“I only ask because, well, for one, I really wanna know. But also because hiding who you are really doesn’t seem like your style. Admittedly we don’t know one another very well yet. But your vibe is somebody who is really confident in who you are. It just doesn’t really fit this whole hiding thing.”

“. . . Hey, I just got back to my place. I’m gonna try to get some shuteye.”

“Oh. Sure. Yeah. Of course.”

“Talk to you later, Eliot.”

“You too, JD. Hey! Wait!”

“Yeah?”

“I had fun tonight.”

“Me too.”

Chapter Eleven

Eliot

It’s the morning after the club and I wake up to someone knocking on my front door. I peer at the sunlight dappling my bedspread through bleary eyes. As I stumble past the hallway mirror I see that my hair looks like someone tried to hide Easter eggs in it. I’m a disoriented cartoon version of myself as I swing open the door, complete with little boinging spirals of confusion springing away from my head.

My best friend, Fred, stands on my welcome mat looking equally confused. “Did I . . . get the day mixed up or something? We said Saturday, right?”

“Oh. Right. The thing. The thing. That thing we said we’d do.” I’m snapping my fingers, trying to get my brain back online, meanwhile, Fred is cocking his head to one side and studying me.

“Late night?”

“Yeah. Sort of. What time is it? I must have slept in.”

“It’s ten.”

“What? Wow. I slept for like six straight hours.”

“You sound surprised. Have you not been sleeping well lately?”

“Yeah. No.”

I’m beckoning Fred inside, pointing him toward the coffee maker.

I disappear for a minute. Wash up and pull some decent clothes on and then I’m back in the kitchen and Fred is pouring me a cup of coffee he’s just brewed and orange juice for himself.

“Thanks, man.”

“Is everything all right, Eliot?” Fred has these all-seeing eyes, and they’re currently staring straight at me. He’s an interesting guy. He set up his own internet startup a few years ago and it’s really beginning to gain some traction. He’s a computer genius, calm, kind, intuitive. But he’s also reclusive and private and gets lost in his own world more often than not. It took me about a year to convince him that we should be best friends.

“Yes. Yeah.” I don’t tell him that I’m not sleeping well. Because then I might have to explain to him why I’m not sleeping well. And I haven’t told anyone about that night. Not Fred. Not my family. “I’m just a little disoriented is all. I went to a club last night.”

He chokes on his orange juice. “What? A club? Why?”