“You’re going to be a challenge tonight. I can just tell,” I say, poorly masking the sigh that leaks out with my words.

  “So are you,” she fires back, sticking out her tongue and holding up her middle finger before dropping her body into the deep, well-worn seat and pulling the heavy door shut next to her.

  My lips draw in tight and I take a deep breath through my nose to reset my mood. I didn’t have to come tonight. I could have stuck to my guns and said no, stayed home, and gotten sleep. As much as I am complaining, a part of me wanted to go to the party too.

  I slip into the driver’s side and buckle up before twisting to look at my friend. I hold out my pinky and it takes her a few seconds to register what I’m doing. We used to make promises to each other like this in junior high, linking fingers and swearing to keep secrets or never to date this boy or that boy. When the gesture dawns on her, she laughs through one side of her mouth then loops her pinky with mine.

  “I will not be a challenge. I’m sorry,” I say, making a promise I’m not so sure I can keep. My reasoning depends completely on Sam’s ability to stay out of trouble though, so before we shake pinkies on it, I hold out my other palm, fingers stretched wide to halt her and add in my disclaimer.

  “I won’t…as long as you aren’t.” My lips pull in tight while I stare into her eyes and wait for her verdict. She gnaws at the inside of her cheek for a few seconds then grabs hold of my finger with hers and squeezes.

  “I’ll shake on this, but on my one condition.” Sam leans over the center console and lifts our tethered fingers up to our sightline.

  “I’m listening,” I say, chuckling lightly.

  “That you know I can’t promise you shit when cute boys and parties are involved,” she says.

  Our glare is serious for about a half a second before we both burst out a laugh and I shift into drive and move away from the front of my house.

  “Shit,” I mutter, knowing I’m in for a long night. I sit up tall to check her enormous mirror, and make a few adjustments, then settle in for the four-mile drive to Kelsey’s house. Sam adjusts her makeup the entire way.

  I remember the first time I went to a high school party. I had this idea in my head, the fault of all those eighties movies streaming non-stop on cable, really. There would be toilet paper and cups and naked people passed out all over the front lawn. Deejay-style music would be thumping and heard from far down the street. Cars would be lined up, and cops would try to bust the rowdiness up but be foiled as everyone ran away, running through backyards and jumping over hedges while they fled.

  Every bit of that illusion is a flat-out lie.

  Well, every bit but the cops. That part is real. Only they don’t need to chase. They don’t chase because kids like me are scared shitless and simply give themselves up for the crime of being young and stupid.

  My first party ended up with the cops calling the guardian of every single partygoer. I got away with it because my father slept through the phone calls and my mom was at work taking inventory of padded envelopes, bubble wrap, and tape. Sam’s mom claimed both of us, and her parents had margaritas flowing for the entire neighborhood that night—so after her mom picked us up we just became two more party guests for the adult version of what we’d just left.

  By the looks of the crowd at Kelsey’s house, I’m in for more of the same.

  Drunk doesn’t look wild and adventurous in real life. It’s sullen, like the group of dudes I recognize from our football team sitting on the leather couch in front of the seventy-inch TV, eyes red and zoned out on the video game they’re failing at. The sound effects are competing with the non-stop shuffle of someone’s badly constructed playlist. Whoever’s in charge of Kelsey’s sound system for the night can’t settle on their mood—rock, rap, and some shit that must be bootleg because it’s awful.

  A blender whirls in the distance and Sam grabs me by the wrist and leads me into a kitchen where eight or nine other girls are all standing around an island watching Kelsey blend something into slush.

  “Here, have Sam try it,” the girl directly across from us says when she spots us walk in.

  Kelsey shoots us a look over her shoulder, a vague recognition in her eyes of who I am. She knows Sam mostly. I’m the accessory friend.

  “Hey...” She feigns excitement to see us, her vocal fry trailing off the end of that word. She licks some of the pink juice from the top of her palm where it spilled during mixing and pours a cup for Sam.

