Henry lets go with his hands, his ankles wavering to hold their balance as he slowly lifts himself up to a stand. My eyes widen and Nicki cackles behind me.

  “You’re hating this,” she says, grabbing hold of my arm and hugging it with her hands.

  “You have no idea. He’s going to get us caught,” I say, only looking at her for a blip because I’m too afraid to take my eyes off Henry.

  “Relax,” she says, which only makes me sicker.

  Everyone behind us is starting to laugh and cheer, and a few of Henry’s crew mates start to chant: “Howl, howl, howl!”

  “Oh my God,” I mutter to nobody really. It makes Nicki laugh even harder.

  Now fully stretched into a stand and with his hands cupped around his lips, Henry’s eyes glimmer from the fire and the moon as he tilts his chin and does just what his fan club asks of him.

  “Ow oww aww woooo!” His howl echoes through the small breezeway between the maintenance yard and the school, and I’m sure there’s no way it wasn’t heard by someone near the fire. My only hope is that they assume it’s him howling somewhere else.

  His hands fall away from his face slowly, out to his sides with his arms stretched wide, and his crooked grin finds me fast. He isn’t sorry. He’s never really sorry about anything. That’s the man he’s becoming, and I hate that I still like him so much.

  Henry finally leaps to the ground, pulling me into a bear hug and pressing his forehead to mine after he spins me around once. The smell from before is stronger now, and I think maybe I missed just how bad it was the first time. Maybe I just convinced myself.

  “I know you hate that, but I had to. It’s my birthday,” he says, a deep dimple forming in his cheek with his amused grin.

  “It’s not your birthday yet,” I remind him, my tone flat and as opposite of him as it possibly can be. I swallow while he stares at me, eyes hazed as he saunters backward for a few steps to taunt me.

  He looks up enough to still hold my gaze then howls one more time, giving me his answer. It’s more like a big “fuck you.” I feel it right in my chest.

  I follow along in the back alone, even my girls are keeping up more with Henry and the guys. We jog through the dark park and cross a few quiet streets until we get up to the busier roadways and Henry pulls out his phone.

  “They don’t have a car big enough for all of us, so I’m ordering two,” Henry says, waggling his finger over his phone screen and laughing at something I can’t hear that leaves the lips of a girl I don’t really know. I hate her. Whatever.

  “You don’t look good,” Ava says, coming back to me. She holds the back of her palm on my head for a minute to check if I have a fever, but I back away, embarrassed.

  “I’m just a little out of shape, I guess. That jog got me,” I say. I give her a tight-lipped smile and inwardly beg her to leave it alone.

  The cars arrive quickly, and I’m saved from any more questions, but the ridesharing plays out just as I feared. Henry waves the older girls into the back of the large SUV, climbing in with two of his teammates after them. The rest of us pile into a van, and the moment the door slides shut next to me, I imagine Henry making out with them all at once, in one big-fat-not-really-your-birthday orgy.

  I stew at my imagined torture for a few minutes before Nicki leans into me and whispers, “Stop.”

  I blink to her.

  “Stop what?” I ask.

  Her head tilts to the side and her eyes narrow.

  I know exactly what she means, and she’s right. My shoulders sag as I let out a heavy breath and I gather up the sleeves of Henry’s shirt into my palms, covering my knuckles.

  “You should probably just tell him how you feel about him,” she says.

  I shrug.

  “Yeah. But I won’t,” I admit.

  “I know,” she says, reaching her hand down to mine and squeezing it through the fabric of Henry’s shirt. I tuck my face against my shoulder and draw in the scent of him—wood and cinnamon, just like his Crew shirt smelled. I still have that one.

  We pull up to a glass building, the bottom floor glowing with strobing lights. It’s underage night at this place called Gala, but most of the people standing in the line look like they’re twenty-four. We spill out of the van after everyone’s exited the SUV Henry was in, and nearly everyone that was out of my sight has changed. Subtle changes, like sweaters tucked away in purses that were concealing barely-there shirts before we left, and skirts put on instead of jeans. One of the crew guys is carrying a backpack, which I’m pretty sure is holding the discarded clothing. I glance around with worry that I missed something with my friends, and I’m relieved Nicki, Anya, and Ava are all dressed exactly as they were when we left.

