Anna pushes me lightly to the side and gives our order. I don’t miss the slightly puzzled look the bartender throws in my direction, and I suffer a slightly traumatizing flashback to that Korean club meeting at college. Since I won’t ever be Supreme Leader of the Universe, I should’ve studied Korean instead of Spanish. Hola isn’t going to work here. I hope this guy doesn’t think I’m a porn star. Everyone here will be sorely disappointed. The one very Asian thing about me is my tiny chest.

The beers get delivered to our table and I get a quick lesson in drinking etiquette. Age matters. No one pours their own glass, and the younger ones should turn to the side and cover their drink. Everyone skipped over this before. “We didn’t want to overwhelm you,” explains Anna.

Thinking back, I do remember seeing people at the funeral home turn to their side and lift a hand before downing their booze, but the action hasn’t registered until tonight. I’m younger than everyone but Jules so they put me in charge of the pouring, which is good because I have something to do.

The two-story club is massive. There are strobe lights flashing red and blue and white in sync with the heavy bass of a very familiar Western song. At least four disco balls twirl in the ceiling, splashing a kaleidoscope of colored dots everywhere. In this dark circus, I can’t tell the color of anyone’s hair or even make out many features. I could be in a club in any large city.

“Are you having fun yet?” Anna screams over the noise.

I nod because this should be more fun than lying on my bed trying to work the translation app and winnow down a hundred thousand search results in a foreign language to locate five women, but the drumming in my head is back. Not even one beer down and I’m already thinking fond thoughts of my sublet room and its quiet solitude. Pushing the corners of my lips up into what I hope is an agreeable smile, I turn to the side and down my drink. It glides down my throat with ease, but when it hits my stomach, there’s turmoil. I don’t remember eating anything today and I still have all the funeral soju in my system. At this point, I might be 80 percent fermented rice water.

I take a steadying breath through my nose, and when that doesn’t work, I decide that I better move.

“I’m going to get some air,” I shout. I think Anna heard me but I’m not sure about the others. I escape anyway. There is a steady stream of partiers arriving but they’re all too intent on getting inside to take much notice of the single female taking the stairs a little fast. The fresh night air hits my face, and despite the heat it feels good. I lift my face and walk over to a steel tubular railing that’s set up to prevent drunks from falling into the hedges below.