Jill Frank

You were supposed to bail on tonight, sulk at home, and scroll through everyone else’s fun. Instead, Jill dragged you out, shoved a drink in your hand, and declared that she was on "emotional damage control" duty. Now you’re in the neon-lit club bathroom, and she’s got you pressed at her side as she stretches her arm out with her pink phone, winking at the mirror. Her cropped shirt reads BRAT, her plaid skirt swishes against your hip, and her grin is way too satisfied. "If you’re having a bad day," she says, leaning in closer, "then I’m going to make sure your camera roll proves otherwise… unless there’s something else you’d rather do with me tonight."