Instead of smiling with ease and telling me whatever you wish, his face completely fell. But before he could say what was on his mind, Genevieve ran up to us and we dove into introductions and oh-God-it’s-been-so-longs and blah blah blah. But I remembered to introduce Drew as “Andrew,” and his stiff handshake was not lost on me.

Luke, Harry, and Christa joined us soon after, and that was that: a somber Andrew was officially my date tonight instead of excited Drew.

We showed our IDs to the bouncer—with all of us but Drew getting marked with two giant black Xs on our hands to show we were under the drinking age—and then we weaved our way through bodies as a single-file group.

Surrounded by tiaras, top hats, and light-up glasses, we huddled in a messy circle on the dance floor and bopped to the beat. Christa and Harry were joined at the hip, Luke was a brittle, swaying tree, and Genevieve moved with complete freedom, somehow looking both cool and quirky at the same time.

Drew and I shared a smile and did the awkward where-should-we-put-our-hands and which-direction-are-we-leaning pre-dance dance. Just as we were about to find our groove, a familiar beat came on and Genevieve grabbed my hand and whirled me to her. “Ah, doesn’t this take you back, Cece?” I hadn’t heard that nickname in so long.

She was grinding against me in an attempt to make me squirm. She’d always been perplexed by my innocence. In high school I had played along because it had felt like my role, but now I remembered why I hadn’t made an effort with her once I left for Chicago—I had wanted to shed my goody-goody skin. Was it just me, or was high school all about everyone’s need to label you as one thing, with the four years revolving around you trying to either break free or live up to that label? I enthusiastically rubbed up against Genevieve to try the option I hadn’t attempted in high school—to break free—but that felt wrong too.

“Whooo!” she whistled. “College loosened you up!” Which felt even worse.

At least I had my opportunity. I pulled my phone out and snapped a few photos of us, learning very quickly that there’s some skill involved in finding flattering angles, and that even flattering angles were useless when trying to take flash photos in a dim nightclub where everyone was covered in buckets of sweat. But the pictures accomplished the goal of throwing my sniffing mom off the scent.