Not everyone, exactly. The light above me suddenly flickered on again, and the guy in the pink shirt was standing next to me. In big black letters across his chest, his shirt read, “Real men wear pink.” I stared at him, probably longer than was polite. Something about him felt so familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

He looked older than me, probably in his early twenties, and he wasn’t particularly muscular or tall. In fact, he leaned more towards wiry than he did muscular, and I couldn’t imagine what had frightened off the other guys. His face was open and friendly, and he had an easy smile that I couldn’t help but respond to, even though I had just been a few moments away from death.

“Are you okay?” he asked, appraising me up and down. There was something weirdly comforting about the way he looked at me. It wasn’t the way the other guys looked; he really just wanted to be sure I was alright.

“Yeah,” I said in a voice that barely sounded like my own. “You saved my life.”

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he replied, completely ignoring the fact that he’d done anything heroic.

“I’m not.” Suddenly, I remembered Jane and started looking around for her. A part of me was angry that she had done nothing to save me, but then again, neither had I, and I didn’t think that I should hold her to a higher standard than I did myself. “My friend Jane is around here somewhere.”

“Two girls?” Even the dark, I saw him raise an eyebrow and shake his head. “Real safe.”

“I think Jane has mace,” I mumbled lamely.

“Where is this alleged friend?” He took his turn scanning the parking lot, and then pointed to something by a van parked on the other side. “I think I see her over there.”