“Yes, sir,” Joe responded with pride. Vicki considered kicking Joe under the table, but only Hannah or Bee would be able to decode her message. She tapped her right foot under the table and tried to focus.

“Don’t be too impressed,” Joe told Jimmy Fee. “Living in Vegas isn’t like visiting Vegas. What happens in Vegas doesn’t just stay in Vegas, it’s your life. I pay bills there. I do laundry there.”

“But, dude, the women there—they must be just out of control. I mean, even the married ones.” Jimmy let out a loud snort as he laughed.

Vicki’s eyes darted to the empty chair next to Jimmy Fee, where his silent but striking girlfriend had been sitting.

“She’s in the can,” Jimmy said, answering Vicki’s unspoken question. “It’s like the fifth time she’s gone tonight. I swear, every time she drinks she spends the whole night in the bathroom.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Vicki said, swallowing a gulp, to which Joe could only nod in agreement. Jimmy Fee’s girlfriend was unarguably as pretty as him.

“Let me tell you something,” Jimmy said, smirking and leaning across the table. “It’s like they all say. You show me a woman everybody wants to fuck, and I’ll show you a guy who’s sick of fucking her.”

Vicki covered her mouth with her hand and barked a short laugh. She felt Joe kick her under the table. She kicked him back.

Hannah

Hannah knew there was a problem when she saw a table move or, more accurately, bend—its flat top suddenly turning to liquid like the watches in that Dalí painting that had cluttered so many Syracuse dorm rooms. She’d been spinning wildly to the wedding band’s rendition of “Brick House” when she felt a sudden need to steady herself.

She placed her palms flat and face down in front of her as if she were leaning against an imaginary piece of furniture. She felt temporarily stable, but when she looked up, the table closest to the dance floor appeared to be moving to the left, the top of it dripping in a way that could only mean Hannah was hallucinating. She closed her eyes, hoping to get her bearings, but the darkness behind her lids intensified the feeling.

“Vicki is in room 140,” she whispered to herself.

“She’s going to fall,” Hannah heard a male voice say.

She scowled, realizing it was a voice she recognized.

“Get away,” she whispered, as she felt Tom come up from behind her to put his hand on her shoulders.

“Easy there. Steady,” he responded quietly, barely audible over the band. She’d always loved his low voice. She instinctively leaned into him, desperate for any support to help her stay on her feet, but then backed away as soon as she found her footing. “Get away from me,” she barked. She turned her back to him.

“Let’s get some air,” Tom said, moving around her swiftly so he could face her again. “I think we should talk.”

Hannah nodded dizzily and blinked, defeated. Her left eye felt dry. The right one was tearing up. When she looked up to find a way off the dance floor, she spotted the guidance counselor, Jaime, who glared at her and Tom from the back of the tent.