I raise my eyebrows. A daring move, but an empty threat I’m sure. I think of all the project emails I got from her between 10:00 p.m. and 3:00 a.m. last Saturday. “No, I don’t. You’re welcome to come with.”

Sara crosses her arms, “Well, maybe we will.”

“We what?” Robbie looks from me to her and back.

Sara stands, brushes a piece of lint off her dress pants and looks me dead in the eyes.

“I mean,” Robbie says, looking down at the crumpled papers in front of him, “I want to give up for the night as much as any anyone but—”

“No,” Sara says, eyes unwavering. “Braden is right—we are stuck with each other. And if we have to work with him, he has to party with us. We’re in this together, whether we want to be or not.”

She’s daring me to sit back down in a huff, to admit that if they aren’t doing the work for me, I’ll see the need to do it on a Friday night. But I’m not about to give her the satisfaction. “Fine, but the buses leave in an hour and I want to have at least two drinks at the pregame, so I’m only gonna give you fifteen minutes to change.”

“Buses?” Robbie asks.

“Change?” Sara asks, looking down at her ensemble.

“Yes.” I turn to Robbie. “To the club in the city. And—” I look Sara up and down, blouse buttoned up to her neck and form-concealing pants, and laugh “—yes. Change.”

I wait outside their dorm and smoke a cigarette. The door behind me clicks and I turn to see Robbie.

“What’s up?” I nod my head.

He waves.

“Smoke?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

I nod. “Most West Coasters don’t. I’ll never adjust to the looks I get, like I’m killing kittens or something.”

He hops onto the little brick wall I’m leaning against. “A lot of my friends did in high school.” He stretches his arms above his head, yawning. “I just don’t see the appeal.” He readjusts the way he’s sitting. “It doesn’t seem worth it to me. But I don’t...judge you or anything.”

I nod and look at the ground. I flick some ash off the end of my cigarette and watch it as it flitters toward the pavement, then take another drag.

“Although...” He half smiles, his eyes lighting up mischievously. “Cats can get lung cancer, especially if their owner smokes, so you, uh, kind of might be killing kittens.”

I laugh and cough out the rest of the smoke I was blowing. “I guess I really am the devil then.”

He turns and looks toward the dorm behind us. “Depends on who you ask.”