I don’t realize there’s a party Friday night until Makayla tells me at the end of band class.

“Jake’s dad is in South America.”

“Um, what?” I’m taking my clarinet apart.

“Yep. Gone the whole week, so he’s throwing a party.”

Jake’s dad is a pediatric neurosurgeon who gives conferences all over the world. The Yahns’ house is big and beautiful, in the Asheville hills, not far from mine.

“Anyway,” Makayla says, snapping her flute case closed, “you have to go. Landon is going.”

“He is?”

She smiles wickedly. “Jake’s forward-thinking ass invited some of the guys over for a fishing thing last week. He didn’t mention his parents’ absence, so none of the guys had to play it off to their parents. Now everyone has permission to be gone that night—so all you need is to spend the night with me and we’re golden.”

I think this over while I spread some oil on one of my clarinet’s corks.

“Oh, come on, you giant square. No one’s going to pour liquor down your throat. You can be my handler. And Landon’s.”

My stomach tightens as she says that, and my best friend leans toward me. “Evie, I know you. Since we were two,” she whispers. “If nothing’s happened yet, I’d be surprised.”

I look down at my shoes, a gray suede boot on my right foot, and the black plastic boot on my left. Makayla throws her arms around me. “Okay, Eeyore. I’m sorry that I said something. But you’re coming tonight. You are.”

Of course I am.

Mom and Dad have no problem letting me stay with Makayla, whose parents they trust. And Makayla’s parents have no problem letting her stay with me. Neither of us has ever given them any reason to distrust us—that they know of.

Landon leaves with Jake and the guys shortly after school lets out, for a weekend of fishing at the Yahns’. Their property is beautiful and fairly big: a hundred or so acres of prime hill country. So the fishing/camping story is a good one.

I feel a little bad for lying to my parents, but I mostly feel excited as I pack my overnight bag. I get into Makayla’s car in jean shorts and a light blue top. She takes one look at me and shakes her head. We make a pit stop at a gas station while Makayla sends me inside to change into a dress she brought me.

“It’s going to be too short,” I tell her. (Makayla is only five feet tall; I’m five-four and a half). She shakes her head.

“It’s too long for me.”

I emerge feeling surprisingly confident. The dress is navy blue, with fun, flouncy sleeves and a cheer-skirt type of hemline. It’s casual and cotton, so it looks fine with my plain sandal and big black boot.

“It’s perfect. You’re still low-key, but you look less ‘just bounced on a trampoline.’”

“I have a cast, you dweeb. I never looked like I bounced on a trampoline.”

Makayla sticks her tongue out, and we head to Jake’s house. Because she is my best friend, she doesn’t say a word about Landon. I’m telling her via ESP to stick a sock in it, and Makayla hears me.

Jake’s house is…insane. Cars everywhere, the whole lawn lit up with white holiday lights. We find out once we’re inside the massive graystone that Tia had her older sister, a professional real estate stager, come do the yard up for the night, so she could take pictures of it for a magazine.

Within thirty minutes of milling around inside the house, I’ve see everyone from school, kids from other schools I only know from the country club and summer camps, and a whole gaggle of people I’ve never seen in my life.

But I haven’t seen Landon. That is, until I spot him by the fireplace in the living room, chatting with some skinny, black-haired girl who’s wearing butt-short jean shorts.

I look them over from across the room. She might notice me staring, but Landon doesn’t; his back is to me. He’s wearing a hunter green T-shirt, khaki shorts, and leather flip-flops. And a hat. I didn’t even know he had a ball cap.

Landon talks to this hussy for forever. And ever. So long that I leave the room with a twisting feeling in my stomach and a heavy lump in my throat. What if he gets a girlfriend? What if he’s trying to?

When I see him again, I’m in the kitchen, pouring myself lemonade from a pitcher on the table.

I see Landon walk into the kitchen from the other side of the room, and watch him walk to the refrigerator. He’s alone—thank God. He’s opening the fridge when another guy, a shorter dude with thick, fluffy brown hair and a popped collar, slaps him on the arm. Landon turns to him, and I can see his face go slack with…shock?

I stop eating so I can watch as Landon looks down at the guy. He nods a few times, says something, and leaves the room without getting anything out of the refrigerator.

