"What are you talking about?" I asked, irritated by his ambiguity, but he didn't answer, and when Evita dismissed the school to cla.s.s, he flew out of the aisle, quick as a wren off a lamppost.

The twins in my second period Study Hall, the Great Social Commentators of the Age, Eliaya and Georgia Hatchett (Nigel and Jade, who had them in a Spanish cla.s.s, called them Dee Dee for Tweedledee and for Tweedledee and Dum Dum for Tweedledum, respectively) naturally had all kinds of dirt on my a.s.sociation with the Bluebloods. Before, they'd always gossiped messily about Jade and the others, their slurpy voices splattering all over each other and everyone else, but now they sat in the back, next to the water fountain and Hambone Reading Recommendations, carrying on in crackly, roast-potato whispers. for Tweedledum, respectively) naturally had all kinds of dirt on my a.s.sociation with the Bluebloods. Before, they'd always gossiped messily about Jade and the others, their slurpy voices splattering all over each other and everyone else, but now they sat in the back, next to the water fountain and Hambone Reading Recommendations, carrying on in crackly, roast-potato whispers.

I ignored them for the most part, even when the words blue blue and and Shhh, she'll hearyou, Shhh, she'll hearyou, hissed over to me like a couple of Gaboon Vipers. But when I didn't have any homework to do, I asked Mr. Fletcher if I could be excused to the restroom and slipped into row 500 and then the densest section of row 900, Biography, where I repositioned some of the larger books from row 600 to the holes between the shelves, in order to avoid detection. (Librarian Hambone, if you're reading this, I apologize for the biweekly repositioning of hissed over to me like a couple of Gaboon Vipers. But when I didn't have any homework to do, I asked Mr. Fletcher if I could be excused to the restroom and slipped into row 500 and then the densest section of row 900, Biography, where I repositioned some of the larger books from row 600 to the holes between the shelves, in order to avoid detection. (Librarian Hambone, if you're reading this, I apologize for the biweekly repositioning of H. Gibbons' bulky African Wildlife African Wildlife [1989] from its proper place in the 650s to just above [1989] from its proper place in the 650s to just above Mommie Dearest Mommie Dearest [Crawford, 1978] and [Crawford, 1978] and Notorious: My Years with Cary Grant Notorious: My Years with Cary Grant [Drake, 1989]. You weren't going mad.) [Drake, 1989]. You weren't going mad.) "So do you or don't you want to hear the icing, the cake, the double whammy, the Crown Jewel, the Jewel apres orthodontia, the Madonna abs apres hatha yoga"-she took a swift breath, swallowed-"the Ted Danson apres hair plugs, the J-Lo avant Gigli, Gigli, the Ben avant J-Lo but apres psychiatric treatment for gambling, the Matt apres-" the Ben avant J-Lo but apres psychiatric treatment for gambling, the Matt apres-"

"You think you're like a blind bard and all?" asked Dum, glancing up from Celebrastory Weekly. Celebrastory Weekly. "I don't "I don't think think so." so."

"Okay, so Elena Topolos."

"Elena Topolos?"

"Mediterranean freshman who needs to wax that lip. She told me the blue person's some weird autistic savant. Not only that, but we lost a man to her."

"What?"

"Hard Body. He's neurotic for her. It's already myth. Everyone on the soccer team calls him Aphrodite and he doesn't even care. He and the blue person have a cla.s.s together and someone saw him digging through the garbage can to find a paper she threw away because she'd touched touched it." it."

"Whatever."

"He's asking her to Christmas formal."

"WHAT?" shrieked Dee.

Mr. Fletcher looked up from The Crossword Fanatic's True Challenge The Crossword Fanatic's True Challenge (Albo, 2002) and fired a disapproving glace at Dee and Dum. They were unfazed.

"Formal's like three months away," Dee said, wincing. "That's all a holy war in high school. People get pregnant, caught with pot, get a bad haircut so you find out it was their only decent feature and they have awful ears. It's way way too soon to ask. Is he out of his too soon to ask. Is he out of his mind?" mind?"

Dee nodded. "He's that that haunted. His ex, Lonny, is p.i.s.sed. She vows she's gonna jihad her a.s.s by the end of the year." haunted. His ex, Lonny, is p.i.s.sed. She vows she's gonna jihad her a.s.s by the end of the year."

