“Duh.” Carter pulled a tiny Bluetooth box from his pocket. A bro is always ready with tunes, and Carter’s were the best, reason number six hundred that it was mandatory for him to come to this. That tiny box was like Captain Kirk on the USS Enterprise—or, I mean, something relating to a coach and his locker room pep talks—the thing could command a room.

As soon as Kelly Clarkson started blasting, the girls flocking around the guitarist made a dance floor closer to us. Among them were Hannah Green and a few of Eliza’s friends.

Where is—nope—you have a problem, dude.

Austin moved first. He casually strode over to the girls and introduced himself to the few he didn’t know, or that he forgot he knew. He gestured for me and Carter to follow. I shook my head.

“Nick, try to have fun,” Carter said, joining Austin. “Don’t be a turd.”

“None of those girls is even a maybe on the bangability scale,” I muttered. Plus, the barbeque called my name like football called Tom Brady. I couldn’t not answer.

“Hot dog or cheeseburger?” asked Jamal. Six-four since freshman year and an expert in all matters of food (he’d watched every episode of Chopped and Chopped Junior), Jamal was one of the coolest people in our school, if not the country.

“Hot dog, extra ketchup,” I said. “Definitely made the right choice coming over here.” It was Jamal’s party, but as with all his other parties, he loved to be on the periphery, making sure his guests had the most awesome time possible. Four fishing-sized coolers were parked on the dusty sand behind him, one with a package of paper lunch bags resting on its lid.

Her flowery perfume hit me before her hand touched my shoulder.

“Make that two,” I said, turning to face her. “You hungry?”

“How’d you know?” Madison smirked back.

She wore tight jeans and a top that clung to her like it was a second skin, and the last of the sunset cast a rich shine through her loose black hair. As much as I told myself, and her, that I didn’t ride with one chick, something about Madison had always been irresistibly exciting.

“It’s my job to know,” I replied.

“Yeah? What else do you have in my file—” she started, cut off by Jamal.

“Leave room for Jesus,” he teased, handing us the hot dogs.

I waved my food in thanks, careful not to have ketchup fly into the sand. Another reason Jamal was a bro: he always knew what to say in every situation. That wasn’t part of the code, though it for sure helped a regular dude achieve bro status.

“Want to get out of here?” Madison asked. She slid the tip of her hot dog into her mouth, making a show of licking off the ketchup.

Madison’s expertise lay in color-coordinating her shirt with her shoes and always knowing how to make me pay attention to her. Next thing I knew, I tramped behind her, falling into the sand and a situation we knew all too well: taking a break from a full-out rager to have even more fun.