Weird.

I wonder why he hasn’t talked to me yet. Maybe he’s just being smart. We should avoid each other out in public, I guess.

My night unfolds in normal party fashion, which is to say, I talk to all my tipsy friends, struggle to finish one gross-tasting cup of beer, and laugh at all the antics going on around me.

Behind Jake’s house, in a space a little larger than a football field, are two ponds, with a thick, grass median between them. If I recall, each pond is stocked with different types of fish.

On the left side of the ponds is a giant field, and if you keep on going, a trailhead that leads up to a sizable waterfall. I only know about it because Jake’s parents and mine are friends, so we grew up around here.

It seems, from where I’m standing on the deck, as if the party is mostly confined to the pool deck and the ponds directly behind it. In the median between ponds, the boys have pitched a few tents.

Because that’s not transparent…

Thirty minutes later, my clan has wandered out beyond the pool, where there’s a rowdy game of water volleyball, and toward the pond to the right, where I see splashing in the water near the mucky shore.

Makayla and Tia stop to get some water bottles from a nearby cooler, but my eyes are glued to the figures in the water.

It’s two guy-and-girl couples, seemingly fighting; the girls are on the guys’ shoulders.

I blink, and puzzle pieces fit together in my mind. The guy on the left, with the blonde atop him—that’s Landon!

I can barely breathe as I watch the fight. Someone produces those thick, Styrofoam noodle-looking things that people use to float in pools, and the girls start whacking each other with them. Laughter and cheers ring through the night. One guy holds a giant lawn spotlight on the battle. Someone else starts pelting the couples with fruit that I think came from hunch punch.

The air smells like hot grass, pond water, and liquor.

Finally, not nearly soon enough, Landon’s girl gets knocked into the water. I watch him scoop her up and carry her a few steps to the shore. He sets her gently in the sand, then rubs a hand back through his own wet hair, and pulls his soaking shirt off. All around, girls whistle. Landon’s eyes go wide, as if he didn’t realize that would happen. He runs his hand back through his hair again, looking nervous, before he grins and gives a thumbs-up.

Perfect.

Makayla’s eyes are on my face as Landon walks around the shoreline, up toward the tents.

“What is this, Ancient Rome?” I mutter.

Makayla nudges my arm. I elbow her in reply. Inside, I’m seething, and I hate myself for it.

“He’s so drunk.”

I blink, then turn to face her. “What?”

“He seemed like…really drunk.” She gives me wide eyes, as if to say, C’mon, you know I’m right.

“Was he?”

“He was staggering,” Makayla says.

“I think he just walks that way.”

She shakes her head.

“I agree,” Tia says. “I saw him with the beer funnel.”

I frown, shaking my head. That doesn’t seem like Landon.

After a few more minutes standing with my friends, the pull is just too great: I head into the grassy median that runs between the two ponds, scanning the crowd around the tents for someone tall and shirtless. I crest the slight hill in time to see Landon emerge from one of the tents. He’s still shirtless, wearing just his flip-flops and his dripping khakis.

I pause underneath a small willow and watch him as he glances around, then walks behind the tent and sits down by the less-trafficked pond on the left. Then he tries to stand back up. I realize that my friends are right—he’s drunk—by how much time it takes him to get to his feet.

He looks around again before he starts around the far side of the left pond, down a trail that runs between the pond’s beach and the dark woods.

I watch for a few moments before following.

It’s dark outside, but not completely dark. There’s moonlight streaming through the shifting clouds, down onto the pond—and Landon’s bare back.

I don’t need to see the trail. I know it well. As I follow, I hang back to keep some space between us…and I watch him.

The pond isn’t that big. We clear it before long, and Landon follows the foot-worn path into the field. It’s really more like a large grove in the middle of the forest. Two giant rocks rest at odd spots in the tall grass. I look up; the clouds have parted, showing me a blanket of stars.

Landon reaches the first boulder and slows. Then he proceeds to the second one. I watch him sit right at its base, resting his back against the stone and stretching out his legs into the tall grass. He leans his head back slightly, and I start to close the space between us.