"Ouch."

Dad was fond of pointing out the rule of thumb that "at times, even fools are right," but I was still surprised when, a day later, as I collected books from my locker, I noticed a kid from my AP Physics cla.s.s pa.s.sing me not once, but three times, faux-frowning at some giant hardback open in his hands, which I realized the second time he pa.s.sed was our cla.s.s textbook, Fundamentals of Physics Fundamentals of Physics (Rarreh & Cherish, 2004). I a.s.sumed he was waiting for Allison Vaughn, the sedate yet mildly popular senior with a locker near mine who wandered around with a wan smile and polite hair, but when I slammed my locker door, he was behind me. (Rarreh & Cherish, 2004). I a.s.sumed he was waiting for Allison Vaughn, the sedate yet mildly popular senior with a locker near mine who wandered around with a wan smile and polite hair, but when I slammed my locker door, he was behind me.

"Hi," he said. I'm Zach."

"Blue." I spasm-swallowed.

He was a tall, tan, supremely American-looking kid: square chin, big straight teeth, eyes an absurd Jacuzzi blue. I knew, vaguely, based on chatter during labs, he was shy, a little bit funny (my partner, Krista, was forever neglecting our experiment to giggle at something he said), also captain of the soccer team. His lab partner was his supposed ex-girlfriend, Lonny, cocaptain of Gallway Spirit, a girl with soggy platinum hair, a fake tan and a marked tendency to break the equipment. No cloud chamber, potentiometer, friction rod or alligator clip was safe with her. On Mondays, when the cla.s.s wrote up our results on the dry-erase board, our teacher, Ms. Gershon, consistently threw out Lonny and Zach's findings, as they always flew daringly in the face of Modern Science, discrediting Planck's constant, undermining Boyle's law, amending the theory of relativity from E=mc2 to E=mc5. According to Dee and Dum, Lonny and Zach had gone out since sixth grade, and for the past few years had partaken in something called "lion s.e.x" every Sat.u.r.day night in the "hineymooner's suite," Room 222 at the Dynasty Motel on Pike Avenue.

He was handsome, sure, but as Dad once said, there were people who'd completely missed their decade, were born at the wrong time-not in the intellectually gifted sense, but due to a certain look on their face more suitable to the Victorian Age than, say, the Me Decade. Well, this kid was some twenty years too late. He was the one with thick brown hair that flyingsaucered over an eye, the one who inspired girls to make their own prom dress, the one from the country club. And maybe he had a secret diamond earring, maybe a sequin glove, maybe he even had a good song at the end with three helpings of keyboard synthesizer, but no one would know, because if you weren't born in your decade you never made it to the ending, you floated around in your middle, unresolved, in oblivion, confused and unrealized. (Pour some sugar on him and blame it on the rain.) "I was kinda hoping you could help me out with something," he said, contemplating his shoes. "I have a serious problem."

I felt irrationally frightened. "What?"

"There's a girl. . ." He sighed, hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. "I like her. Yeah. I really do." He was doing an embarra.s.sed thing with his head, chin down, eyes sticking to me. "I've never talked to her. Never said a word. word. And normally this wouldn't throw me -normally, I'd go right up to her, ask her for pizza . . . movie . . . yeah. But And normally this wouldn't throw me -normally, I'd go right up to her, ask her for pizza . . . movie . . . yeah. But this this one. She throws me." one. She throws me."

He ran his right hand through his hair and it was absurdly knot free like a shampoo commercial. His left hand was still cradling our Physics textbook, bookmarking, for some bizarre reason p. 123, which featured a sizeable diagram of a magenta Plasma Ball. I was able to make out, upsidedown, around the crook of his arm: "Plasma is the fourth state ofmatter." "Plasma is the fourth state ofmatter."

"So I say to myself, fine," fine," he said with a shrug. "It's not meant to be. 'Cause if you don't feel comfortable talking to someone, how're you gonna handle . . . well, you have to trust the person, right, or what's the point. But then" -frowning, he gazed all the way down the hall toward the EXIT-"it's like every time I see her I feel... I feel. . ." he said with a shrug. "It's not meant to be. 'Cause if you don't feel comfortable talking to someone, how're you gonna handle . . . well, you have to trust the person, right, or what's the point. But then" -frowning, he gazed all the way down the hall toward the EXIT-"it's like every time I see her I feel... I feel. . ."