  Henry’s wearing a gray shirt that hugs his chest and arms, arms that have become more defined and bigger from a summer of rowing practice. I noticed before, but for whatever reason I’m mesmerized by them now. I follow his form through the doors of the club, past the line, as if he’s a steak scent and I’m a junkyard dog. The analogy is fitting because while the girls near him are dressed to match every other person in line, I look like the youthful girl on the poster outside advertising tonight’s Youth Night in the City.

  “I didn’t even wear better shoes,” I say, tugging on Nicki’s arm and looking down at my plane, white tennis shoes. I could have worn my Converse at least. I bought these with Henry, and they’re worn and dirty. I didn’t even think.

  “You look fine, Lily,” my friend says, tipping my chin up to look her in the eyes. Nicki doesn’t have to compare herself to others like me. She’s absolutely unique, and in a place like this, her dark goth style makes it easy to believe that she’s eighteen or nineteen. I’m almost sixteen, but I swear I pass for twelve.

  “Do you have any eyeliner? Maybe you can…”

  She sighs but takes my arm and moves me through the thick crowd to the ladies room.

  “My black shit is going to look really weird on you,” she says, plopping her purse on the sink counter and stretching it open wide in search of her makeup. She pulls out a clear bag, stuffed with all types of lipliners and mascaras. Every color in her bag looks like winter.

  “I love the way you always look,” I say, and she presses her finger on my mouth.

  “Shh. Let me do this,” she says.

  She pushes the wisps of hair around my face back and tilts my head back so I’m looking up, toward the light. The pencil makes a popping sound as she yanks off the cap, and I blink wildly as she gets closer to my eyes. I don’t wear a lot of makeup, and the things I do wear are more in the nude family of colors. My skin is pale and pink, like my mom’s, and she was always very minimal. She was beautiful.

  “Are you done playing butterfly?” I flit my gaze to Nicki’s frustrated face.

  “Sorry,” I utter. I pull my lips in tight and hold my breath while she colors and shades. She works fast, and when I look back at myself in the mirror when she’s done, I do feel a little transformed, maybe even…older.

  “Thanks,” I say, my smile growing.

  Nicki pulls the tie from my hair and ruffles her hand through my waves, giving my hair a little life.

  “I look less like I’ve been working a yard sale all day, right?”

  She blinks at me twice.

  “Uh huh,” she says, turning quickly and leaving me there to wonder if she was telling the truth or just irritated with me.

  No matter what, I still have Henry’s shirt on, and somehow that makes me better than every other friend he brought with us tonight. I push through the bathroom door and the wall of thumping music hits my chest. It takes me a few minutes to find familiar faces out on the dance floor. I find Henry first, body launching into the air over and over again like he’s at a rave and high on…

  Shit.

  I slip through the thick crowd of people near the DJ booth and push myself up on my toes, using the platform stage to gain height, and I spend the next several minutes just watching him move. I should have known something was wrong, that he was off. His eyes are so empty, zoned out and unable to focus, and his head just keeps waving from side to side with the heavy beat. He’s on something. I might be a good girl, but I’m also from the southside, and we have lots of things on our streets to get high on. Kids got kicked out of Public all the time for using, dealing, and holding for a friend.

  I’m nauseated just watching him sway. Eventually, this has to make him sick.

  “There you are. Come on, we’re all dancing,” Ava says, slipping through a group of guys who all part just so they can stare at her. Glancing to each side, she grabs my arm and yanks me out to the floor with her quickly, leaving me little choice but to bounce along with her.

  “Those guys were creepers!” she shouts.

  I glance over my shoulder to get a good look at them and instantly agree by the way they’re gawking at my friend. I take her hand and lead her deeper into the crowd with me so we can get lost, but I make mental notes of the creepers’ distinguishing features—goatees, a man bun, and flair on their jeans.