My footsteps with my boot aren’t exactly discreet, though. He looks up as I approach, the moonlight showing me his face. His brows draw together in confusion. Then his face relaxes. “Evie…”

“Yeah.” It’s whispered, even though we’re all alone. I move still closer to him, crouching down in front of him as Landon blinks at me. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

He shrugs, a sloppy motion. “Just wanted to see…the stars.”

Even his tone is different. His eyes look half-shut, his shoulders slouching. He tips his head back, looking at the starry sky, and I step closer, sinking slowly to sit directly in front of him.

I look at his beautiful bare body, warmed at just the sight of it. “Are you cold without your shirt on?”

His gaze meets mine. “It’s in the seventies.”

That’s true, I guess. I nod. Still, he rubs his hands along his triceps.

I can’t resist; I say, “I saw you in the water.”

His face tightens. “Yeah?”

I nod. “And in the kitchen, too.”

His face darkens when I say that.

“What?” I say. “Who was that?”

I open my mouth to explain the guy I’m referencing, but Landon sneers. “No one.” The words sound bitter.

“Meaning, not no one.”

“Just some little fuck I used to live with.”

Whoa. I blink, and wait for him to say more. When he doesn’t, just frowns at the grass in front of him, I say, “Like an old foster brother?”

He looks up at me, then back down, extending his arm toward me. He turns it over, so his palm is up and his scar shines dully in the moonlight. “He was my ‘brother’ when this happened. Didn’t last long.”

I swallow hard, then reach out to close my hands around his wrist. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head. “They didn’t get me after that.”

“After what?” I whisper, scooting slightly closer to him.

“I broke it, but they didn’t take me in. It didn’t look broken, I guess?” He shrugs, like we’re talking about weather. “It healed wrong, had to be re-broken with the surgery.” His eyelids are heavy, the words a little slurred. “I guess it made them…change their minds.” He flexes those fingers. His face is solemn, and his eyes look lost.

“Did they get in trouble, for not taking you to the hospital soon enough?”

He shrugs. “I never saw that kid again,” he says in a tone that’s almost wistful. “’Til right now. Tonight. That kid at the refrigerator?” he asks, looking at me like he’s just remembered that I’m here. “He was six. And I was seven. He didn’t remember me…just now. He asked how he knew me.”

I stroke his arm with my fingers, and then I scoot so that I’m right beside him, our backs up against the rock. I intertwine my arm with his, and bring his hand up to my lips, so I can kiss the side of it.

He swallows heavily, his shoulders rising, falling. “People forget, you know? When you’re just passing through…”

“I bet they don’t all forget,” I whisper.

“Trust me.” He gives me a sideways smile that’s devastating because it’s so sad. “I know the way this goes.”

“I think the way it goes sounds like it sucks.” I lean against him, pressing his knuckles against the warmth of my cheek. His eyes hold mine for one long moment before he nuzzles my head with his chin.

“Why are you here?” he murmurs.

I lean closer to him. “I want to be where you are. Always.”

“Why, though, Evie?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I just feel like everything is…right when we’re together. Do you feel that too?”

He looks at me. His eyes are steel gray, solemn and perceptive in the moonlight that streams through the clouds. “Yeah.”

My fingers tighten around his. “What are we going to do?” I whisper.

He shakes his head. A gentle wind blows, tipping blades of grass around us. Landon’s eyes are molten now.

“I think about not being near you like we are right now, and I…can’t take it.”

Landon’s hand around mine squeezes.

“I don’t know what to do,” I say, surprised to find my throat is tight. Out here in this field, with trees around us and the cauldron of clouds and stars above us, I feel like we’re in another world.

“Maybe you should stay away from me.” His voice is hoarse. His eyes are strange.

“I don’t think so.” I swallow, looking back down at our joined hands. “I don’t think I can. It seems impossible.”

His fingers stroke between mine, and I feel it in my lower belly. “Why is it impossible?”

“I don’t know why.” I feel a piercing sensation in the center of my chest, as if my heart is getting penetrated with a real, live cupid’s arrow. I look up at him, at his eyes—now soft in the cloudy light—and his familiar, trusted face. “You’re just…my favorite person,” I whisper.

He smiles again, just slightly, and it’s a smile that makes me want to cry. “I don’t know why that is. Why is anybody anybody’s favorite person? Sometimes I feel like it’s a miracle that we can find those people.”

