Miles is home.

And when Miles is home he “likes to party.”

Who says that?

He does, apparently, and when he throws a party, it’s like Halloween minus the already minimal clothing. Miles, with his blond hair, unnatural tan, and surfer-boy looks, is amidst it all.

I’m going to assume that many of the people filling our house and the backyard are members of his profession or at least are open to the participation of the activities that make up his career.

I stand taller and push off the balcony railings, pulling my gaze away from the two girls making out on the lawn to look at Bradley standing next to me, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, drool leaking from the corner. He must catch me watching him because he shrugs, wipes his lips on his sleeve. “What?”

I slap his back, tell him, “Enjoy,” and ignore his attempt at shaming me for not giving a shit about what’s going on around me. I go back to my room, shut the door, close the curtains and sit at my desk. Then I open my laptop, try to block out the music rattling my walls and endeavor to get some studying done. I read the same two paragraphs four times and set a reminder in my phone to buy earplugs—heavy-duty, industrial type ones, which I’m sure won’t completely drown out the noise.

My phone buzzes in my hand, Bradley’s face lighting up the full length of my screen. I answer, but I don’t speak. “Open your fucking balcony door!” he yells, so I stand up, phone still to ear, and slide the door open without bothering to look at what’s on the other side.

“What?” I shout over the music. But it’s not him; it’s Andie standing in front of me, eyes wide at my tone. I immediately hang up, my embarrassment climbing from my neck to my cheeks, settling on the tips of my ears.

Bradley’s standing behind her, pointing at her wild curls. “She’s been knocking for, like, ten years!”

I look down at Andie, who’s grimacing from either Bradley’s shouting or the music—who knows—but she looks uncomfortable, and so I ignore the anxiety floating in my cells and pull her into the room gently, closing the door after her. The volume of the music settles to a dull thump. Andie shouts, “There’s a three-way about to go down in my house.”

My gaze snaps to hers. “What?”

“I opened the door to see what was going on, and these people barged in, and I’m pretty sure—”

I don’t think; I just run. Out of the room, onto the balcony, down the stairs and into Andie’s house. She’s right. One guy, two girls, on the couch in various forms of undress. I kick the guy, not as hard as I’d like, but he gets the hint. “Out,” I snap.

His glassy eyes meet mine. “The fuck, bruh?”

“Get out.”

“It’s a party.”

Andie yells, using me as a shield, “This is my house!”

I point to the door they weren’t invited through. “Get out!”

The girls are the first to get dressed, and I look away at the sight of nipples. The guy, though? He doesn’t give a shit about everything he’s displaying and walks out of Andie’s house with cockiness in his step.

“Thank you,” Andie says. “I tried to tell Bradley, but he was more interested in—”

“Are you here alone?” I cut in.

Andie nods.

I remove my cap, run my hand through my hair, and replace it. “You got keys for that door?”

“Yeah.” She picks up a set of keys from the coffee table behind us.

“Come on,” I tell her, gently taking her hand. It’s soft, delicate, dwarfed by mine as I lead her out of the house and wait until she locks the door. The slight adrenaline mixed with anger at what happened overcomes my shyness while I guide her up the stairs and into my room. I motion to the sofa, and when she takes the hint and sits down, her eyes on me, I try to settle my breathing. I grab a soda from the fridge and hand it to her, asking, “Are you on your own a lot?”

She pops the cap, takes a sip, and nods while licking the taste off her lips.

My pulse skips a beat.

Two.

Then, “Milky works nights so...”

“What time does she get home?”

“Normally around 3:30.”

I don’t know why I care about Andie enough to hate that she’s home alone most nights. I hate Miles for throwing this over-the-top party. I hate the people who entered her house uninvited. I hate Bradley for not giving a shit when she went to him for help.

“Noah?”

I hate that her voice seems to soothe me.

“You look like you’re about to pop a blood vessel,” she says, standing up and walking toward me. I don’t know why she’s coming at me the way she is but I take a step back, and then another, and another, until the backs of my knees hit my bed and my ass lands on the mattress, my head tilted, watching her confused eyes taking me in.

Erratic pulse and sweaty palms and a mouth too dry to swallow, I try to maintain my composure. “You want to get out of here?”

Gunmetal-gray eyes swing to mine, pinning me to my words until I’ve realized what I’ve said and how it came across. Saving myself, I point to my laptop and open textbooks and say, “I need to study and I can’t here. And I don’t like the idea of you being alone with everything going on.” I find myself watching Andie, begging and pleading silently for her to not ask questions, but just to allow me to save her.

“Okay.”