Rhonda said nothing. But being around the other women, who spoke openly about sex, a forbidden topic back home, was an exhilarating new experience for Sherri, and it felt like an admission ticket to the world of female solidarity. It was one thing to go to parties at Danny’s. Talking with her friends that night about the downsides of the diaphragm and IUD, she felt very grown-up—she was finally, finally one of the girls.

When the shots arrived, Ginger initiated a toast. “For poor little Frank, Jr., who is not to be.”

Rhonda clinked her shot glass so hard against the others that it almost shattered.

“So,” Carmen said. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Frank just started dancing at the club.”

“He’s a stripper?” Sherri couldn’t believe that was who she’d lost her virginity to. “But he seems so … so ordinary.”

“Like me?” Carmen winked and spoke in a fake Southern drawl. “Honey, as you know better than any of us now, that boy is hung like a can of soup.” It had hurt enough for Sherri to know that this was true.

“He has this act where he struts on stage dressed like Paul Stanley. He wears a black wig and the white face makeup and a star over one eye. He has these black leather suspenders and a choke collar and chaps. The women go wild for that shit. I think he wants to be a Chippendale someday.”

Kiss? Sherri could feel herself flush with embarrassment. When she and Roberta were freshmen, Mr. Fletcher found Roberta’s secret stash of records and burned them in the firepit in their backyard. He said Kiss was a band full of devil worshippers and threatened to kick Roberta out if he caught her listening to them again.

Rhonda pushed her stool away from the table and hopped down like a little kid. She seemed troubled. “I’m going to head back.” She threw a few bucks down to cover her drinks. “See you later.”

“You OK?” Ginger asked.

She looked like she was about to cry. “I just want to go to sleep, OK?”

Ginger stood up and grabbed her keys. She was the unofficial dorm mother, always tending to the emotional needs of her friends. “Let me drive you. Come on.” She was almost twice as tall as Rhonda. When they walked away, her arm was behind Rhonda’s back, protective as a boyfriend’s.

After they left, the women looked at each other. “What was her problem?”

Val rolled her eyes. “That’s what happens when you’re in the middle of sewing a quilt.”

Something about Rhonda’s abrupt departure seemed off to Sherri. It felt directed at her, and she couldn’t imagine why.