Tristan led me down 116^th Street to a large brownstone on the corner. Frat row in New York is a little different from other places – here, frats have brownstones. Tristan knocks on the door, but no one answers. We can hear music blasting inside, so he tries the handle. It’s open and we walk in.

Inside, the party feels like a whole different world. It’s as if college and Amsterdam Avenue and 116^th Street and New York in general don’t exist at all. Instead, all that exists is this magical world where everyone’s dressed in lavish gowns, tuxedos, and masks. Ah, the masks! The masks are everywhere. Some people are wearing masks that cover their whole faces and others wear the ones that cover just the eyes. The masks are nearly as lavish as the gowns. Most are covered in feathers and beads and silk, and each one is more ornate then the next. Do these people actually go to school with me?

I’ve been to many Halloween parties, but this one seems entirely different. There’s something mystical about people wearing masks and gowns – they appear so normal and yet extraordinary.

I follow Tristan along the wall as he greets his new friends and introduces me around. Much to my surprise, all the guys are quite polite and charming. Do I dare say it? Classy. They shake my hand and tell me how beautiful I look. A few poke fun at Tristan by saying that I’m slumming it by hanging out with him. He laughs, of course, and in that laugh, I don’t hear a hint of annoyance.

While we wait for my Long Island Ice Tea and his whiskey, I look around the room and start to look at Tristan in a whole new light.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“I don’t know. It’s just not what I expected,” I say with a shrug.

“And what did you expect? Keg stands and red cups? Beer pong?”

I nod. Of course. This is a frat party. Isn’t that the reputation?

“You shouldn’t be so judgmental, Alice,” he says. He hands me my drink and takes a sip of his. I didn’t think he would take this so personally.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“I know you’re biased against frats. I know you think they’re lame. Or just some excuse to drink all day or something. But they’re so much more.”

I nod. Maybe he’s right.

“You know, I brought you here to show you that your view of frats, it’s not the only one. They also have parties like these.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Perhaps, I was a little too quick to judge,” I finally say.

“Oh my God. Are you actually admitting fault?” he grabs his heart in shock.

“Yes, I did. I am wrong sometimes. Not often, but sometimes,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Now, let’s go dance.”

The dance floor is crowded and the music is so loud I can barely hear myself think, let alone hear anything that Tristan says. Quickly, we let go and lose ourselves in music. My dress isn’t too tight and I love the way it sparkles in the light.

Tristan sways his hips as he dances across from me. He’s an amazing dancer with a great sense of rhythm. When he was younger, his mom made him take dance classes. Those classes are one of Tristan’s deep dark secrets, but watching him dance in front of me – so effortlessly – makes me want to write his mom a thank you card.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” I scream at the top of my lungs just as the music dies down and switches to a slow song. Everyone around us turns to look at me.

“Sorry,” I say, cracking up laughing.

I’m about to walk away from the dance floor, but Tristan stops me. He takes my hand and puts it on his shoulder. He places his hand around my waist, pulling me close.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Dancing,” he says as he starts to grind to the slow rhythm of Alicia Keys. He guides one of his legs in between my thighs and presses his hard body against mine. I want to pull away, but I can’t. Physically unable to. I know he’ll stop if I ask him to, but I can’t do that either. I take a moment to catch my breath. I shouldn’t be doing this because of someone else. But, suddenly, I can’t remember his name.

We dance for a while, if you can call it dancing. What it really feels like is grinding on each other in public. It reminds me of our senior prom. Tristan flew down to go to prom with me and our friends. We spent the whole night pasted to each other, grinding completly inappropriately in front of our teachers and the principal.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks.

“What?” I ask. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I look up at him. We’re so close that I can smell his face. It smells like vanilla and honey. I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to lick him.

“You said you wanted to talk to me about something?” he says.

“Oh yes, I did. But we can talk about it later,” I say cautiously.

“No, now’s fine,” he whispers and pulls me closer.

“Okay,” I say with hesitation. “It’s about earlier. About what you and Dylan were talking about in the living room while we were getting ready.”

He stares at me for a moment. Slowly, disappointment creeps onto his face. Clearly this was not what he thought I was going to say.

“Sorry, we can talk about it later,” I say. The song ends, and he pulls away.

“I’m going to get another drink,” he says. “Want one?”

I follow him to the bar.

“You mean about my investment?” he asks after putting in his order. “So I’m investing with Dylan’s guy. So what?”

“So what? He promised you 15%. That’s crazy. It sounds like a Ponzi scheme.”

“Well, it’s not. Dylan’s father made $8 million last year with that guy. And Dylan has invested like $20 grand.”

“Well, Dylan has money to lose. You don’t,” I say.

“Hey, who the hell do you think you are, Alice? My mom? It’s my money and I say it’s a wise investment.”

I shake my head.

“You watch way too many of those American Greed shows and you think that you know everything about investing. Well, you don’t,” Tristan says and walks away from me.

“Tristan, wait!” I say. I try to follow him, take his arm, but he brushes me away. Within a few seconds, he disappears into a sea of people.

I don’t know what just happened. But suddenly, I found myself alone at a party where I didn’t know a soul. I was just trying to help. I didn’t mean to sound like I was his mom, though, in retrospect, I know I did. Maybe I do watch too much American Greed. Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe Dylan’s guy makes Tristan insanely wealthy and everything will turn out fine. I wander around the party and hope that I’m wrong about this.