Weirdly, it might be the most fun I’ve had on a dance floor in years. I’m alone but not alone and it . . . feels good. Eliot is in my ear and across the dance floor and it’s just the two of us surrounded by extras in our movie. It’s like we hired all these sweaty, horny, fun-loving people to hit on the downbeat. If I happen to glance at him during a random time, his dance moves are cute and kind of conservative. But if he’s saying something to me and he thinks I might be watching, suddenly he becomes your dad at a cousin’s wedding. He’s trying to make me laugh, and it’s working.

Because I have these things called boobs and I’m on a dance floor, it’s inevitable that I have to deal with some suitors. Most of them back away quickly after making eye contact with me. I’m pretty sure my face says Ruin this moment for me, and you’re getting an elbow to the throat. But a few of them are a little more persistent, and I have to work my way through the crowd to get rid of them.

A few times I’m suddenly too close to Eliot. I have to dog-collar my crush to keep her a safe distance away from him.

On my way out, I pass just two feet behind his back, close enough to see the way the sweat has curled the hair behind his ears. I’m playing with fire and I almost don’t care. I’m torn between sprinting from the club and trying to suck that sweatshirt off him with a straw.

I’m five blocks away when Eliot realizes that something is different.

“Hey! Wait! I can’t hear the bass on your end of the phone call. Did you leave?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You seemed like you were having a good time.”

“JD, you were the main ingredient to that good time. I do not need to stay in that loud, stinky club without you.”

“Are you headed home now, too?”

“Yup. Ahh, fresh air. Well. That was an experience.”

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Anything. I love this game. Ask me a million questions.”

“Wow. Are you drunk off that one mixed drink?”

“I’m riding the high off my first club experience in half a decade. I feel like I could bench-press a car. I might never sleep again.”

“God, you’re like a kid after recess. I bet fifty bucks that you pass out the minute your head hits the bed tonight.”

“Is that why you do this? Go to the club? You sleep well afterward?”

“Hey, I was the one who was asking questions, remember?”

“Right. Sorry. I got sidetracked. What was your question? Ask away.”

“Do you have bad vision?”