"what kind of role model are you?"

Hayley went back that night, alone. She retrieved her car from the parking lot as soon as she signed out for the evening and drove the single mile down route 94, turning left into the now-familiar parking lot lit by orange and green fluorescents. As she pulled in, she spotted the car that must have belonged to Corey - a white Taurus station wagon that Daniel had mentioned the night before. She panicked. Should she be bold and park next to him? Would that be too foward a move, in the event they would bond that night and end up walking out to their cars together? She didn't want to park all the way across the lot, in case they were engaged in conversation during this hypothetical walk; if she parked far away, the conversation would be disrupted as soon as she began moving toward her car. The tidal wave of a decision hung tall, but crashed when she decided to park three spaces out from him, to give their farewell walks similar trajectories but to protect her from saying something stupid like, "Well, look at that, we parked next to each other, golly!" She knew she'd never actually say something like "golly" out loud, but the Corey from her hypothetical fantasy had looked at her in disgust when she hypothetically commented on adjacent parking with far too much enthusiasm. Placated, she beeped her car lock and clipped her keys to her belt loop, walking gracefully toe-to-heel across the uneven cement.

It was the third night in a row she'd been in the bar, but without the familiar comfort of Beth at her side, the ease she had experienced previously was significantly diminished. Her first glance around reported that Corey was stationed at a small circular table by the wall, facing the back door and holding a fan of playing cards. Seated across from him was a girl with a mess of black and blonde hair gathered into a short, stick-straight ponytail. The girl's face boasted a monroe piercing and wide blue eyes lined with mascara-commercial lashes, and after she laid down her own fan of cards on the table, she stood up to fetch more drinks, straightening out a vintage soccer t-shirt over skinny jeans. Hayley winced at her own outfit, jeans and a flannel, both wrinkled and hastily thrown together; she had few items in her camp wardrobe that were flattering or even clean at this point, and she felt grimy as she looked at the indie-rock fairy commanding Corey's company.

Regardless, she dubiously took a seat in the same spot from the night before and ordered a drink from the female bartender whom she did not recognize. She hunkered over the draft beer, both hands on the glass, and began to feel stupid. She kept stealing glances back towards Corey, who still held down his fort with the girl, and Hayley's resolute began fading fast. Why am I here? she wondered. What in the world was I thinking, that I'd show up and he'd magically be alone and approachable and willing to talk to me? She rubbed at her nose, which, in the real world, had a silver stud in it, but the camp director had made her remove it upon signing her hiring papers. Now there was only a small bump where the jewelry used to be.

She finished the beer and, with a lingering glance at Corey, decided it was time to leave. As she was gathering up her purse, shaking her head in defeat, a guy with a bulky frame and dark brown eyes sat down next to her and smiled. "Hey," he said. "You're Beth's friend, right?"

Hayley froze, half-standing, half-sitting on the bar stool. Sure, she had been to this bar three times in as many nights, but she had always assumed her presence was invisible, or at best negligible next to her naturally chatty cousin. Her surprise at being recognized shined through in her awkward stance, hovering over the stool, and the guy laughed. "I thought you were. I'm Brandon. I go to school with Beth."

She was still slightly unnerved at the fact that she was fully visible, but Brandon's eyes were kind and welcoming, so she stuck her hand out for an introduction with a tentative smile. "I'm Hayley. Beth's cousin, actually."

They clasped hands, and Hayley hoped hers wasn't too clammy. Brandon nodded toward her empty glass. "You need another drink?"

"Oh no, that's fine," she said, waving her hands. "I was actually just about to get going..."

"Oh," Brandon said, taken aback. "Are you sure? I thought I saw you just get here."

Hayley ducked her head, sheepish. "I did," she admitted. "I...I don't know. I had the ngith off, and was hoping to maybe run into somebody I knew..." Her eyes darted over Brandon's shoulder, to Corey, who was laughing as he smacked his female companion in the forehead with his cards. "I don't know," she repeated, with an embarrassed laugh in her throat. "I feel pretty dumb here by myself."

