“Hey,” he said, “I don’t want to be an incon—”

“Sydney?” Brayden came striding across the parking lot. “Everything okay?”

No, not really. “I’m going to have to leave for a little bit,” I said. “I have to give my brother a ride home. Will you be okay waiting? It shouldn’t be that long.” I felt bad even suggesting it. Brayden didn’t really know anyone at my school. “Maybe you could find Trey?”

“Sure,” said Brayden uncertainly. “Or I can come with you.”

“No,” I said quickly, not wanting him and drunken Adrian in the car. “Just go back and have fun.”

“Nice toga,” Adrian told Brayden.

“It’s a chiton,” said Brayden. “It’s Greek.”

“Right. I forgot that was tonight’s theme.” Adrian gave Brayden an appraising look, glanced over at me, and then turned back to Brayden. “So. What do you think of our girl’s ensemble tonight? Pretty amazing, huh? Like Cinderella. Or maybe a Greek Cinderella.”

“There’s really not much about it that’s truly Greek,” said Brayden. I winced. I knew he didn’t mean to be insensitive, but his words stung a little. “The dress is historically inaccurate. I mean it’s a very nice dress, but the jewelry’s anachronistic, and the fabric’s nothing that ancient Greek women would have had. Certainly not that color either.”

“What about those other Greek women?” asked Adrian. “The flashy smart ones.” His forehead wrinkled, as though it were taking every ounce of his brain to come up with the word he wanted. And, to my astonishment, he did. “The hetaerae.” I honestly hadn’t believed he’d retained anything from our conversation in San Diego. I tried not to smile.

“The hetaerae?” Brayden was even more astonished than I was. He gave me a scrutinizing look. “Yes… yes. I suppose—if such materials were hypothetically possible in that era—that this is something you’d expect to see find on a hetaera instead of the average Greek matron.”

“And they were prostitutes, right?” asked Adrian. “These hetaerae?”

“Some were,” agreed Brayden. “Not all. I think the usual term is courtesan.”

Adrian was completely deadpan. “So. You’re saying my sister’s dressed like a prostitute.”

Brayden eyed my dress. “Well, yes, if we’re still speaking in hypothetical—”

“You know what?” I interrupted. “We need to go. It’s going to rain any minute now. I’ll take Adrian home and meet you back here, okay?” I refused to let Adrian continue to play whatever game he had going to torment Brayden—and, by extension, me. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

“Sure,” said Brayden, not looking very sure at all.

He left, and I started to get into the car until I noticed Adrian trying—and failing—to open the passenger side door. With a sigh, I walked over and opened it for him. “You’re drunker than I thought,” I said. “And I thought you were pretty drunk.”

He managed to get his body into the seat, and I returned to my own side just as raindrops splashed on my windshield. “Too drunk for Jailbait to feel,” he said. “The bond’s numb. She can have an Adrian-free night.”