I didn't think he was going to continue, but then he broke into a smile. "f.u.c.king.Great."

The smile was pinned to his face, delicate as a prom corsage.

It was my turn to speak. Words were in my throat-advice, council, some pithy line from a screwball comedy-but they were grinding together, disappearing fast like celery in a sink disposal.

"I..." I began.

I could feel his minty breath on my forehead, and he was staring at me with his eyes the color of a kiddy pool (blue, green, suspicious hints of yellow). He was searching my face as if he took me to be a cruddy masterpiece in somebody's attic and if he scrutinized my deft use of color and shading as well as the direction of my brushstrokes, he'd figure out who my artist was.

"Hurl?"

I turned. Nigel was inching his way toward us, visibly amused.

"I really can't help you, so if you'd be so kind as to excuse me," I blurted quickly, then darted past his shoulder and the Physics textbook. I didn't turn around, not even when I reached Nigel and the German Language Bulletin Board and then the EXIT. I a.s.sumed he stood in the hall staring after me with his mouth open like a newscaster reading Breaking News when the teleprompter goes dead.

"What'd the Chippendale want?" Nigel asked as we headed downstairs.

I shrugged. "Who knows. I-I couldn't really follow his logic."

"Oh, you're terrible." Nigel laughed, a quick, skidding sound, then linked his arm through mine. We were Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion.

Obviously, a few short months ago, I would have been astounded, maybe even knock-kneed that the El Dorado rode over to me and made a long speech about A Girl. ("All of history comes down to a girl," Dad said with a hint of regret as we watched The Dark Prince, The Dark Prince, the award-winning doc.u.mentary on Hitler's youth.) In the past, I had all sorts of Hidden Desire moments when I gazed at El Dorados riding through the hushed corridors, the empty football fields of a lonesome school-like old Howie Easton at Clearwood Day with the cleft chin and gap in his teeth making him such a sophisticated whistler he could've whistled Wagner's entire the award-winning doc.u.mentary on Hitler's youth.) In the past, I had all sorts of Hidden Desire moments when I gazed at El Dorados riding through the hushed corridors, the empty football fields of a lonesome school-like old Howie Easton at Clearwood Day with the cleft chin and gap in his teeth making him such a sophisticated whistler he could've whistled Wagner's entire Der Ring des Nibelungen Der Ring des Nibelungen (1848-74) if he'd wanted to (he didn't want to)-and I'd wished, just once, I might ride into the wilderness with them, that I, (1848-74) if he'd wanted to (he didn't want to)-and I'd wished, just once, I might ride into the wilderness with them, that I, not not Kaytee Jones with the Hawaiian eyes nor Priscilla Pastor Owensby with legs as long as highways, could be their favorite Appaloosa. Kaytee Jones with the Hawaiian eyes nor Priscilla Pastor Owensby with legs as long as highways, could be their favorite Appaloosa.

But now things were different. Now I had copper hair and sticky, myrtle lips, and as Jade said that Sunday dinner at Hannah's: "The Zach Soderbergs of the world are cute, sure, but they're boring as Saltines. Okay-you hope if you scratch one you'll find Luke Wilson. Even Johnny Depp with his clothing missteps at major award ceremonies you'd be happy with. But trust me, all you get is bland cracker."

"Who's this?" asked Hannah.

"Some kid in my physics cla.s.s," I said.

"He's a pretty popular senior," said Lu.

"You should see his rug," Nigel said. "I think he has hair plugs."

"Well, he's barking up the wrong tree," Jade said. "Retch is already in a puddle over someone."

She gazed triumphantly at Milton, but to my relief, he was cutting into his Danish roasted chicken with sunflower seasoning and hash of sweet potato and didn't see her.

"So Blue's breaking hearts," Hannah said and winked at me. "It's about time."

I did wonder about Hannah.

And I felt guilty wondering about her, because the others trusted her in the uncomplicated way an old horse accepts a rider, a child grabs an outstretched hand to cross the street.