  “You don’t even know what’s in that,” I scold. Wrong thing to say. Sam is obstinate; always has been. She shoots me a glare over the top of the Golden Gate Fries plastic tumbler and tilts it back as she gulps. It’s nearly half down before she comes up for air.

  “Oh!” The burn hits her throat and she squeezes her eyes shut tightly and shakes her head, sticking her tongue as she laughs.

  “Good?” Kelsey asks.

  “Fill me up,” my friend says, handing back her cup.

  “Want one?” Kelsey’s eyes dash to me while she pours again for my friend. The rest of the girls are lined up to get drunk together. It’s the queen giving out a daily ration of water. They’re all so thirsty.

  “I’m good.” My closed-lip grin masks my anxious insides. I have to be in the school parking lot in eight hours. I’m going to be miserable tomorrow.

  “Prude.”

  Jesse’s voice hums at my right ear with a breathy laugh, the gentle tickle of lips accompanying it. My pulse races to match the music blasting through the walls and it kicks until the sound abruptly stops so whoever is in charge can pick another song.

  Several glares across the kitchen are fixed on me. I’ve caught the eye roll from Kelsey. But I feel Sam’s cold shoulder the hardest. It’s been a week since the first kiss, and my neck has a tiny bruise from where Jesse’s lips spent long minutes in his room last night.

  I twist my neck enough to look him in the eyes. His hands are positioned at my hips, thumbs comfortably looped in the belt rungs of my jeans. I’ve fantasized about standing in front of him just like this, and yet all I can think about is my best friend who is probably livid right now…and not from jealousy. She’s mad because I’ve kept a secret.

  “I thought you only knew like, six people,” I say.

  Jesse’s right hand falls away and he puts a few more inches of distance between us.

  “I’m trying to expand my social circle.” He grins proudly, and my chest wars with flutters caused by both his charm and the quick escape my friend makes with her full cup of lord-knows-what kind of tonic. I jerk my head to follow her path.

  “Everything all right?” Jesse asks.

  My shoulders lift with a heavy breath I hold onto. I let it spill out through my nose slowly as I return my attention to Jesse.

  “Yeah. I just like to keep an eye on her is all. She can get a little…in over her head.”

  The squeeze of guilt eases in my chest as my eyes settle back on his, and the rest of the room fades away when he takes both of his hands and sweeps my hair behind my ears, stepping into me enough to kiss my forehead.

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” I say, leaning into the wall behind me. Jesse’s hands take mine lightly, swinging them between us.

  “I like to keep an eye on you is all,” he says, echoing me.

  I give him a sideways and skeptical look and hang on his expression until it breaks and he draws in his own deep breath.

  “And…maybe my dad called today,” he finally admits.

  I’ve been dying to ask him questions about Alton, to learn more than the bits and pieces I heard from Rag. A burst of cackling laughter erupts from the counter where the other girls are gathered, and I instinctually turn, expecting them to all be eavesdropping on our conversation, only to find that Kelsey forgot to put a lid on the blender.

  Jesse nods toward the patio door. I let him lead us through the messy kitchen to the crisp darkness outside where two guys I vaguely recognize are smoking from a vape pen. We find some lounge chairs folded on their sides and drag them across the bricks to a dark corner for privacy, and Jesse runs the sleeve of his black sweatshirt along the cushion to clear away the dew for me to sit down. I fold up my legs and tuck my hands under my calves to keep them warm. I didn’t dress for the outdoors—jeans, my white Chucks that Sam wrote the word BITCH on in pen, and my drumline T-shirt—and there’s just enough chill in the air to make it uncomfortable. I’ll hide it, though. I’ll hide it because I like being in the darkness alone with this boy, and I don’t want him to suggest we go inside for a very long time.

  “So the great Alton calls upon you, huh?” My body tingles nervously at the mention of his dad’s name. I’m not sure how to bring it up, if I’m allowed to say his name or if it’s one of those not-to-be spoken kinda things. Thankfully, he laughs in response.

  “I’m not sure I would assign the adjective great to him. Mediocre…maybe?” He gives me a lopsided smile.

  “Fair enough,” I say.

