“You played a role, too. Without young Russell’s big mouth, we’re not here.”

Thackrey looked back at his phone. He read out loud. “Stacie only shares some of her profile information with everyone.” He swiped a finger across the screen, scrolled to a key app, and tapped it. “Sorry, Stacie. In we go.”

Thackrey watched the screen open. “Ouch. Someone needs new friends.”

Russell looked over Thackrey’s shoulder. “Minus five more. She’s a business manager at Brookside.” He took out a comb and ran it carefully through his short, stiff hair.

“I’ll make it up in the call round.” Thackrey scrolled through the profile. “In a relationship with Brian Conover. Look at the poor bastard’s ears. Interests: Pop-Tarts. Quotations: Cyndi Lauper: ‘God loves all the flowers, even the wild ones that grow on the side of the highway.’ Could anything be sadder than this?”

The hit of Ritalin and speed scratched and burned in Thackrey’s nostrils. As the drugs found his bloodstream, he felt the popping rush he’d been waiting for. His hearing burst open: the East Asian techno pop inside Russell’s earbuds, Victor drumming his fingers on an empty coffee cup, and, outside, the sizzle of the mercury vapor lamps above the parking lot. He caught himself. “Where’s the phone with spoofing?”

Russell handed Thackrey a phone.

“Am I old boyfriend or eager suitor?” Thackrey asked.

Russell jumped to answer. “Old boyfriend.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Victor said. “Haven’t we resolved enough of Ben’s issues with women for one night? Let’s just get this over with.”

Thackrey peered at the phone screen. “Do I need to enter one of your Hong Kong prep school passwords? Which one was it? The King George School?”

“Give it a rest, Ben,” Russell said. Checking his reflection in the car window, he pinched a wave in his hair.

Thackrey typed Stacie’s number on the keypad and tapped the phone icon. The call was picked up on the third ring. Thackrey put it on speaker.

“Hello?” The voice was high and impatient.

“Hey, Stacie.” Thackrey balanced the phone in his fingertips. “How’s it going?”

“I’m sorry. Who’s this?”

“It’s me. The one who was shtupping you before Brian.”

“What’d you say? Jerry?”

“I miss our nights listening to Bruno Mars and watching Sandra Bullock movies.”

The voice was more cautious now. “Do I know you?”

Thackrey consulted the Facebook page. “How’s Mister Tingles?”

Russell laughed. “Is that a pet?”

“What is this?” Stacie asked. “Who else is there?”

Thackrey mugged a look of surprise. “You look great, by the way. Is that scarf a Fendi?”

“In her dreams,” Russell said.

The phone went silent.

“If this is supposed to be a joke, it’s not funny,” Stacie said after a few seconds.

Russell held up one hand. “No joke. Five points.”