Yet immediately following my attempt to Parent Trap her with Dad, sometimes at her house, I'd find myself falling out of the dinner conversation. I'd look around the room as if I was a snooping stranger outside, pressing my nose to the window. I wondered why she took so much interest in my life, my happiness, my haircut ("Ac/orable," she said. "You look like a dispossessed flapper," Dad said); why, for that matter, any any of them were of interest to her. I wondered about her adult friends, why she hadn't married or done any of the things Dad referred to as "domesticated hooey" (SUVs, kids), the "sitcom script people stick to as they hope for meaning in their canned-laughter lives." of them were of interest to her. I wondered about her adult friends, why she hadn't married or done any of the things Dad referred to as "domesticated hooey" (SUVs, kids), the "sitcom script people stick to as they hope for meaning in their canned-laughter lives."

In her house, there were no photographs. At school, I never once saw her conversing with other teachers apart from Eva Brewster, and only then on a single occasion. As much as I adored her-particularly those moments she let herself be silly, when a favorite song came on and she did a funny little jig with her winegla.s.s in her bare feet in the middle of the living room and the dogs stared at her the way fans stared at Janis Joplin singing "Bobby McGee" ("I was in a band once," Hannah said shyly, biting her lip. "Lead singer. I dyed my hair red.")-I couldn't overlook a certain book by leading neurophysicist and criminologist Donald McMather MD, Social Behaviors and Nimbus Clouds Social Behaviors and Nimbus Clouds (1998). (1998).

"An adult with a fastidious interest in those considerably younger than him or herself can not be completely sincere or even rational," he writes on p. 424, Chapter 22, "The Allure of Children." "Such a preoccupation often hides something very dark."

X.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles

I'd been in thick with the Bluebloods three, maybe four weeks, when Jade invaded, Sherman-style, my nonexistent s.e.x life. , L Not that I took her a.s.sault too seriously. When it came down to the nitty-gritty, I knew I'd probably flee without warning, like Hannibal's elephants during the Battle of Zama in 202 B.c. (I was twelve when Dad wordlessly presented me with various tomes to read and reflect upon, including C. Allen's Shame Culture and the Shadow World Shame Culture and the Shadow World [1993], [1993], Somewhere Between Puritans and Brazil: How to Have a Healthy s.e.xuality Somewhere Between Puritans and Brazil: How to Have a Healthy s.e.xuality [Mier, 1990], also Paul D. Russell's terrifying [Mier, 1990], also Paul D. Russell's terrifying What You Dont Know About White Slavery What You Dont Know About White Slavery [1996].).

"You've never gotten laid, have you, Retch?" Jade accused one night, deliberately ashing her cigarette in the cracked blue vahze next to her like some movie psychiatrist with switchblade fingernails, her eyes narrowed, as if hoping I'd confess to violent crime.

The question hung in the air like a national flag with no wind. It was obvious the Bluebloods, including Nigel and Lu, approached s.e.x as if it were cute little towns they had to whizz through in order to make good time on their way to Somewhere (and I wasn't so sure they knew their final destination). Immediately, Andreo Verduga flashed into my head (shirtless, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g shrubs) and I wondered if I could speedily make up a steamy experience involving the bed of his pickup truck (propped up against mulch, rolling onto tulip bulbs, hair snagging the lawnmower) but prudently decided against it. "Virgins advertise their stunning lack of insight and expertise with the subtlety and panache of Bible salesmen," wrote British comic Brinkly Starnes in A Harlequin Romance Harlequin Romance (1989). (1989).

Jade nodded knowingly at my silence. "We'll have to do something about it then," she said, sighing.

After this painful revelation, on Friday nights, after I got clearance from Dad to spend the night at her house ("And this Jade individual-she's one of your Joycean aficionados?"), Jade, Leulah and I, decked out in Jefferson's Studio 54 prom getup, drove an hour to a roadside bar in Redville, just over the South Carolina border.

It was called the Blind Horse Saloon (or lin ors loon, as the sign whispered in dying pink neon), a grouchy place Jade claimed the five of them had been frequenting for "years," which, from the outside looked like a burnt loaf of pound cake (rectangular, black, no windows) stranded in an expanse of stale-cookie pavement. Armed with farcically fake IDs (I was brown-eyed Roxanne Kaye Loomis, twenty-two, five-feet-seven, a Virgo organ donor; I attended Clemson with a major in Chemical Engineering; "Always say you're seriously into engineering," Jade instructed. "People don't know what it is and they won't ask because it sounds mind-numbing."), we edged past the bouncer, a large black man who stared at us as if we were cast members of Disney on Ice who'd forgotten to remove our costumes. Inside, the place was stuffed with country music and middle-aged men in plaid shirts clutching their beers like handrails. Most of them stared open-mouthed at four televisions suspended from the ceiling broadcasting some baseball game or local news. Women, standing in tight circles, fiddled with their hair as they talked, as if putting finishing touches on a sagging flower arrangement. They always glared at us, particularly Jade (see "Snarling c.o.o.n Dogs," Appalachian Living, Appalachian Living, Hester, 1974, p. 32). Hester, 1974, p. 32).