Brandon waved his hand dismissively. "Are you serious? We all come here by ourselves, ah, pretty much every night. Beth, too. She usually shows up alone." He spoke assuredly, and Hayley couldn't help but smile as some of the ease from the previous nights flooded back to soothe her. Brandon smiled back. His face was open. "I was just about to buy a round for the guys," he said. "Do you want to do a shot?"

He led her to the other corner of the bar, where three other dudes waited, laughing with effortless male camaraderie. She stood slightly off to the side, not wanting to intrude on their circle, while Brandon ordered five shots of something called monkey juice; the guys groaned in response and the girl tending bar threw her head back in laughter. She retrieved a stainless steel bottle molded to the shape of a fat monkey sitting Buddha style and poured an amber color liquor into a row of shot glasses, not bothering to tip the bottle upright as she moved from glass to glass. Brandon thanked her, put what looked like a fifty dollar bill onto the counter, and passed the shots out. Hayley held hers gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, reluctant to ask what the drink was, and the other guys formed a circle with her and Brandon, armed and ready for the clink-and-drink. "Your call, Brandon," one of them said, eyeballing Hayley with uncertainty.

Brandon shallowly rolled the shot glass in his hand, pondering. He lifted up the drink, tilting it towards Hayley, and said "Here's to...ummm..." His face colored with embarrassment as he struggled to find her name, and the guy who spoke before let out of a scoff.

"Hayley," she said. She even threw in a generous smile, to placate Brandon's snickering companions. "It's Hayley."

"Aha!" Brandon nodded. "Right. Okay. Here's to the look Hayley will have on her face in about ten seconds."

Before she had time to question anything, the boys all whooped in unison, smacked their glasses against hers, and downed their drinks. Hayley followed suit, but the liquid burned her tongue with bitterness and her throat clutched in response, unwilling to let the harsh liquor into her body. It took everything she had not to spit it out, and she coughed wildly as the inferno of a drink dripped down past her throat, burning it on its angry path. The other dudes had similar reactions and gripped one another by the shoulders, letting out loud sighs of exclamation and relief. "Oh, Jesus!" one exclaimed. "Kerry, what the fuck was in that?"

The girl behind the bar consulted a paper behind the register. "Ohhh shit guys, this was good," she said. "White tequila, Jose tequila, two hits of Jack, orange Stoli, a splash of Jager, and some Beefeater gin to top it all off. Nice," she said, flinging the list aside and shaking her head. "You guys are fucking out of your minds."

Hayley's eyes widened. "What the fuck?" She choked a little again, out of reflex. The inferno was still incinerating her esophagus.

Brandon laughed, a little strained himself because of the mismatched concoction. "Yeah..." he began. "Whenever there's not enough of whatever in a bottle to finish someone's drink off, they just pour it into the monkey flask and serve out really cheap shots of it."

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, but then dissolved into laughter. "So," she said, "you decide to serve it to unsuspecting newcomers, like myself. Who just happened to come alone tonight."

"Yeah, that's kind of the idea," said the guy who spoke earlier, chiming in. "Especially to girls who show up alone. You know, get them drunk, promise them shit, take advantage of them in the backseat of my car..."

"Just another night around here," Brandon finished, laughing. "Hayley, have you had the pleasure of being assaulted by my friend Trent yet?"

She shook her head, bemused by their banter. "I can't say I have." She held out her hand, and he shook it firmly with a grin. "Well, you might expect to later," he cackled with a wink.

"Yeah, like I said, nightly occurrence around here," Brandon offered. "My night just isn't complete without a firm cock squeeze from Trent D."

The guys laughed, and Hayley couldn't help but join. Brandon gestured to the bar. "You guys want something to drink?"

Trent shook his head. "Dude, you just got the last round."

"It's not a problem. What do you want, Heineken? Yeah? Hay, what about you?"

Hayley paused, noting duly the shortened version of her name. "Beer's fine...whatever's on special, I guess."