“Ask what it needs and try to do it. And if that doesn’t work, I guess shoot it with a silver bullet.”

“That’s werewolves,” Ayanna said.

“Wear a cross all the time,” said Turner’s friend, “and hold it up at it every time it appeared and yell ‘Get out of here.’ ”

Finally, the line moved. Everyone booed or catcalled the couple who had been hooking up in the bathroom as they walked out smug and disheveled, and after her turn, Ayanna had lost Turner to the party. It was one of those off-campus houses only rich kids could afford. Three bedrooms on this floor, one in which a bunch of people were clearly smoking weed, another with the door slightly open and where four girls were gossiping while all dressed like sexy bats. The party wasn’t making her feel connected to anyone, but there was a pleasure in walking around, sipping a glass of punch, and watching so many people trying to have a capital-E Experience. She was not in the mood to try dancing again and was not drunk enough to enjoy most of the conversations happening around her. Ayanna knew having breakfast with Jane and Stephen and Felix the next day would be more fun for her; they had already planned on it. As she watched two girls from the soccer team making out while dressed as witches, one smearing green face paint on the other, Ayanna was pleased to have some gossip. For a while, she tried to find Stephen, who was texting her after their brief encounter on the dance floor, but every time she glimpsed him, he either was in a group or was flirting with a girl who was clearly there as All-I-Want-for-Christmas-Is-You Mariah Carey. Every time she moved through the thickest parts of the crowd, Ayanna felt a mouth near her ear, a hand touch her arm or graze the small of her back. It was impossible to tell if it was just being accidentally touched in a packed space or if he was there, messing with her. Finally, while she was in the backyard, splitting a joint with some people she recognized from the postmodernism seminar, including Lisa’s friend who kept giving her significant looks and their biggest smiles, and trying to feel less anxious—I hate David Salle, one of them said in her most sophisticated voice, I will lose my shit if we have to talk about what he’s making us feel again—Felix found her.

“This party is too cool,” he complained. “Do you want to take a walk?”

“What are you?” she said, looking his costume up and down.

“Sasuke Uchiha.”

He was wearing khaki shorts with leggings under them, a half-zipped dark fleece that he had cut at the elbows, a headband, and some elaborate bindings and wraps around his arms and wrists.