To get to Danielle’s, I’ll have to retrace our steps from last night past the rows of frat houses, around the grad housing, and then through downtown. And it’ll be busy. On Sundays in the spring, they block off a bunch of streets for the craft fair, so people can sell handmade candles and mittens and other wholesome things.

I can’t do it.

I sit back on the mattress and text the girls.

Is anyone awake? Can someone come get me?

After waiting a minute with no answer, I scoop up my heels and tiptoe out of Dean’s room, praying no one else is awake in the house. The floor feels even stickier on my bare feet than it did with shoes, but I’m afraid the heels will make too much noise if I put them on.

Finally I get outside and shut the door quietly behind me. The sidewalk in front of me is still empty, and I contemplate just sucking it up and making the walk. Maybe no one will be out after all. But then, down the street in the direction I need to head, a girl comes around the corner. She’s wearing a tight red dress and holding a pair of gold heels in one hand, walking fast with her head down. She passes one of the frat houses on the corner, and a voice rings out from the front porch, amplified by a megaphone.

“Hey! We’ve got a Walk of Shame!”

The girl’s head whips up and she walks a little faster. I duck, trying to hide, hoping the guys across the street will be too distracted by the other girl to notice me.

“Was it worth it?” the megaphone voice calls out. Another voice joins in, beginning to sing: “Lady in reeeeeeeeeed.”

There’s a clump of trees behind Dean’s house, and I run toward them, taking cover. Then I call Hannah. It’s cold for April, colder than it was the night before, and I’m shuffling my feet trying to stay warm. The phone keeps ringing and then, Hannah’s voicemail greeting. I end the call and try Ava and Danielle. There’s no answer. They’re probably all still in recovery from last night.

I wait a few more minutes, and then decide to call Andrew. I don’t want him to see me in these stupid clothes. I know he’ll tease me about it for the rest of eternity. Still, desperate times call for desperate calls.

•  •  •  •  •  •

His truck pulls up fifteen minutes later.

Rolling down the window, he calls out to me. “What can I get for twenty bucks?”

I scramble out from the trees and hop in the truck as quickly as I can. “How about a punch in the face?” I fold my arms self-consciously over my chest, trying to block it from view. “Can we go?”