"Now we find Blue's lucky man," Jade announced, her eyes creeping all over the room, past the linebacker jukebox, the bartender pouring shots with a strange brawny energy, as if he were a GI who'd just arrived in Saigon, and the wooden benches along the far wall where girls waited with foreheads so hot and oily you could fry eggs on them.

"I don't see any melted Milk Duds," I said.

"Maybe you should hold out for true love," Leulah said. "Or Milton."

It was a running joke between Jade and Lu that I "had it bad for Black," that I desperately wanted to be "Black and Blue," make "the beast with two Blacks," and so on-allegations I refused to admit to (even though they were true).

"Haven't you heard the expression, 'Don't s.h.i.t where you eat?' " Jade said. "G.o.d, you people have no faith. There. There. The cute one at the end of the bar talking to that malaria mosquito. He's wearing tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses. Know what tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses mean?" The cute one at the end of the bar talking to that malaria mosquito. He's wearing tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses. Know what tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses mean?"

"No," I said.

"Stop pulling down your dress, it makes you look five. It means he's intellectual. You can never be too far in the backwoods if someone at the bar's wearing tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses. He's perfect for you. I'm parched."

"Me too," I said.

"I'll go," said Leulah. "What do you want?"

"We didn't drive all the way to this shantytown to purchase our own beverages," said Jade. "Blue? My cigarettes please."

I took them out of my purse and handed them to her.

Jade's pack of Marlboro Lights was the instrument (boleadoras) (boleadoras) she used to ambush unsuspecting men she used to ambush unsuspecting men (cimarron). (cimarron). (Jade's best subject-the only one at which she excelled-was Spanish.) She began by roaming the bar (Jade's best subject-the only one at which she excelled-was Spanish.) She began by roaming the bar (estancias), (estancias), singling out an attractive, beefy guy standing a little apart from everyone else singling out an attractive, beefy guy standing a little apart from everyone else (vaca perdida, (vaca perdida, or lost cow). She approached him slowly and with no sudden jerks of the head or hands, tapped him lightly on the shoulder. or lost cow). She approached him slowly and with no sudden jerks of the head or hands, tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Got a light, hombre?" hombre?"

There were two inevitable scenarios this opening evoked: He eagerly obliged.

If he didn't have a light, he started a frantic quest to find one.

"Steve, got a light? Arnie, you? Henshaw? A light. Matches okay too. McMundy, you? Cig-know if Marcie has one? Go ask-right. Does Jeff? No? I'll go ask the bartender."

Unfortunately, if the outcome was #2, by the time the cimarron cimarron returned with fire, Jade was already on the lookout for more lost cattle. He'd stand motionlessly at her back for a minute, sometimes up to five or returned with fire, Jade was already on the lookout for more lost cattle. He'd stand motionlessly at her back for a minute, sometimes up to five or ten ten minutes, not doing anything but chewing his lower lip and staring straight ahead, occasionally mooing a dreary "Excuse me?" at her back or shoulder. minutes, not doing anything but chewing his lower lip and staring straight ahead, occasionally mooing a dreary "Excuse me?" at her back or shoulder.

Eventually, she acknowledged him.

"Hmm? Oh, gracias, chiquito." chiquito."

If she was feeling at home on the range, she tossed him two questions: Where do you see yourself in, say, twenty years, cavron? cavron?

What's your favorite position?

Most of the time he was unable to answer either off the top of his head, but even if he answered #2 without hesitation, if he said, "a.s.sistant Manager of Sales and Marketing at Axel Corp, where I work and I'm months away from a promotion," Jade had no choice but to butcher him and cook him immediately over an open fire (the asado). asado).

"Unfortunately we have nothing else to talk about. Beat it, muchacho." muchacho."

Most of the time he didn't react, only stared at her with drippy, red eyes.

