I dried myself quickly. Didn’t pay to linger, to take a close look at the delicate tracery of new lines and sags and freckles, so different from Caitlin’s firm, fleshy youth. I chose a black dress with a semiplunging neckline that Sarah had given me and I had sworn I would never wear. I suddenly, deeply, did not want to look like a teacher. The crepey shoes and slightly out-of-date clothing. To that end, I put my hair up as well, into a smooth French twist, much more high style than my usual efficient look. I listened to Marvin Gaye as I got ready, occasionally singing along: “Believe half of what you see, / Son, and none of what you hear …”

The night was brilliant with stars and beginning to be cold as I pulled up to the school’s parking lot. I was deliberately not thinking of Cal. The gym windows glowed brightly against the dark blue of the night surrounding them. I could hear a faint thump, thump of music as I walked up to the doors and entered. Knots of boys, separate from knots of girls, stood in various corners. A bright-eyed freshman with a halo of blond curls sat behind an old card table, stamping hands. I extended my hand for a stamp, smiling while I did it, and asked him where the chaperones were. He directed me to a spot in the corner of the gym.

The music thrummed and pumped—I didn’t know who the singer was, no guitars in it at all, another sign of time passing. I found myself standing next to Helen; Bob Harmon, the gym teacher; and Jerome. He looked … well, he looked handsome in a slightly too formal dark suit and a white shirt that set off his skin. I found myself thinking about the hollow at the base of his throat. But I just said, “Hi, Jerome. How’s it going?”

“Good. The natives are not too restless as yet.” He smiled and for the briefest moment looked at me the way a starving man looks at a steak. I felt unutterably gratified—and grateful to Sarah for this doggone dress. “Can I get you some punch or something to drink?”

“Punch would be great. Thanks.”