(Many thanks to everyone who's been reading, especially those who've sent in reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying the story! I had great fun writing this. Now on to chapter 3-Brig)

"Come on, it'll be fun. Crandall's gonna drive us down to Toledo. We'll grab dinner there and go to the club." Beth packed up her textbooks as Greg spoke. "You need to get out more."

She shot him a steely look, and yet she couldn't help but smile. "What do you want?"

He put a hand on his chest and gave her an innocent expression. "Moi? I just thought you'd enjoy a Saturday night out."

"Uh huh." She slung the backpack over her shoulder. "I've got studying to do."

"You can study on Sunday." He switched to a wheedling tone. "It'll be fun."

"Fun . . . I've heard of that." She headed into the hallway and found Greg loping along next to her.

"So go."

"Why do you want me around?" She glanced at him, to find he watched her with that intent look she'd come to realize was habitual. "I'm—I'm not good at parties. Or anything else."

"How would you know? You've never been to any. You're a slave to that damn instrument." He grinned at her as they emerged into bright sunshine. "You have to practice other things too. Like having fun."

"I think you practice that too much." She put on a mock-stern tone.

"Gosh, thanks for the great advice Mom." She laughed and he swung around in front of her, walking backward. "Seriously, do it! DO IT," he wiggled his fingers at her as if he tried to send her brainwaves. Beth couldn't help but laugh again.

"Yeah, okay okay. I'll go."

"Excellent! Wear something pretty." He flapped a hand at her sweater and jeans. "Dress up for once."

"But I—" Beth found she spoke to empty air; Greg was already on his way across the quad, long legs pumping. She watched him and smiled. So much energy.

That evening she went through her closet. There wasn't much to choose from: her black concert gear, a dress for formal occasions, one for church or meetings, a couple of skirts, some blouses and her good blazer. The rest consisted of elderly sweaters, shirts and jeans. None of it was right for a night out. She would have to go shopping, and on a very tight budget.

After practice and breakfast the next morning, she ventured into town. The boutiques were too expensive; she'd have to try a thrift store or Goodwill first and hope for a miracle.

There wasn't much to choose from. Most of the clothes in her size were either muumuus or housecoats. Beth sighed as she pushed through the racks. Maybe she'd have to make do with a dress after all. But before that, she'd try one more place. Disheartened, she made the trek to the Kiwanis thrift sale. There might be something there . . .

She found the shirt ten minutes in. It was reduced to almost nothing because of a small rip in one of the side seams, something easily fixed. Beth checked it over. It was a long-sleeved tee shirt in dark red velour, with thin golden stripes and a boat neckline. When she tried it on, she could see it did something for her. Not that she'd ever be anything even remotely considered sexy with her big ass and belly, but paired with jeans and her blue corduroy jacket and some earrings she'd be more or less dressed up.

This is dangerous. The thought popped into her head as she stood in front of the mirror. But she also knew she had grown tired of hiding. Part of her was still scared; the other part wanted to belong, even if in a small way. "It's just for tonight," she said aloud, and bought the shirt.

She was ready and waiting when Dylan showed up at her door. "Hey, you look great!" He grinned at her. "Ready to dance?" He glanced at her ballet flats. "Good choice. G-man's in the car, let's go."

They met a group of girls at the entrance. Beth ignored the snickers and pointed comments and wished she didn't blush so easily. She knew everyone considered her an antisocial freak; this would be gossip fodder for weeks on end. She lifted her chin. So what? You survived mean girls before, you can do it again if you have to. Just have fun tonight.

Greg was indeed in the car. He rode shotgun, which left Beth in the back seat with Dylan's girlfriend Anne, who ignored her greeting. She wore a petulant expression under overly dramatic makeup. Beth took her seat and looked out the window as her excitement faded, replaced by foreboding. Greg hadn't said anything to her, his expression nothing short of grim; she hoped this wasn't a mistake or even worse, some kind of setup for a joke or prank. Her gut tightened at the thought, but she did her best to dismiss it. Dylan wouldn't be a willing party to anything like that. Her paranoia was making her jumpy.

The journey to Toledo took a little over an hour. The only one who made any attempt at conversation was Dylan. He seemed oblivious to the atmosphere in the car. Beth answered him and kept her comments cheerful. By the time they reached the city limits, she felt a little better. Maybe this wouldn't be a disaster.

Dinner was an all-you-can-eat buffet at a little place buried in a strip mall just off Monroe. It looked shabby, but the owner greeted both Greg and Dylan like old friends, and when Beth reached the salad bar she found the ingredients fresh and well-prepared. Anne made do with a piece of chicken and some mashed potatoes, most of which she left on her plate.

They stayed for an hour. In that time Greg went through several piles of food and ignored everyone else at the table. Beth's small store of optimism slowly dissipated. She spun out her interest in the salad she'd made, and hoped they'd leave soon.

"Hey." Greg's voice brought her out of her thoughts. He stared at her with an odd hostility in his vivid gaze. "What's your problem?"

"I don't have one. What's yours?" she snapped. He looked surprised, then amused. Dylan cleared his throat.

