“’Sup, bro?” said Holden, literally out of nowhere. He collapsed next to me and threw his arm around my shoulder. “Where’s Imogen?”

“Um,” I said. “Dancing with Kimiko?”

“Kimiko? You mean super-hot Kimiko?”

I only knew one Kimiko, and she wasn’t not super hot, so I said, “I think?”

“Dude. You’re letting Imogen, your prom date, THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE, dance with super-hot Kimiko? Are you crazy?”

I paused to consider this. Then shook my head. “Actually, for once in my life, I feel like I’m not crazy.”

Holden frowned at this. Folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“Well,” he said, “I guess you just need a good dance with Wynonna.”

“What?” I said. “No, c’mon. What about you?”

“No, believe me. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“How’s that?”

“She won’t shut up about you! Dude, she keeps talking about you like you’re her best friend, which, I guess you are her best friend—like, her other best friend—and no offense, but it’s getting super annoying. Like, I get it. Ezra’s amazing. Let’s build a shrine in his honor.”

I laughed. I actually snorted—a full-on, trademark Wynonna snort.

“Anyway,” he said, “here’s what we’re going to do: You’re going to go up on that stage and request a song from Ziggy. And you’re going to make sure he plays that song next because that’s when I’m going to give Imogen the ultimatum of dancing with me or super-hot Kimiko, and I’m sure she’ll pick super-hot Kimiko because, c’mon. And you’re going to dance with Wynonna, and you’re going to make that dance count because you two have something special, and I know I can’t compete with it, so I might as well make room for it.”

I stared at Holden, speechless.

“Okay?” said Holden. “Are we doing this?”

“You’re a pal,” I said. “Seriously.”

“Dude. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Holden grinned and pulled me into a bro-hug—hands clasped, fists to chest, squeezing each other from the side. Then he turned me around, smacked my ass, and shoved me off in the direction of the DJ table.

He cupped his hand over his mouth and shouted, “You better pick a good one!”

Oh, I would.

“This one,” I said, pointing at Ziggy’s laptop screen.

“That one?” said Ziggy. “Wow, we’re going old-school, huh?”

“I need you to play it next.”

“Um. Look. I can play it at the end of the queue. But that’s the best I can do for you. Other people have requested songs. I can’t just let you cut in line.”

I had anticipated as much. That’s why, before coming up here, I went out to the limo and retrieved my (Ezra Slevin’s) wallet.