"Okay, time to go," said a really tall guy who came out of nowhere. He grabbed Doug’s arm and escorted him, backward, stumbling, toward the door.

"Don’t be too mean to him," the girl called after them. "He didn’t do anything."

Don’t be too mean to him, thought Doug. Not TOO mean. He was fifteen years old, he would always be fifteen years old, and it was possibly the nicest thing any girl would ever say about him.

Doug dug in his heels. "Wait," he said. "I can’t leave without my friend. I dragged him here."

His escort appeared speechless that Doug had been able to stop their momentum at all. Another tall, good-looking teenager had to step up to the plate.

"Fuck, there are more of you?" he said. "Where’s your friend?"

"Probably hiding in a bathroom."

This second guy went off to look, leaving the first to stand there and hold Doug’s arm and glare.

"Look, you can let me go," said Doug. "I’m not going to turn into a bat or anything."

"Heh. What? Shut up."

"Seriously. I’ll leave as soon as my friend gets here."

"I think you can let him go," said someone new.

Doug’s escort let him go. "Whatever. Your house, Paul."

"Oh," said Doug to the new kid. "You’re Paul. Nice party."

"Thanks. How did you find out about it?"

"I found a flyer at the convention center. At the pre-con party. It was under Stan Lee’s foot."

"Someone must’ve dropped one," said Paul. "Sorry, it was more of an invite-only thing."

"I didn’t know."

Just then Jay appeared with a tall guy holding each arm.

"Here he is," one of them said. "People in the bathroom line said he’d been in there a half hour."

Doug glanced at his watch. That sounded about right.