  Jesse settles into his lounge chair, his body taking up the entire length. His knee sticks out of the large hole in his jeans as he crosses his ankles and folds his hands behind his neck, face to the sky.

  “No moon tonight,” he breathes out. I glance up to the black sky, a sprinkling of stars visible. “I love it when it’s like this. The world becomes this huge blanket you can just hide underneath.”

  My chin falls back to my chest and I look at him, his eyes mesmerized by space above.

  “You like darkness.” I don’t ask it; I just make the observation. There’s so much about Jesse that I somehow know. He has these things that I recognize, things I see in myself—things I saw in Ella, too.

  “I do,” he says. A long exhale follows. I adjust my position to hug my knees to my chest, both for warmth and to give my chin a place to rest while I stare at him a little longer.

  “So, the mediocre Alton,” I lead.

  Jesse’s body shakes with a silent laugh before he unravels his hands and runs his palm over his face, stopping to pinch the bridge of his nose.

  “He’ll stop calling. He always does. He comes up for air, wants to get involved in my life, then he sinks back into the sewage he belongs in. It’s just stressful…when he shows up and calls. Stresses my mom out, ya know?” He lifts his head enough to look me in the eyes.

  “Uh hmmmm,” I agree.

  I know there’s more to everything, though. I sense it. I just don’t know how to unfold it. Jesse is this complicated package I’m afraid to unpack. These early layers are so wonderful and so soft and approachable. I’m wary of the ones I’ll find underneath. Calm covers storms.

  “You can ask, you know…” Jesse sits up and drops his legs to the ground so he’s facing me. He rubs his hands together and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. I let go of my knees so my legs can fall forward, the toes of my shoes an inch away from his.

  “You hate him?” It’s a question I already know the answer to, and that seems safe.

  “With every fiber of my soul,” he says through a slow grin.

  I nod.

  “Rag told me about…”

  “About the time I tried to kill him. Yeah…” he finishes my words.

  I nod again, this time looking down at the crack between two bricks. Jesse shifts to the side, pulling his wallet from his pocket. I expect the rolled-up joint to make an appearance next, but instead, he slides a worn photo from one of the card slots and hands it to me.

  The kid in the photo is maybe six or seven, and I can tell from the dimples that it’s Jesse, even though his hair is a much-lighter blond.

  “You were cute,” I say, holding the photo in my palm. A guitar slung over his shoulder, dark jeans, and a Ramones shirt that falls to his knees—the young Jesse looks back at me with this intense fire in his eyes. Even as a kid, he was so driven to make music.

  “Alton gave me that guitar. It was my first…it’s when I started playing. Probably the only fucking reason I ever learned how, honestly,” he says, taking the picture and glancing at it hard for a few seconds before sliding it into its place. “He gave me that a week after I threatened his life and told him never to come back.”

  He puffs out a short laugh, his eyes closing for a beat at the memory. I sink back, letting the reality soak in. Jesse chuckles, but it’s a sad one.

  “Yeah, so…we can all be bought. I guess that’s what I learned from it all,” he says.

  A few more people stumble out through the sliding glass door, one of them tripping over the lip to the patio, and both of us turn our attention to them. Sam’s holding onto one of the guy’s arms, and I lock onto her to keep her in my periphery, even when I give my attention over to Jesse.

  “Your talent is real,” I say, pulling his eyes to mine. His mouth lifts on one side with modesty.

  “Thanks, but that wasn’t the point,” he says.

  “I know it wasn’t,” I say quickly. I’m finding my comfort with him, a little at a time. “But it’s still the truth, and you can’t separate those things. You need to remind yourself that while this douchebag gave you a guitar to make himself feel better about being a really shitty parent, you’re the one who made it sound like nobody else can. You’re the one who had the passion to learn it, to become so…”

  His smile is growing with a flirtatious lilt and it throws me off. I giggle like a school girl and hide my face, bringing my sleeve-covered hand up so I can chew at my fingers and blush and grin like a fool without it completely being exposed.

  “You’re the one who became a genius, Jesse. You…not him.”

