“Wait right here for me, then,” she says, shrugging Mr. Wang’s head off her shoulder and trying to hold in her disgust. “I’ll be back.”

“Oh yeah,” he says, grinning happily.

Janie mingles her way to the bathroom with her untouched punch and stands in line. By the time she gets in there, she hears the clumping of a dozen feet coming up the stairs. Mr. Durbin’s explaining boisterously that somebody’s gotta be the one to start eating, because the girls aren’t doing it. She locks herself in the bathroom and does the drink test again.

Spreads the drop of punch on the paper.

Waits thirty seconds.

Watches it change to bright blue.

Her stomach lurches.

Rooffies.

She dumps the punch into the toilet, and flushes.

Searches through the drawers and cupboards for bottles of liquid, powder, or pills. Finds nothing. Janie could call in the cops now, she knows. But she doesn’t have proof that it was Mr. Durbin who did it.

What if one of the other students brought it in? If Janie can find the drugs, it’ll help even more in prosecuting the bastard. She remembers the last case, how frustrated Cabel and Captain were when Baker and Cobb busted the drug scene before Cabel could get the location of the cocaine. Janie wants proof. Wants to get this done right. It’s still early, she thinks as she rifles through Mr. Durbin’s things. I can find it.

Heads across the hall and searches the bedroom. Slips into the other bedroom and searches it, too. Nothing, nothing. Back downstairs, she thinks.

It’s hot, and Janie’s really thirsty now. She takes a sip from the beer in her hand. It’s flat and warm. But it’ll have to do. Captain won’t blame her for trying to stay hydrated, will she? After all, Janie’s just being smart. She knows from experience that she can easily handle two beers without it affecting her.

Janie eases past a few guys standing in the kitchen and heads to the basement. The TV and lights are all on. But everyone is upstairs now.

She hopes they stay that way. She slips into the dark room with the lab table, and peers at the labels, moving the big items to search for smaller containers. She doesn’t see what she’s looking for. Frustrated, she turns and goes back upstairs. Dumps out the rest of her stale beer. Grabs a fresh one from the refrigerator and a paper plate from the food table.

She loads up her plate, taking a long, thirsty swig of her beer between the meatballs and the veggie tray. It’s gotta be here somewhere, she thinks. Maybe Durbin’s bedroom? But the door’s closed, and it’s right off the great room. I’d be seen. And what if he’s in there?

Janie shoves half a meatball in her mouth, and chews. Delicious. She noshes on a carrot stick, and moves toward the great room. Finds a place in the crowd to stand and eat. Thinking. Thinking hard.

People are out of control.

She munches, eyes like slits, looking for Mr. Durbin and Mr. Wang.

The roar of voices is growing stronger every minute. The music grows steadily louder.

She concentrates on her watch. Makes her eyes focus. 11:08 p.m.

11:09 p.m.

Squeezes between two guys with her plate of food and her beer, and discovers what they are so engrossed in watching.

Janie stares at the scene. She’s feeling the effects of the beer, even though she only sipped a little from the first and drank half of the second. Still, she’s dying of thirst and doesn’t dare to drink anything else. She chugs down the rest of this beer, and then eats quickly, knowing she still has work to do. Knowing things are getting a little crazy.

She glances at the punch bowl. Nearly empty. Students are sprawled around the room, sitting on one anothers’ laps, making out. A few are sitting alone, a vacant, dazed look on their faces. And in the middle of the room, where everyone else’s eyes are riveted, Mr. Wang and Stacey O’Grady are dirty dancing. Very dirty. Mr. Wang’s shirt is off, and his muscles bulge and shine with sweat. Janie’s eyes wander over his body, and she is surprised to find him suddenly, strangely, attractive.

Stacey is completely toasted. She can hardly stand up. Janie reminds herself to keep an eye on her. People are slurping the dregs of the punch, like it’s a desert oasis. Mr. Durbin comes from the kitchen with more.

Janie lets her eyes wander lazily as she eats. She’s feeling tired.

Mellow. The guys who aren’t otherwise occupied head back downstairs, tripping and shoving their way to the TV. Janie’s head is buzzing now, and she’s surprised—she’s only really had one beer. She should eat more, she tells herself, to stop the buzz.

Back in the kitchen, she loads up her plate a second time, head starting to spin. She leans against the counter, hoping it will pass.

And then she stops.

A distant thought—a nudge. Something she was about to do. She pictures it.

Looks up on top of the refrigerator.

A can of paint stripper.

A bottle of Red Devil Lye.

That’s…something, she thinks, screwing her eyes shut, trying to concentrate. But her brain isn’t working right. That’s…that’s it. She knows she needs to remember it, but now she can’t imagine why.

Janie’s buzzing hard now, and she’s not sure she likes it. She sits down on the floor and digs into the food, trying to stop spinning, finish the food on her plate, feeling sleepy. Gotta call… The thought pops into her head, but leaves again just as quickly. Someone trips over her leg, and Janie drags her body up off the floor and stands, and then tries to remember why she stood up at all. She shakes her head, attempting to clear her mind, and gets dizzy, nearly falls, bumping into somebody else who looks vaguely familiar. She laughs at herself and remembers what she has to do. She picks up her plate and throws it in the garbage can. Two points.