"Time to go," he announced. "Ladies, if you need to use the excuse do it here. There's always a line at the club."

Anne followed Beth to the bathroom. Once inside she said "Is Greg your boyfriend?"

"No." Beth turned on the tap and took some soap from the dispenser.

"That's good." Anne went to the single stall and opened the door. "Because I blew him this morning."

The ride to the club must have been a short one. Beth didn't pay attention. She sat in the back seat in a sort of odd numbness. You thought he was different. You thought he was better. You were wrong. She stared at the back of Greg's head. No wonder he hadn't bothered to talk to her. But why had he insisted she come with them tonight? For cover? That made no sense. Even worse, she was pretty sure Dylan didn't know any of this. How could Greg betray a friend that way?

When they arrived, the parking lot was packed. It was clear this was a popular place. Beth got out of the car, intent on escape, but Dylan stopped her. "Hang on." He held up a joint. "A little appetizer first." Beth shook her head.

Greg groaned. "Don't be a narc." Anne giggled and he glared at her.

"I'm not—" Beth stopped. She wouldn't apologize, least of all to Greg. "You'll need someone to stay sober for the drive home. I'll do it." With that she headed to the entrance and didn't look back.

She'd ordered a plain Coke with ice when Dylan caught up with her. "Are you okay? Sorry if I offended you."

"I'm fine, and you didn't offend me." She gave him a polite smile. "You'd better find Anne and buy her a drink." And maybe she'll get drunk enough to tell you what happened so no one else has to.

The noise level was deafening, but then she'd expected that. It wasn't until she made it to the dance floor that she realized half the partiers were men in dresses.

Oh my god, it's a gay bar. Beth grappled with the knowledge, torn between exasperation and laughter. Dylan and Greg came here on a regular basis? Both of them were straight . . . weren't they? Did they really think she was so uptight a place like this would freak her out? She was a musician, for god's sake. Her best friend in high school had been her stand partner and a lesbian. She'd known other people in orchestra and band who endured secrecy out of necessity. It hadn't made any difference to her, aside from empathy for the pain incurred by life in a culture that would never accept the truth.

So she watched people dancing in every outfit imaginable, from feather boas and purple spandex to beige polyester skirts and blazers, and decided it would be best for her not to ask questions. She was here to dance, so that was what she'd do.

It was a good decision. Half an hour in, while bouncing around to 'Ring My Bell', she found she enjoyed herself. There was something liberating about just moving to the beat, with the most inane but catchy music she'd heard in years throbbing in her ears. When someone put a hand on her shoulder she turned and faced Greg. Beams of light played over him as he stood there, a still point in the frenzy of energy around them. He said nothing. Beth moved back a little so his hand fell away, then turned and began to dance again. Her heart wasn't in it now, but she'd be damned if she'd show it.

By the time they arrived at last call, she was ready to go home. She'd grown tired of refusing a fair number of controlled substances, Anne seemed to have disappeared, and she couldn't find Greg or Dylan either. The first stirrings of anxiety touched her. What if they'd left without her? How would she get back to Ann Arbor?

She was about to go out to the parking lot to find the car when Dylan pushed through the crowds. He looked both confused and angry. Beth came to him. "What's wrong?" He shook his head.

"Let's go. You're driving, okay?"

When they reached the car, it was to find Greg in the back seat. Anne was absent. Beth got behind the wheel and started the engine as Dylan sat shotgun. "How do we get back?" She kept her tone quiet and matter of fact. Dylan gave her the directions and turned on the radio. It was clear he didn't want to talk, and neither did Greg. Beth guessed there had been some sort of falling out, probably over the information Anne had disclosed in the bathroom earlier. At this point it was none of her business; her sole focus was on returning to campus. She had no intention of sparking the fight ready to explode.

They'd just reached Sylvania when the car began to sputter. Her heart in her mouth, Beth moved to the shoulder and slowed down, only to have the engine stall. She put the car in neutral, then park and peered at the readouts. "Gas tank's empty, I think."

"Aw, fuckin' a," Dylan groaned. "I gave Steve ten bucks to fill up yesterday!"

"He lost it to me in last night's game." Greg kicked the seat. "That means you get to walk to the nearest station and bring some back, shithead."

"Yeah, well you can pay for it then!"

Dylan had been gone for some time and Beth was nearly asleep when Greg said "She told you. In the bathroom."

"Yes." Beth stared out at the darkness. Now and then a semi went by, and the tail wind it created made the car rock a little.

"You're pissed off at me." He sounded disgusted.

"And you think I shouldn't be."

"It was to prove a point."

The cold logic in his statement stabbed at her. "You betrayed a friend just to do that."

"I didn't betray anyone. His idiot ex-girlfriend did." Greg exhaled. "Go back to sleep."

It was near dawn when Dylan showed up with a gas can. In silence he filled the tank, stowed the can in the trunk and resumed his seat. The rest of the journey was made without conversation. When Beth pulled up in front of her dorm she put the car in park, rested her hand on Dylan's shoulder for a moment, then gathered up her things and left the car without looking back.

'Ring My Bell,' Anita Ward