  “Henry was asking for you,” my friend says, leaning in so her mouth is nearly touching my ear. The music is so loud, I feel it in every organ of my body.

  “I doubt it!” I shout back to her. Her brow furrows, like she didn’t hear me, so I shout it again. She shakes her head at me and turns me around until I’m literally chest-to-chest with Henry.

  “He really was asking about you,” she says at my neck.

  Her words and his nearness sends a surge of panic through my chest. His shirt is damp with sweat. We’ve been here for twenty minutes and he’s already danced the equivalent of a marathon. He reaches out to my arms and drags his fingers down the length of them until he finds my fingertips, and when his hands connect with both of mine, I’m instantly grounded.

  And heartbroken.

  He’s not really looking at me. I mean, yes, his eyes are on my face, but I’m not what he’s seeing. He’s touching just to feel, and looking because everything to him right now is foreign and probably bright like candy.

  “What did you take?” I lean into him, wishing I had a time machine so I could zip back to whatever moment it was that he swallowed whatever shit he did.

  Henry brings one of my hands to his chest, flattening it against his heart, and I feel it racing underneath my touch. My brow pulls in tighter. As he takes my other hand and moves it around his neck, I form a fist with my other hand and pound against his chest. The sensation only makes him laugh wildly.

  “Dammit, Henry what did you take?” I shake loose of his grip and move my hands to his jaw, trying to force him to pay attention to me—to look me in the eyes. I only get glimpses of him, though. His focus is lost with every third beat, and as bodies gyrate around us and the crowd moves like a heavy undertow of the ocean, Henry slips away from me and into the arms of one of the girls he rode here with. Her eyes are just as detached as his.

  My friends are nowhere I can easily see, so I push and shove my way through the thickest part of the mob and come up for air at a group of seats on the opposite end of the venue. My chest is damp with sweat, and my bra straps are digging into my shoulder blades. I’m miserable, and worried, and really fucking sad.

  “This is nuts, huh?”

  It takes me a few seconds to recognize Caleb’s face, and not because he looks different. It’s that the world looks different right now—in here. It looks twisted and disappointing.

  “I miss the days of birthday cakes and pin the tail on some shit,” I shout at his shoulder. He tilts back with a laugh and nods, knowing I won’t hear him speak.

  I keep my eyes on Henry, on the girl he’s grinding with and her hands messing up every strand of his goddamn perfect and stupid hair. I torture myself with the view for an entire song, and as one rhythm morphs into a new one, I realize that while I’ve been watching Henry, Caleb’s been watching me.

  “You wanna go?” he asks when I look to him.

  “Oh…no, I’m fine,” I say, tempted by his offer. More than tempted. I do want to go.

  I let the vision of Henry fill my everything for another full minute, until his eyes clear just enough to focus on mine, not that I can be certain from fifty feet away. At least from this distance, I can’t make out the dilated pupils and lost expression. I can remember him howling earlier in the night—I can remember him giving me this shirt.

  I run my hands down the soft cotton until I get to the hem where I grip it tightly and squeeze.

  “Let’s go,” Caleb says against my ear.

  I turn to him quickly, ready to protest until I settle on his sympathetic eyes. His crooked smile falls into a frown, and I can tell that Caleb…he doesn’t really want to be here either.

  “Okay,” I say, a weight lifting the moment I give in, but a new one clinging to my heart. My first few steps are to the side so I can keep my guard on Henry, and I swear he’s watching me leave. I almost give in to the temptation to force my way through the crowd so I can get to him, but his eyes look up and his hands follow, and with one turn, he’s lost again.

  Caleb and I bump and push our way through the stream of people coming in, stopping to get a stamp from the man at the door. Apparently, we can’t get back in without one. The cool air finally hits my body at the curb, and even though the constant stream of traffic rushes by me from only a foot away, the air is suddenly so much cleaner.

  “I literally felt like I was drowning,” Caleb says, taking giant breaths while he holds his arms over his head. I meet his gaze and start to laugh.

  “Same,” I chuckle.