  My entire body is throbbing with the massive beating of my heart, and the sensation only gets stronger the longer he stares at me. That playful grin shifts into something more sincere, though, as seconds pass and he stares at me. Eventually, he leans forward and rests his chin on his palm, his hand covering half of his smile. I do believe…he’s embarrassed.

  “Thanks,” he says, and I can tell that every bit of him means it.

  This quiet moment lasts for exactly four more seconds before it’s interrupted by the sound of an open palm coming down hard on skin. My gaze zeroes in at the sound of my best friend’s voice calling someone a “fucking asshole.”

  Jesse is on his feet at the words. In the matter of one blink of my eyes, he’s grabbed the target of Sam’s remarks by the front of his shirt and is shoving him backward until he stumbles in the grass.

  “You touch her?” Jesse points at him, and the fire that radiates off him makes his slender frame suddenly seem wild and intimidating.

  The asshole gets to his feet, every bit of his body ready for a fight. I stand and rush to the small crowd starting to form as more people spill out of the back of Kelsey’s house.

  “Relax, man. I just pissed her off. It’s a party…and who the fuck invited you?” This guy is totally Sam’s type, and totally the reason I’m constantly begging her to change her type. His low-slung board shorts and thermal shirt are typical beach-bum wear, even though it’s sixty degrees outside and we’re nearly a hundred miles from a beach in this town.

  “I invited him! And you know what? You did piss me off!” My friend shoves at the guy, barely moving him.

  Her rage only causes him to laugh at her expense, but when he utters the word “bitch” under his breath, she unleashes a tornado of slaps against his arm that start to break skin with every scratch of her nails. “Fuck, man…and who invited you? I thought you were cool, and we were just hanging, but…”

  The asshole shoves Sam away from him, his force strong enough to knock her down and send my friend bouncing along the bricks. The fall rips the fashionable hole in her jeans open so far nearly her entire hip is exposed.

  I rush to my friend, helping her to stand, but in those few seconds, Jesse has completely switched gears and is in full wrath. I hear the first two punches, seeing the third and fourth that are met by equal flying fists from the asshole.

  Every time Jesse’s hit, it only seems to make him stronger, and in a breath, at least a dozen guys are pushing and shoving, throwing each other to the ground and knocking over things on Kelsey’s patio. The tall umbrellas that are bound and put away for the winter tumble as Jesse’s body is thrust backward into them. Then he shoves some guy I didn’t see before into the barbeque grill, rolling it back a few feet, which is just far enough to move it from the bricks to the dry grass of the lawn.

  “What the hell!” Kelsey shouts as she comes racing through her patio door. Her voice is drowned out by the testosterone-fueled grunts and growls of the full-on brawl unravelling at my feet.

  “Are you okay?” I ask my friend. My heart is pounding from the rush of adrenaline and my legs are unsteady where I stand. I don’t know what to do, and I keep reaching for Jesse, trying to get his attention as if there’s any way I can stop an attacking bull. He’s become rabid.

  “I’m fine,” my friend says, shrugging me off, her tone still cold toward me because I kept Jesse a secret. I groan and give my full attention to Jesse’s arm, cocked and ready to swing wildly at some new guy who has gotten involved in this fight. He jerks forward while I’m holding on and my body slams into his side, but I don’t let go.

  “Jesse!” I shout right at his ear. His breath ragged and a gritted smile on his face, he turns his head so our eyes meet and lock. It takes a few seconds for his bicep to ease up under my touch, but eventually it does. I pull him a few strides away from the other guys, from the asshole wiping blood from his lip on his sleeve, ruining a perfectly lame waffle shirt.

  “Just get out of here!” the guy shouts. I feel Jesse’s arm tick under my touch as he steps at the guy fast enough to make him flinch. More words are exchanged through drunken mutters and slurs, but Jesse just holds the guy in his line of sight while he looks at him sideways on our way back to the house. Tough guy leans forward to spit. Boys act like dogs sometimes, territorial and alpha as shit.

  “Come on, I’ll drive,” I say, pulling Sam’s keys from my front pocket and turning to urge them both to follow me out.