“I guess,” I say, pushing that thought to the back of my mind as well. I don’t understand what the big deal is. I mean, who cares if I went to a strip club? When you think about it, it’s not any worse than being in the girl’s locker room before gym class.

“What are you doing tonight?” I ask Grant in an effort to change the subject.

“My roommate and I are going to a party at Crows,” Grant says, naming one of the fraternities on campus. “Wanna go?”

“I do,” I tell him. “But I think it would be better if I stay here tonight. You know, bond with the roommates some more.” The truth is that Corey’s supposed to call me later, and I don’t want to miss his phone call.

“Whatever,” Grant says. “Listen, I’d better go. I have to call my parents back before it gets too late. They’re freaking out.”

“About what now?” Grant’s parents are in a perpetual state of freaking out. Every little thing sends them into a state of hysterics. Not just about Grant, but about everything. One time, when Grant’s little sister Eva was in second grade, her teacher commented to Grant’s mom that Eva was a little bit behind the rest of the class in cursive writing, and could she please help her a little at home? Grant’s parents made an appointment for Eva with the school psychologist—they thought she had a learning disability.

“Same old stuff,” Grant says, sighing. “They’re convinced this whole bisexual thing is just a stage, and they’re hoping college will snap me out of it. They’re probably going to want to know if I’ve met any girls yet.”

I snort. “We still having lunch tomorrow?”

“Totally.”

Grant disconnects, and I stare at the receiver for a second, then pick it back up and dial Corey’s cell number. I want to hear his voice, and plus I figure it will give me a chance to warn him about the whole strip club thing before he sees it on TV. I have no delusions that they’re NOT going to show it. I mean, why wouldn’t they? One of the cast members tries out to be a stripper? That’s huge. Especially since Jasmine is hot.

“Hello?” Corey answers the phone, and I hear voices and music in the background.

“Hey,” I say. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Not much,” he says, yelling in order to be heard over all the noise.

“Can you talk?”

“Not really,” he admits, sounding apologetic. “I’m out with the team.”

Out? What is “out”? Out studying? Out having dinner? Out partying and getting crazy with sorority girls? From the sounds of it, the latter seems like the accurate choice. Okay, stay calm. Must not morph into psycho jealous girlfriend.