  We both turn in circles, looking first at the L curving along the track above us, then to the line of people still waiting to get in. I guess we opened up two more spots. Good deed for the day—check!

  “Wanna just…sit, I guess?” Caleb asks, nodding toward the wet gutter and littered curb.

  I sneer at the ground before softening my bunched lips as I look to Caleb.

  “I wanna go home.” With an arched brow, I silently pray as I will him to tell me he wants the same thing.

  “Done,” he says with a single nod. I’m not sure if he’s just being a gentleman or not, but his smile sets me at ease a little more. While Caleb pulls out his phone to get us a car, I type a message to my friends telling them I’m not feeling well but that I’m heading back with Caleb. I don’t want to ruin their fun.

  Nicki is the only one to reply before our car arrives.

  I know. Do you need me?

  I stare at her words for a few seconds. I’m not sure if her harsh honesty is the right medicine right now, even though I know she sees right through my lie. I decide to stick with Henry’s preppy friend, good old Ice Eyes.

  I’m ok. Have fun. PLEASE!

  I add that last part so she doesn’t waver or feel guilty. Caleb holds the back door open for me to climb into the car, shutting it for me and jogging to the other side to get in. I hold it together for almost five whole seconds, and when the car pulls away from the club—from Henry—I cry so hard I shake.

  Caleb pulls me to his side, and my head falls on his shoulder. We ride like that until the car stops a street away from school, blocked by a row of cypress that flank an old, catholic church. My hair stinks of sweat and smoke, and my chest hurts from all of my effort to breathe. I think maybe I had a panic attack. I also think maybe…maybe I’m a little in love with Henry Alderman.

  “I say when it’s his actual birthday, on Tuesday, you and I kidnap him as soon as he gets out of weight training, and we go have happy jacks at that lame breakfast place over by the kiddie land near the lake.” Caleb skips a little with his idea, but all I can do is offer a half smile that slips from my face as soon as my breath leaves my nose.

  “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying,” I say, looping my arm with his.

  He pats my bicep, but soon his fingers curl against my skin in a soft tickle that scratches the same tiny place again and again. My body is zapped with instant fear, and I panic in anticipation that Caleb’s about to kiss me. I ready myself for it, pulling away a little and tucking my chin into my chest as we walk. When Caleb stops abruptly, I slip away completely and cover my face with my hands in the lamest of all defensive moves ever.

  “I’m so sorry, Caleb, but I just wanna be friends!” I shout, but my words mix with his at the same time.

  “Lily, I’m gay, and I just have to tell someone here.”

  My reaction is bad, but not for the reason Caleb thinks. I was waiting to be kissed, and then his personal share was…well…it was huge! And a little like whiplash. His mouth pulls in tight, his face washed with instant regret, as if by sucking in his lips he can somehow suck back in the words and never tell me.

  But he did. And I really like Caleb—like a really good friend. Just like I said.

  “I’m not sure what to say next,” he says, chewing at his lip anxiously while his eyes dart from mine to anything else but me. His hands sink into the pockets of his black jeans and his dark hair falls over one eye. He flicks it back with a jerk of his head, then stares at me, waiting, while his shoulders crawl up to his ears.

  “You say, ‘I’m really glad we get to be friends.’” I pull my shoulders up to match his. I twist my body from side to side a few times, in recognition of our mutual anxiety and poor posture, and Caleb starts to laugh, then does the same. Soon, we’re both doing some form of the robot in a celebration of awkwardness, but then Caleb just stops and lets his arms fall to his side.

  He blinks.

  It would be so easy for me to wallow in the embarrassment of thinking he was into me. Kinda self-indulgent, sure, which is what would make it easy, but this moment is about Caleb. Of everyone in our tiny circle, Caleb chose me. I’m his person.

  I’ll be his person.

  I step into him with open arms and he falls into me quickly, his arms wrapping around me tightly while I cling to the back of his shirt. I can feel the vibration of fear and relief travel through his bones, and I squeeze tighter. We rock a few times in our embrace, and when he pulls away, my own sadness feels a little duller now.