We drove back separately that evening, Rohan beating me back to Demon Club. By the time I pulled in, he was already parked, sitting on the hood of his car, Skyping with someone.

"Your mom threw that shirt out years ago."

I pulled up short at the Indian-accented man's voice coming out of Ro's phone.

Rohan clutched his T-shirt possessively. "She can keep thinking that."

His dad laughed. "Coward. Are you coming home for the golf tournament?"

Another ...