"Vamos!" she shouted. Biting our lips in suppressed laughter, Leulah and I raced after her, hacking our way across the room she shouted. Biting our lips in suppressed laughter, Leulah and I raced after her, hacking our way across the room (pampas), (pampas), fertile with elbows, shoulders, big hair and beer cups, all the way to GIRLS. Jade elbowed past the dozen fertile with elbows, shoulders, big hair and beer cups, all the way to GIRLS. Jade elbowed past the dozen muchachas muchachas standing in line, telling them I was pregnant and about to be sick. standing in line, telling them I was pregnant and about to be sick.

"Bulls.h.i.t!"

"If she's pregnant how come she's so scrawny?"

"And why's she drinkin? Don't alcohol cause preemies?"

"Oh, stop hurting your cerebrums, putas," putas," said Jade. said Jade.

We took turns laughing and peeing in the handicapped stall.

Sometimes, if the lighting of Jade's cigarette was done with swift precision, she began to have a real conversation, though it was usually so loud, most of it consisted of Jade firing off more questions and the guy mooing, "Huh?" over and over as if trapped in a Beckett play.

Occasionally, the guy had a friend who rested his heavy load of a gaze on Leulah, and once, a man with apparent color blindness and more hair than an Old English Sheepdog fixed his gaze on me. me. Jade nodded excitedly and pulled her own earlobe (her sign for "This is the one"), but when the guy bent his bushy head down to inquire how I was "likin' Leisure City," for some reason I couldn't think of anything to say. (" 'Fine' is mind-numbing. Never ever say, 'fine,' Retch. And, another thing. Granted, he's hot as h.e.l.l, but if you bring up your Jade nodded excitedly and pulled her own earlobe (her sign for "This is the one"), but when the guy bent his bushy head down to inquire how I was "likin' Leisure City," for some reason I couldn't think of anything to say. (" 'Fine' is mind-numbing. Never ever say, 'fine,' Retch. And, another thing. Granted, he's hot as h.e.l.l, but if you bring up your dad dad in conversation in conversation one one more time, I'll cut out your tongue.") After too long a pause I said, "Not much." more time, I'll cut out your tongue.") After too long a pause I said, "Not much."

Frankly, I was a little terrified of how he leaned over me, so confident of his beer breath and his chin, which, underneath the ma.s.ses of hair, appeared to be modeled after a sugar cone, how his eyes looked down my front as if he'd like nothing better than to lift my hood and inspect my carburetor. "Not much" wasn't the answer he was looking for, because he forced a smile and set about trying to raise Leulah's hood.

There were times too, when I'd glance back to the spot by the door where Jade, minutes before, had been inspecting her Angus bull, trying to decide if he was worth buying to improve her herd-and she wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere, not by the jukebox, or by the girl showing another girl her gold necklace -"He got me this, innit sweet?" (it looked like a gilded thumbnail) -not in the breath-dampened hallway that lead to the back by the couches and pinball machines, not by the man fossilized at the bar mesmerized by closed captions ("A tragedy coming out of Burns County this evening with a robbery that left three dead. Cherry Jeffries is live at the scene."). The first time it happened, I was terrified (I'd read The Girl Done Gone The Girl Done Gone [1982] by Eileen Crown when I was too young and thus it'd made a gruesome impression) and immediately, I alerted Leulah (who, though she looked prim and old-fashioned, could turn pretty vixeny with her nosegay smile, the way she coiled her thick braid around her hand and spoke in a little-girl voice so men tilted over her like big beach umbrellas trying to block the sun). [1982] by Eileen Crown when I was too young and thus it'd made a gruesome impression) and immediately, I alerted Leulah (who, though she looked prim and old-fashioned, could turn pretty vixeny with her nosegay smile, the way she coiled her thick braid around her hand and spoke in a little-girl voice so men tilted over her like big beach umbrellas trying to block the sun).

"Where's Jade?" I asked. "I don't see her."

"Around," she said airily, not looking away from a guy named Luke with a white T-shirt like cling film and arms like bas.e.m.e.nt lead pipes. Using words with no more than two syllables, he was telling her the fascinating story of how he'd been kicked out of West Point for hazing.

"But I don't see her," I said nervously, my eyes wandering the room.

"She's in the bathroom."

"Is she all right?"