Marianna asked Heather. Heather looked down at the tiny little green and gold evening bag that was lying beside her on the sofa in the hotel suite. Was it ringing? It was hard to tell, with all the noise of the endless poker game, the music playing in one room, and the TV droning on in the other. (And by the way: What was it about being stoned out of your mind that made the Game Show Network so fascinating, anyway?) If her phone was ringing at this hour on prom night, with her two best friends right there in the room, it could only be one person: her mom. She quickly snatched it open. Wrong. The number displayed in caller ID wasn’t anyone she knew. “Hello?” Heather decided to answer it. “Heather? It’s Tony.” “Oh! Hi. Uh . . .” How’d you get my number? she wanted to say, but it seemed kind of rude and pointless. Tony seemed to guess the question. “I had your number in my cell from the other day,” he said. “From when your friends texted me from your phone.” Heather liked people who anticipated and explained.
