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thought I feel just the tiniest hint of relief. I’m exhausted from telling this story all night, and I’m so glad to be talking to someone who doesn’t need to hear it. And I’m pretty sure that he’s flirting with me. And even though his face is ninety percent obscured by painted rubber, I have to admit I’m enjoying it.
    “And we saw a flier for the party up on the bulletin board. And so we said well why not and now we’re here.”
    I look back up, he’s still staring.
    “And what about your placement at this wall in particular?”
    “I’m looking for someone.”
    “Who are you looking for?”
    “I’m not exactly sure.”
    “Are you playing hide-and-seek?” He tips his head to the side. He’s trying to be cute.
    It’s working.
    “If you are, maybe I could offer you a few tips. You’re never going to win just standing around like this…” He reaches out and takes my hand like he’s going to shake it, but instead of shaking it, he just holds it. Like my hand is very precious and he doesn’t want to break it, but also doesn’t want to let it go. His hand is strong and warm, the heat of it stretches all the way up my arm. I look down. I can feel myself blushing. I look back up, our eyes meet again.
    “I’m Sean,” he says. He starts shaking my hand then, as if that’s what he intended all along.
    “I’m Ellie,” I say.
    “Well, Ellie, as a former hide-and-seek gold medal winner…”
    But before either of us has a chance to say anything else, a guy walks out of a room off the hallway, kicking plaster chunks out of the way with a pair of black boots. His wiry arms are covered in ugly bright-yellow tattoos, and his blond hair is so light you can see the pink of his scalp through it. I breathe in sharply. It’s him. He’s the guy from Attic. He is the reason I am here. He is walking toward the stairs. He’s getting away. I start chasing after him.
    I hear Sean calling after me. “Ellie!” he says, “Wait!”But I don’t turn around. There’s no time. The guy from the video is walking down the stairs, being swallowed up by the crowd. I will not let him get away.
    “Hey!” I call out. But the guy doesn’t hear me. He starts walking down the stairs. I reach my arm through the railing and I grab his shoulder. I can feel his bones through his shirt.
    He turns toward me. The whites of his eyes are slightly yellow, and his skin is pale, blue-veined like blue cheese. He’s holding a red Solo cup in each hand.
    “Yeah?” he says. There’s a crash, a pause, a cheer.
    “Hi,” I say.
    He walks back up the stairs and stops when our heads are exactly level. He looks at me and raises his eyebrows. “What’s up?”
    “Ijustwanted to askyoua questionbecause you soldabunchof stuff toAttic today.” The words come out in a jumble. His eyebrow twitches but he doesn’t say anything. “I was just wondering if I could ask you where you got it?” A couple of people push past us to get down the stairs, a guy and a girl. “The stuff you sold I mean.” The guy whispers something and the girl grabs him by the neck and pulls his face to hers. They’re right behind us, their fingers tangled in each other’s hair, lips mashing against each other, breathing heavily. After a few seconds their lips part and they tumble down the rest of the stairs, their hands on each other’s asses.
    “I do not know what you’re talking about,” Blue Cheese says finally. He shakes his head, looks over his shoulder.A girl walks by wearing nothing but bronze body paint. He stares.
    “Attic?” I say. “That vintage store? You brought in a box of stuff and hung up a sign for this party.”
    “Why is everyone always accusing me of stuff,” he says, and then, “You’re mistaking me for someone else, hon, sorry.” He turns and starts to walk off.
    “Wait! Please!” I say, a little too loudly. “I kind of know that you did, is the thing. Sell that stuff. It’s not like a bad thing or something. My friend works at