“Negative, Hankers.” I pull free of Quinn’s hold on instinct, then actively avoid the awkward twitch of his hand when it moves to his pocket. 

“But why?!” Hank’s mouth gapes at my refusal, and he plops a finger on his chest. “I’m an incredible-”

“Because you made fun of my dancing.” I cut him off and start to wiggle my feet apart on the floor to give my thighs a gap for some air. I watch my offbrand simple lace shoes as the guy protests and lies about the end of season team party last year where he totally called me out when I hijacked the speaker and finally just fucking went for it with my Argentinian dance moves.

“Weren’t you blackout that night?” Seth interrupts him with cold hard facts, and there’s nothing left to do but jump up and down to the beat of the music while I glare at Hank until he concedes and hugs me.  

I don’t expect Seth to bump him out of the way and demand to be my partner seconds in. I do, however, fully expect the style of dancing that commences, where he’s all whacky elbows and insisting on facing me like we’re at some retirement home birthday party. What really kills me is the intermittent clapping. It’s like he’s giving himself applause because he’s got to know he’s terrible at this, but somehow it works for him...and for me, too. No pressure is nice. 

I also don’t expect Hank’s victim to become Quinn, or for Quinn to embrace that shit and not be a victim at all. The whole team knows that Hank’s background in gymnastics, along with that one year he was obsessed with hip-hop, has led to some insanely intense moves. They’ve been classified as mainly inappropriate, unless you’re willingly ready for a strip-style grind, and that’s exactly what he’s dishing out tonight. 

With one look at the way Hank’s backing up into Quinn with his hands already braced against his knees, I’m about ready to step in. I snap my fingers to alert Seth, who nearly chokes when he startles at the sudden movement in front of his face. 

“Were you sleeping?” I squish his button of a nose until he gasps and glances up from his staring contest with the floor.

“Hey!” He spots his best friend grinding on the freshman, but he’s immediately dismissed by Quinn’s hand flying across Hankersloot’s chest to trap him in the beats while their bodies start to roll in sync.

“Finally someone who can keep up with me!” Hank’s shout of glee is accompanied by a deep bend forward, and Quinn’s chuckle is actually audible for once when he grasps the back of the guy’s shirt so he doesn’t fall to the floor. 

“Should we…?” Seth’s gape twitches, so I reach up to push it closed. 

“Looks like they’re fine, so we don’t need to run interference.” I shrug, trying not to openly stare at...that. Who knew the quiet kid had moves?

Nature calls like a tidal wave from hell, so I put Hank back on Seth watch so I can empty the tank. He’s got Quinn against the wall at that point, but the kid hasn’t skipped a beat so far. Even I’m impressed. 

The bathroom’s out of soap, so I explore Hankypriss’ fancy hair product collection under the sink in my search for something to sanitize with. He’s always been a strictly updo guy with no funny business on the sides, and I gotta say the style suits him. Boys actually buy the expensive stuff? I’m in the middle of reading the ingredients for the mousse to figure out if it’s edible when there’s a knock on the door. 

It’s a whole horde of girls from my grade, so I get caught up in that gossip cycle for the next stretch of time while they all take turns peeing. I set some cheap looking shampoo I find in the shower on the counter as a soap substitute so we don’t gross up the place. It must belong to one of his roommates.

I learn nothing of substance from the stampede, but at least Taylor has the decency to ask me how Jamie’s doing. I roomed with Tay last year, so she knows a bit more about everything than the others. Since she’s quiet and really only along for the ride with this crew, she hasn’t spilled the more sensitive details to anyone. I like that about her, even though we were never destined to be besties or anything close. 

Taylor offers me her lip gloss while she touches up her eyeliner in the mirror over the sink. It’s a nice gesture, but no way will her pale pink shade fit my complexion. Even the slightest hints of heat make her moonlight tone blush bright red. 

“That guy you were with is really cute,” she whispers while the others cackle about something to do with the toilet tilting in the background. Here we go.

“His name’s Quinn. Want an introduction?” I pretend to apply the lip goo while she giggles and “Yes, pleases” me through the mirror. 

“He’s occupied with Hank now, but we’ll find a gap,” I offer, watching her dab out some smears beneath her dark brown eyes. She doesn’t even need to wear eyeliner. 

Taylor told me in confidence last year that she dated the same dude all through high school, so she wanted to finally experience a fling in college. She struck out as a freshman, but not for lack of trying. She always fixes herself up, whether it’s for class, breakfast, swim practice...whatever. I’m the one who taught her how to get waves in her hair. It’s thin and a dull brown, and she used to do strictly a ponytail because the ex always told her those cheekbones were gold. There’s more to a woman than a nice face, jackass. 

My go-to bun is a result of laziness and not much else. I’ve got hair so thick and wavy that all I need is my favorite pink scrunchie and I’m done with that shit. Jamie used to play with it sometimes. I taught her how to braid last year, while her hair was still growing out and mine was just sitting there with nothing better to offer. She hasn’t done that in a long time, though.