That these paddleboarders would treat me as if I am an alien from another planet. Bryce notices what’s happening and becomes visibly flustered. “Guys,” he says, his voice shaking a bit. “Echo is my friend and she is amazing. She is also Black, which I’m sure you have noticed. What you may not be aware of, though, are the subtle ways you are treating her differently. You’re not really including her in the conversation, which is isolating. This is a party. We’re here to have fun, so we don’t have to go much deeper than that tonight. I just wanted to point that out and it’s definitely something we can talk more about later. On that note—”

Bryce says, turning toward me, “Do you want to go upstairs and dance?”

I am so thrilled by his invitation, I don’t care anymore about being erased by Halloween Beavis and Butt-Head, who stand in shock with their jaws on the floor. I eagerly nod my head yes, but not too eagerly, and follow him toward the staircase.

“See what I did with my privilege there?” he says, smiling with pride.

“Literally could you be more dreamy,” I say out loud, before slapping one of my hands over my mouth in embarrassment.

Keli and Gabby do silly happy dances as we pass, which I try to prevent Bryce from seeing as we make our way up the stairs. Earnell, who’s coming down, says, “Look at this, the man wins again. I’m just a Black pawn on your chessboard, but if you break her heart, I’ll kill you.” He raises his bottle of beer, carefree and unbothered, maybe for the first time in his life, by white supremacy and losing the girl.

Bryce and I find an open spot and dance to DMX, Ice Cube, 50 Cent, and Dr. Dre. It feels criminal to dance with someone so melanin-deficient to this kind of music, but I submit to the rhythm of the night.

“I’m surprised you dance so well,” I say.

“Why?” he says jokingly. “Because I’m white?”

We both laugh. The bass-heavy songs land like bombs right in the middle of the dance floor. We have no choice but to comply with their demand that we release ourselves to the hypnotic beats. We flow, we twirl, we shimmy with glee until the music suddenly slows down. A ghoulish, digitized laugh blares from the speakers before a parade of raunchy slow jams begin. “Time for naughty fright night,” the DJ announces. Bryce and I stand awkwardly in front of each other, noting that others around us start to press their bodies together seductively. I want to press myself deeply into Bryce, but I know his Bible fills the space between us.