It was like everywhere I looked, a little button popped out of the air, tallying how many points everyone would be accumulating throughout the night. At first it freaked me out and, for the briefest moment, I contemplated leaving—if I left now, I could still make it back before curfew. I’d be safely tucked into bed and zero points would be written on the dry-erase board next to my door when I woke up in the morning.

But Ruthie would never let me. She’d been waiting for this for months. If I left this party, I’d lose her. There was no question about it. So, in that moment, I took a deep breath and decided to stay. And if I was going to stay, if there was even the slightest chance that this night would lead to hundreds of points and a one-way ticket to my parents’ less-than-welcoming arms, well, it was going to be the best night of my life.

A flash brought me back as Ruthie took another photo, though this time, in the light of the barn, it didn’t leave me with white circles under my eyelids. And no one else seemed to notice at all.

Two guys—possibly two of the hottest boys I have ever seen—greeted Catherine’s brother with an excited “Yooo!” as we snaked through people toward the drinks. A girl I could only describe as absolutely beautiful followed them closely, a fake smile on her face as she watched the two boys’ attention divert from her to us.

“See?” the taller boy said to the shorter, “I told you he’d bring girls!”

Their fangirl stopped in her tracks then, shook her head, and walked away.

They stood in front of us, looking each of us up and down in the least subtle way I’d ever seen. They weren’t trying to play it off as hello, either—they were undressing us with their eyes. Little did they know how easy we’d made it for them compared to our usual outfits.

I tugged at my shirt once the taller one’s eyes met mine. I suddenly felt naked, like he could see right through my T-shirt and jeans and borrowed The North Face jacket. It felt like he was bypassing the abs that had more definition than I’d ever known possible or the arms that were toned just for Jesus, and focused straight on my real body, the virgin body. The guys were like golden retrievers: happy, excited, and staring at us, waiting for us to play with them.

“Are you going to get us drinks or what?” Catherine finally said, breaking the drunken silence.

The guys turned and led us to a Gatorade cooler in the back—I recognized it from convocation. There was always a stack of them on the sidelines as Dr. Felix Chastain spoke from his makeshift altar in the center of the football field once a week.