Sticky eyed the chicory at the bottom of his mug. “I have to say, Rick. That was some major-league pussy trouble.”

Rick chuckled. The mortification was slowly melting as the macho walls got rebuilt. The crew kept at it.

“Do you know the chances of Frenchie walking down this block on this night at this hour?” Stick was now finger-licking the powdered sugar. “That is unbelievable shit luck, Reek.”

Rick slurped the dregs of his coffee. “I guess this means I’m a free agent again.”

“Good luck, playboy.” Dan patted him on the shoulder. “Might want to cool it with the Ursuline girls for a while . . .”

“Until the spring at least . . .”

“I was thinking the close of the decade.”

They kept jawing and drinking coffee and smoking and dissing chicks and cheering up Rick. At eleven thirty, the waitress brought the check, and the crew decided to prowl down Elm and Main, hoping to see if something was happening. They slunk around, judging bouncers and doormen, all of them scoping IDs. There was nowhere to try to crash, and Dan was getting close to curfew. None of them wanted Anne Malone hectoring their parents after midnight with half-crazy panicked phone calls. But just as the crew was about to split, Dan spotted Cady Bloom and a flock of her friends flitter down July Alley. Seeing this girl on his birthday was kismet—the universe telling him to take action. Wired to the hilt on caffeine, Dan was determined to break through his shyness. This is the gut-check moment in the made-for-TV movie that is your life, Dan Malone—don’t chicken out.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Cady still had on her pancake cheerleader makeup, which gave her raccoon eyes, but had changed into a polka-dot crop top and black jeans. And she was wearing patent leather red penny loafers. There was something about them that was the goddamn cutest thing Dan had ever seen.

“You heading to Dick Chaplain cotillion?” Dan called out.

It was a decent pull from seventh-grade memories. The two of them in church clothes with braces and sweaty palms struggling through Lindy and jitterbug lessons.

Cady giggled and stepped toward Dan. “Five six seven eight.” Dan thought he was going to die. Snappy on the comeback, and painfully adorable.

“Where are you headed?” Cady asked.

“Home. Sticky’s station wagon turns into a pumpkin soon.”

“So does that make you Cinderella?”

“Oh, you’re right. That doesn’t work.” Idiot. Be cool.

“We’ve gotta head out too.”

“Cheerleading practice?” He was following Rick’s advice: Ask about their bullshit.

“Well, we do need the practice.” Cady fiddled with her hair and shifted her weight toward Dan. “Those girls are, like, really into cheer, but they are not as good as they think they are. Know what I mean? So over it. Did y’all get in anywhere?”

“Nah. Just hit the tattoo parlor with a bottle of tequila.”