We make our way to an open corner of the room and start dancing awkwardly in a circle. Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” is playing. The chorus blasts, “It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes,” at which point a girl next to us begins peeling off her sweat-drenched sexy pirate costume and chucking it into the crowd. She pulls her bra down and flashes everyone in her vicinity to the delight of her friends, who cheer and celebrate the body-positive drunkenness. Someone vomits right behind us and we shift our position in disgust. Someone else starts crawling up the stairs on his hands and knees while barking, as a friend holds a leash attached to his neck.

“Look around,” Earnell says sarcastically. “This is the Ivy League. The cream of the crop. The elite. Getting wasted. Vomiting on the floor. Crawling up the stairs. Taking off their clothes. These people will run the country one day. Take a good look and remember this.”

We all comply and make a mental note of the scene unfolding before us. “White people,” Earnell says, leaning into the middle of our group. “You know I brought Freddy to witness this malarkey and protect us from evil.”

None of us really drinks, given the history of addiction we’ve all seen in our own families, but Earnell decides he wants to get drunk tonight.

“Why?” I ask. “I told you what happened at Professor Alexander-Grant’s house. I’ll pass.”

“Well, I’m going to live it up. Keli’s right. We should have fun like normal young people for once in our lives. I think I’ll regret it if I never let loose. Maybe the alcohol will help.”

Earnell scurries off to find liquor. Keli, Gabby, and I dance to a few more songs before making our way to the basement to watch people play beer pong. As soon as I get to the bottom of the stairs, I’m surprised, and thrilled, to see Bryce standing in the corner talking to some friends and dressed as someone from ancient Greece or one of the Lord’s angels. I can’t tell which it is.

“Bryce!” I shout eagerly. “What are you doing here?!” He gives me a hug and says he just felt like coming out tonight, even though this is “Satan’s lair.” “If we are to master the dark,” he says jokingly, “we must first study and cultivate it.”

Bryce introduces me to his friends, two white boys that look like they belong to the frat and are dressed as Beavis and Butt-Head. I can tell by the way they shake my hand and avoid eye contact, just like Rhode Island Zach, that they’re uncomfortable around me. We all stand in a circle for a few minutes talking. Well, they are talking about paddleboarding, which I’ve never heard of.