“Good luck with that, man,” he says to Elliot, and his tone is just so pitying it makes me even angrier.

I squirm away from Elliot’s grasp. “Did Mommy stone wash those jeans for you or did you pay $300 for somebody else to do it?”

“Shut your mouth.” A skinny girl dances nearby and Bro Cologne pulls her closer. Even this guy has someone. He sees me watching and sneers. “Bitch,” he says.

And with that, I kick him hard in the junk. So hard his body folds and a whooshing sound escapes his lips.

Club goers gawk as other Frat guys rush to the aid of their fallen brother.

“Jesus,” Elliot says. “Time to go. Ange.” He yanks my arm, dragging me the hell out of there.

*        *         *

Jackson swerves into the dirt driveway. He’s talking a mile a minute. Beth can’t keep her hands off him. I rest my head on the car seat, my mind drifting back to that misshapen shadow on the dance floor. Was it just my imagination? If it was, why did it feel so real?

Jackson roars with laughter. “Bro cologne! Genius,” he says.

He stretches his fist towards me and doesn’t move until I half-heartedly fist bump him. Stumbling out of the car, he kisses Beth as they grope each other under the pale moonlight. I think of Elliot and how I want him to touch me that way. A warm blush creeps up my neck.

Elliot’s being unnaturally quiet next to me. After we watch Jackson and Beth fondle each other for a few more moments, he jumps out of the car.

“I’m going to take off,” he says. “Got an early class tomorrow.”

Jackson points Elliot’s way. “Aw, hike your skirt up, Sally.”

“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

Jackson’s too focused on Beth to respond. She laughs as Jackson grabs her. We watch them stagger back to the house.

There’s a slight pause. “Taking this engineering thing seriously, aren’t you?” I say.

Elliot shrugs. “Seem to be pretty good at it. And I figured I might as well have an honest job after all this. Help my folks out.”

“That’s nice,” I say.

“Yeah. Nice.” Elliot kicks the ground with his shoe. “They frustrate the hell out of me, though. They’re all right wing this, small government that. Meanwhile, they’re living on food stamps. But whatever. It’s family.” He laughs, and even though I’m not exactly sure what he said, I laugh too. Our eyes lock.

“Sure you don’t want to hang?” I ask. “Late night pizza?” I brush his hand. He grabs my finger. We stand there for a few seconds. A mess of emotions bubbles inside me. I’ve known Elliot for years, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He searches my face.

“Earlier tonight,” he says. “In the basement. You seemed…pretty freaked out.”