“Stop. Look . . .” Rick was stuck between uneasy poles of caring and playing it cool. There wasn’t much he could say, but he stalled for time anyway. “Can we talk for one second?”

“This is so fucking embarrassing.”

“Jane, please.”

“Somehow I knew. I knew before fucking Marie Antoinette came over here and sat in your fucking lap.”

“Tell me what I did. You are making a big deal—”

“Don’t . . . just don’t.” Jane fished for a cigarette with trembling hands but gave up. “I have no emotions right now. I can’t believe you . . .” And with that, she bolted out of her seat, bumping past the table, and in anger at that, punched at Rick, who dodged and took it in the neck.

“Whoa! Come on.” Rick tried to play it off that she was “hysterical,” but he was really frustrated he couldn’t unfuck this. Jane raced away sobbing, followed by Maura and the other girls. After scrounging a few dollars for the tab, Tommy and the rest of his group lit out as well, leaving the Jesuit boys ready to regroup and rehash, except they were still plus one French croquette.

“Let her calm down,” Sticky suggested.

“Yeah, no shit.” Rick was rubbing the still-white welt on his neck.

Lili was unsure of her next move. In mere minutes, she had both won and lost. She wanted Rick’s attention, but he was clearly in no mood. Her girlfriends—a clingy stoner chick named Dara Baird and Lili’s host sister Delphine—were beckoning from the edge of the patio, wanting no part in this soap opera. So she stood there in a half twirl, waiting. Rick lit a new cigarette and shook his head.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked.

“I didn’t know, Reek.”

“I think you did.”

“Don’t be cruel. You didn’t tell me. I was just happy to see you.”

“This is such bullshit.” Rick scratched his scalp. “Why are you here, Lili?”

Lili took a step away, her hands moving to her hips. “Jane thinks I’m your slut on the side.”

Sticky let out an uncomfortable laugh.

“This is not funny.” Lili didn’t have the words, and it angered her. Her foxy smile faded as it sank in—the girls would talk, and no one would defend her from the gossip, and this would set off a whole chain reaction that would ostracize her at Ursuline. Dan didn’t know what you would call the pain she was feeling, but he was pretty sure the French had a word for it. She held out her hand (Sharp, Dan thought, put it on Rick to make the call), but Rick rebuffed her, and with that, the other girl in his life went running off into the night.

Rick gave Dan a fuck-me look, and Dan well knew he needed a friend, not a lecture.

“Jesus Christ, Dowlearn. Like sands through the hourglass over here.”