Megan’s I Dare You face had become stuck, but not without absorbing some of the psychotic torture that was going on behind it. It was a damn silly position to be in, trying to hold the bluff when it had already been called.

“I’m going to go inside now,” said Amanda.

The potheads weren’t eavesdropping as covertly as they might have liked. Amanda left.

“I think I’m going to go into the yard,” said Megan, to no one. “Good evening,” she said to the pale-faced guy in the beanie.

Her legs felt crazy and her hands were clammy.

“This is awful,” she said. She said it in a kind of hollow, matter-of-fact way.

It was difficult to walk down the stairs. Her purse of beer was tipping her to the side.

“This is terrible.”

She crawled under the porch and sat by the air conditioner and looked out into the yard. She could hear the people on the porch talking, not about her, just talking about whatever they wanted to. They weren’t really that interested.

Spring nights were so fucking nice.

That elevated feeling she’d had earlier while she was shit talking all of human behavior came back, and as it came back she started laughing a horrified laugh, because that swelling feeling was exactly the same feeling she always had before she started sobbing. She hadn’t recognized it ten minutes ago, but that was why the feeling had been so familiar. Not because her consciousness was tapping into the ineffable, but because she was about to cry and had cried before. She sat there with her eyes wide and her mouth open, laughing noiselessly. Then she started crying, which only made her laugh more.

Her body felt like nothing, not dense like it usually did.

I could stay here like this forever, she thought. This is infinity’s moment.

“Hahaha, uugh.”

Infinity’s moment sounded like the jargon of a pedophile, and the phrase repulsed Megan, but she couldn’t stop thinking it. “Would you like to go to the Movie Star Room, Tracy?” Like “infinity’s moment” would be what the pedophile called his orgasm.

Several feet above and behind Megan, Amanda walked up to Randy.

“Can I talk to you?” she said.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I’m really sorry, I feel like kind of an asshole.”

“What’s up?” said Randy.

“Megan and I got into a fight, and I think I might have really hurt her feelings. I feel like an asshole.”

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, but I don’t really want to . . . I’m sorry to say this, but I don’t really think I can talk to her right now, but I think she might be under the porch crying. I’m sorry, I know this is shitty.”

“Uh, really, Amanda, this isn’t your fault. She’s been kind of nasty lately. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, she’s not your responsibility.”

Randy wince-smiled.