“True.” I pause to take another drag. “You know, I really am willing to do my part. I’m not trying to get you guys to do all the work. I just can’t deal with all the sitting around stressing. Running through the same ideas that will never work, pretending to move forward and wasting time.”

“Yeah, I know.” He clears his throat. I can’t tell if he’s being honest or just trying to be nice. “And I get that Sara can be a little high-strung or, like, overzealous sometimes. But I don’t know if pushing her buttons is the best way to deal with that.”

“But it’s just so fun.” I put my cigarette out on the stone bench.

As I look over my shoulder at the dorm, the front door swings open. Out steps a blonde, her hair reflecting the light from the streetlamp. A tight black dress hugs her curves, and when she steps forward it is with a grace few can manage in stilettos that high. Her makeup still looks natural but is slightly darker and smokier near her sparkling eyes, and there’s a dash of bright red across her lips. Sara looks hot.

Heat rushes to my face and I avert my gaze, realizing I’ve been staring—gaping, practically the entire time she’s been walking toward us. And so has Robbie.

“What?” she asks. Like she genuinely doesn’t understand our reactions. “Am I too dressed up?”

“No, you’re perfect—I mean, fine, you’re fine.” I stalk forward, “We’re just late.” I take off down the street.

The preparty is in full swing by the time we arrive at the Sigma Alpha frat house, one of the ones that hasn’t gone coed yet, ignoring the trend that’s been sweeping campus since some girl pulled a stunt last year and pledged a fraternity. Loud music—the most recent chart-topping pop song—emanates from the house. Through the window, colored lights swing through the crowd, lighting up people dancing or sipping from red cups. The entrance is jammed with students trying to get through the door, which is guarded by a member of the house. They reach past each other, yelling, positioning themselves to get closer. Warren’s out in full force since undergrads—or at least undergrads not in Professor Thomas’s class—haven’t been assigned much work yet.

“Looks unlikely we’ll get in,” Robbie says.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Just follow me.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you say—it’s your night, man.”

“Excuse me.” I push through the crowd. I stand tall, like I’m meant to be there. Like I’m there all the time and annoyed at the sudden crowd. People step aside for me, my confidence separating our group from their desperation like oil in water.