I close my eyes and try to focus on the feeling of my hand wrapped up in his. Because, even right now, in the soft grass, on this moon-drenched night, I have the strange sensation that it’s all about to end. I’m going to lose him. I can feel it coming.

“I don’t think it matters why, do you?” I draw his hand nearer to me, up against my lower belly. “I just want to be near you. I’ve never wanted anything this much, Landon. Never.”

And I know somehow, I’ll never want anything like this again.

“You shouldn’t say that,” he says softly.

“Why?” I’m surprised to see I’m peering at him through the gleam of tears. “Is it just one-sided? Just me?”

His mouth tightens. “You know it’s not.”

He lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around me—tight.

“I want you all the time, Evie. It’s like…a thirst. I saw Gabe, but I had seen you in there, too. All I fucking wanted was to tell you. I can’t even talk to you without losing a hold on myself. So,” he says—inhaling, then exhaling. “I tried to dull it, but it didn’t—getting drunk. Now it’s so much worse. Now all I can think about is how much I want to touch you… Evie, go now. I’ll walk back behind you.”

“No.”

I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want Landon’s mouth on mine. I want to feel him, hear him…touch him.

“I want your hands on me,” he rasps, “my hands on you. I want to do things I shouldn’t want to do, keep you out here in this field for hours, just the two of us, so I can— Ev, I’m telling you, you have to go.”

My body is aflame. “I couldn’t if I wanted to,” I hear myself tell him.

Landon groans, and that is all the warning that I have before his mouth covers my own, his hands stroking behind my neck and clenching in my hair. He holds me to him as he kisses me. My body thrums, as if begging his mouth to visit every part of me.

I know—as he holds me in his hard, strong arms, as our frantic mouths wage tender war—why they call it falling.

I feel as if I’m in a free-fall, grasping at him reflexively. Needing to hold onto him.

We take gasping breaks between our frenzy. Words pour out.

“Oh, Landon.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

We kiss so long and hard, I wind up on his lap, and I can feel the fire between our bodies even in my lungs. I can’t remember how to breathe without gasping his name.

“Evie,” he whispers between the onslaught. “Evie…” And I love the way he says it. Like a prayer.

I’m on top of him, and his lips are on my throat; his hands are on my shoulders, and they’re sliding down. My hands are rubbing his muscular belly, and he’s jolting, groaning, stretching out beneath me.

“Oh God, Evie…”

I kiss his neck, and Landon jerks away. “Evie—you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because…I’ll— Evie…” he swallows. “I can’t help it,” he says hoarsely. “Being near you, it will make me—”

“What?” I whisper.

His eyes shut. “You overwhelm me, Evie.”

“I want to overwhelm you.”

So he shows me—with my hands and with the best part of him.

It doesn’t end that night. Because we just keep falling—on through weeks.

In his better moments, Landon tries his best to keep me from forbidden fruit, but it’s as if the more he tries, the more I want it. Need it.

He stays far away from me for nearly a whole day after the night at Jake’s house, and after that, I see him every night in his bedroom. Our bodies come together—and our hearts do, too.

I kiss him until he can’t endure it anymore, and he drives me over the same ledge, and then we’re tired enough to sleep.

As fall turns into winter, we meet on the basement stairs at odd hours, at all hours. Nothing can dampen our flames. It’s like a forest fire that grows and grows, consuming everything.

I lie to everyone except Makayla; even to my best friend, I give little.

Everything for Landon.

I learn him better than I know my own poor, thirsty heart. We lie in his bed in the deepest part of night, our gazes flitting toward the floorboards over our heads and our hands busy, our hearts pumping, our words turning the old basement into a place of heady magic.

It happens on the airplane sheets I picked for him. It happens in my parents’ house. It happens on the days we’re both at home with flu, and on the weekend that my Mom and Dad go out of town for their anniversary—instead of going to our friends’ houses, we both stay home.

I feel as if I’ve been half-dead for sixteen years, and now my heart beats. Overnight, and weeks, then months, I come to understand why people fight in wars. Why people leave their families and get on ships and sail to far sides of the world. I understand why crimes of passion happen, and why sometimes, there are tales of married couples who die hours apart.

Loving Landon is like breathing. My lungs expand, and my head spins.