Before Alexa had too much time to think they had parked in one of the lots behind the casino, given over their tickets, been ID’d and braceleted. Alexa’s bracelet marked her as under twenty-one. Cam had a really good fake ID and his demeanor and haircut both suggested maturity; it went unquestioned. Alexa was surprised Cam even had a fake ID. Did he go to Confession after procuring it?

Cam got them both beers and warned Alexa to be mindful of the security guys. The band took the stage. The music started. Cam and Alexa sipped and swayed to the music with the old people and the drunk people and the people who acquired their hairstyles, like, more than two decades ago and never changed them, and Alexa started to feel a subtle shift in her attitude toward Hampton Beach. It was refreshing to be close to home and yet feel so far away. Nobody knew Alexa here, and she knew nobody. The band’s rendition of “The Space Between” was not half bad, and the not-Dave-Matthews Dave Matthews was wicked cute. All things considered, Alexa was beginning to have a good time.

You cannot quit me so quickly, Cam, she thought. She swayed a little closer to Cam, allowing her Ramy Brook silk to rub up against his scratchy plaid shirt. He smelled good, clean and masculine. She gave her hair a toss and wondered what he would do if she leaned over and kissed him. Just as that thought was forming she noticed a man staring at her from across the room.

The guy was older, like Peter’s age, and at first she wondered if he could be the dad of one of her friends or the husband of one of her mother’s Mom Squad members. But then she realized that he wasn’t looking at her that way, like a dad or an uncle, but in a different, creepier way. No, she thought. No no no.

“The wicked lies we tell,” sang not-Dave Matthews. The wicked lies we tell, thought Alexa.

“Going to the bathroom,” she told Cam. “Be right back.” She hightailed it toward the restrooms but she knew—she was positive—that the guy was following her. She could feel his presence behind her, and of course she was right. It was quieter by the bathrooms, the music was muted, so she heard him loud and clear when he said, “Hey!”

She ignored him. She was almost at the bathroom door. She was about to open the door.

“Hey,” said the guy again. “Aren’t you that Silk Stockings girl?” And he had his hand on her shoulder, just like that.

She turned. “You must be mistaken,” she said quickly. “I think you have me mixed up with somebody else.”