bob of his head that she should continue. “The sitar line in ‘Paint It, Black’ is probably the most well-known, but he also played both dulcimer and harpsichord on ‘Lady Jane.’ Oh, and oboe and sax on ‘Dandelion.’ And he was only banned from touring in the U.S., which didn’t happen until after ‘69.”

“See, man, I told you!” Lanky gave his opponent’s shoulder a backhanded smack and grinned at his new ally.

She gave him an apologetic smile in return. “But he’s right that it was a good decision to get rid of him. Jones’ drug issues were dragging them down, and really, he didn’t want to be part of the group any more than they wanted him. Also, Mick Taylor replaced Jones. Ronnie Wood replaced Taylor.” Both men glowered at her, and she shrugged. “I’m kind of a fan.”

The two music fans slunk away to continue their argument in peace, and the small crowd dispersed.

Kay, still attached to my arm, pushed her way through. “Hey, Spence. Look who I found.”

Spencer tried—and failed—to hide her surprise. “Oh, hey. Shane, right?”

I nodded, still getting used to the extra consonant at the end of my name.

“What are you doing here?”

“Jeez, way to be rude,” Kay chastised, bumping her shoulder into Spencer’s. “He found your phone and wanted to return it.”

I took my cue and produced the cell phone once again. I held it out to her, and she scooped it out of my hand, her fingers brushing against my palm as she did. “I think it fell out of your bag when we bumped into each other,” I lied. “I looked for you in the library, but that place is huge and I had an appointment with my advisor, so I figured I’d just bring it here.”

Spencer tilted her head, considering what I’d told her. “How’d you know I live here?”

I’d anticipated the question and had my answer ready. “The picture on the lock screen.” I pointed to the phone. “You’re wearing an OIA sweatshirt.”

“Gorgeous and clever. You’re like the total package, Shane,” Kay said. She wriggled her eyebrows at Spencer.

“Thanks for returning it,” Spencer said, purposefully ignoring Kay.