Dorsey watched Liza make a beeline toward the back door. He had never anticipated a woman’s anger so excitedly in his life. He nearly followed her out the door. David had, of course, ditched him as soon as he saw a beautiful woman, so Dorsey was left making excruciating small talk with Jennifer Bradley, David’s older sister. When they spoke, it was like someone had put two live mics too close to each other. She had to feel it too, and yet she tried so hard to connect with him. Dorsey knew her type. He and his brother had called these women Paper Dolls. Everything had to look good “on paper” for a woman like that to even look at you: schools, GPAs, social circles, parents. They were fixated on the optics. And once a Paper Doll had decided on you, there was little you could do to put her off.

“I’m so glad you sprang for extra security. I did not know this place would be so rough.” Jennifer checked the time on her slim watch. Dorsey was staying longer than he said he would, but he just had to get another look at the woman’s crestfallen face. I want to stay—just to see the show. He swilled the last bit of the terrible champagne, then looked down the plastic flute to see if he had been drugged.

I want to stay.

Wow.

The security guards chatted at the front entrance and weren’t even checking invitations and IDs.

“Waste of money that security was. We would have done better putting David at the front.”

“Dorsey, we are the most important people here. You look like you’re waiting for the president to walk through that side door.”

“Not exactly.” Dorsey turned away from her.

“Oh, right. This thing could erupt in gang violence at any minute. Were we careful with gang affiliation and all of those things in the invites?”

“It’s not like people RSVP with their gang affiliation, Jennifer.” There was a long silence. Dorsey had nearly forgotten she was there until she spoke again.

“I know I didn’t come from adversity like you, but that hardly makes you an inner-city scholar,” Jennifer said. There was that phrase again: come from adversity. Code for You are a stowaway on this luxury liner.

Dorsey easily spotted David’s blond hair in the crowd of elaborate braids, Afros, and church hats.

“David!” Dorsey greeted the young man with too much enthusiasm, eager to stop chatting with Jennifer.

At thirty, Dorsey was nearly three years David’s senior, and on nights like this, he felt it. David bounced around the room, emanating joy, making people trust him when they should roll their eyes.