I parked my car in the long row of vehicles that snaked down Vuyo’s street. I could hear the music from here. A deep bass shook the ground and I recognized it as a Black Coffee tune. I could feel the song “Drive” underneath my feet as it moved through the concrete like an unstoppable wave, and I wondered if it was telling me something—Get in your car and drive away, Lori! But I didn’t. I took a deep breath and tried to pull my dress down; it felt like it had gotten caught between my butt cheeks and was rising up in the back. Another fat girl problem, usually a result of wearing a skirt, sitting down, and then standing up again. I felt so out of place here. Everything inside me told me I didn’t want to be here, but I certainly didn’t want to go home either.

When I got closer to the house, I stopped. Everyone was inside. I could see them all dancing through the massive glass front. Throngs of happy people jumping up and down together, their body parts and clothes and colors melting together like an impressionist painting and then . . . there he was. Someone had lifted him onto their shoulders, and he was laughing as if he was having the time of his life.

I took a step back. What the hell was I doing here? I didn’t belong here. I couldn’t do this. I didn’t care that I’d promised the doc, and that I’d smeared my lips red. All I cared about was the sweaty ache in my belly and the thump in my heart, and that building anxiety that made my feet feel like they were swelling. I was just about to obey the song and head right back to my car when I felt two massive arms around my shoulders. I jumped in fright.

“You caught the baaaaaallllll!” someone yelled in my ear.

“Yeeaah!” another voice shouted, and suddenly I had two people screaming in my face at once. I was totally disoriented for a second until I recognized them as the two water polo players who had called me dude earlier. They smelled of vodka, overly sweet cotton candy vape, and cologne so strong it caught in the back of my nose.

The one put his hand up in front of my face and I wasn’t sure what to do with it. So I did the only thing I could think of: I gave it a tentative high five. This seemed to be the right move because he wrapped his fingers through mine and forced my arm into the air for a mutual fist pump.

“Caught the fucking ball!” the other one screamed, and then I was being dragged toward the house. Caught up in a flurry of drunken, BWH cheer. I tried to pull away.