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P rologue
    “ Amy Weller, do I have to drag you out of there?”
    My roommate’s question, and her
accompanying knock, made me look up from the clothes I’d laid out
on my bed. One glance at the clock on the bedside table told me
that time had gotten away from me, and I immediately felt a stab of
guilt. I had promised Michelle that I’d go out with her tonight:
the Myrmidons, a new band she was raving about, were playing at a
nearby pub. And now I had only half an hour to get
ready.
    It was entirely my fault. I’d been
dragging my feet all evening, finding excuses to delay my
preparations. Though I’d already given Michelle my word, I still
wasn’t sure if this girls’ night out was a good idea.
    “Amy!” she called again, rapping on my
door with increased urgency. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to
go!”
    And that was the problem.
I did want to go.
I had no idea who the Myrmidons were outside of Greek mythology
(all I knew for certain was that their drummer was in Michelle’s
evolutionary biology class and she desperately wanted to get to
know him better), but I badly wanted to do something fun for once.
If it were up to me, I’d be dragging Michelle to every concert,
party, and poetry reading in the immediate vicinity of our college
until we collapsed from exhaustion, alcohol poisoning, or both. But
the matter was out of my hands.
    My college education depended on my
ability to stay in my parents’ good graces, and I was pretty sure
they wouldn’t approve of tonight’s little outing. They were paying
my tuition, and their conditions for doing so were worse than any
scholarship board’s requirements. The need for good grades went
without saying, but I also had to text my Mom every night, call my
Dad at 8 PM every Wednesday, and drive all the way back home every
single Sunday for a family dinner. On top of that, partying was
strictly forbidden, as well as any extracurricular activities
beyond the school paper and the student council (neither of which
tickled my fancy). The one thing they didn’t explicitly ban was my
love life, but with all the restrictions already in place, they
really didn’t have to bother. Just a few weeks into my first year,
I acquired a reputation for being boring, and boys only talked to
me when they wanted to borrow a pen. Things weren’t shaping up to
be any different this year.
    I opened the door for Michelle. “You
know I’m up for it,” I said as she breezed into my room like a
whirlwind in high heels. She was already dressed for a night out on
the town. “It’s just…”
    “Your ball and chain, I know.”
Michelle tossed her short hair (it was red this week), and made a
face at me. “That really sucks.”
    “Tell me about it.” I eyed my
roommate’s electric blue dress with considerable envy. Unlike her,
I didn’t have much in the way of party clothes. I’d opted to wear
my nice pair of jeans and my newest sensible boots, and was still
trying to decide on a top.
    While I went back to
contemplating my clothing options, Michelle decided that she would tell me about it.
“You’ve been here for two years,” she said, “and you’ve been to
only one party. One .”
    “And that was the one my department
threw to welcome the new undergrads.” I wrinkled my nose at the
memory. I’d met some really nice people at that event, but the
strongest drink there had been apple cider.
    “So it’s really important for you to
get to another one as soon as possible. I kind of feel responsible
for making that happen.”
    “That’s really sweet of you,” I said,
laughing. I reached for a red shirt, thinking that it looked
festive enough.
    “No way. You’re wearing this one,”
said Michelle, holding up a black satin top. It was low cut and
sleeveless, and the soft material draped over my curves in the most
flattering way. Unable to pass up something that looked that good
on me, I’d bought it months ago, but I hadn’t had the chance to
wear it yet. This seemed to