I sleep deeply for the first time in actual months but am awoken two hours later when my phone begins to vibrate on the bedside table. I roll off of Mason's shoulder and reach toward the bedside table where my phone is charging. My eyes are bleary with sleep, and I can't see the blurred number across the screen of my phone, but the only thought in my mind is that it would be typical for a band like the Boxley Brothers to conduct their business in the middle of the night.

“Hello?” I say in a gravely but eager voice.

"Ellie, is— is that you? Ellie, what are you doing?"

Alarmed at the slur of the voice, I sit up. "Cole?" I say, not sure if it's him or one of the other band members.

"Who's that," the voice slurs with a jealous laugh. It's nearly incomprehensible. "Are you with someone?"

But then it hits me exactly who this is. John has finally gotten ahold of me. "What do you want?" I whisper, a dull anger building in my chest. I look over my shoulder at Mason who is sleeping peacefully, his arm extended across the spot where I'd just been. He looks so at ease and comfortable there that I grow a shade of giddy thinking about what we'd done just a few hours earlier. But John's voice snaps me back to reality and floods me with an anxiety I've forgotten over the past twelve hours.

"I just— I need to talk to you. Just talk, please. Say something," he says, clearly plastered.

Without speaking, I slowly slide off the bed as not to wake Mason. Reaching around in the dark for the first clothes I find, I step into the jean shorts I'd worn yesterday and pull Mason's V-neck shirt down over my naked body. Feeling on the bedside table for my cigarette and lighter, I shove both in my pocket and slip out the bedroom door, closing it behind me. I know I should just hang up on this idiot and go back to bed, but I need to put an end to this once and for all. John and I are nothing, and I need to make sure he knows it.

Sneaking down the stairs, I hold the phone to my stomach to mute the ranting that's coming from John's end. Slipping out the sliding glass door that leads to the porch, I find a way to be annoyed that the door isn't even locked. Damn. Safe neighborhoods.

Spotting a few lawn chairs on the other side of the dark backyard, I walk over, the damp grass slick under my bare feet. When I put the phone back up to my ear and sit in one of the chairs facing the house, John is still yapping.

"And you know what that means? I figured it out without you. All I'm saying, Ellie, is that I love you. Like a lot. More than a lot, Ellie. And I know you think I'm lying because I'm drunk, but I'm not. I'm not drunk, swear to Jesus," he says, stumbling over his words. "I just had a few drinks which means I really mean it. And I'm sorry. Okay? Is that what you needed me to say all those months ago? Because I'll say it. I'll say it all the time. For the rest of our time, you and me. I'll yell it to the rooftops. To everyone. To the world."

I can tell he pulls the phone away to talk to someone else because his voice is muffled. "Hey— Hey man, listen. Listen to me, I love this girl—" John carries on rambling to someone on the other end.

Annoyed as I am, I focus on the stars that are out tonight. The same stars I'd studied with Mason. Pulling my knees to my chest, I tuck my legs underneath Mason's huge shirt and breath in, smelling traces of his cologne. The air has grown chilly since we swam, and I can feel my nipples hard underneath the shirt.

“I miss you, Ellie. I fucking love you, and you won’t answer me or listen to me to even hear what I have to say about you,” he says.

I sigh out into the night. “I know, I got your message.”

"Well— why the fuck didn't you call me b—back?" he asks, his voice growing indignant through the thick alcohol-induced slur.

“We’re done, John. You made that decision,” I say in a calm voice. Although, I do wonder how confident in this I would be if I hadn’t just crawled out of bed with another man. A better man.

"But you—you answered your phone tonight. Fucking finally. And I know what that means cause I'm a smart man, Ellie. You love me the same as you did. Just admit it."

I consider telling him that I thought he was the manager of a band I've been needing to hear from, but I'm not interested in carrying the conversation any further than it has to go.

"No, John. I‘m hanging up now," I say firmly.

“Wait. Wait, is there someone else?” he asks.

And though it's none of his business, I feel a chill run down my spine. I open my mouth to deny it, but suddenly realize I shouldn't have to deny it. John had moved on already. Why is there something wrong with me having moved on? Before I can answer, he starts screaming at me.

"Where are you, E— Ellie. I'll fucking kill him," he yells, his voice hitting an upper register.

"You don't deserve anyone but ME. Tell me where you are!"

Shaking my head as if he can see me, I sigh. "You're drunk."

Then, as if I can't be more surprised by this entire conversation, John does something I've never heard before. He begins to cry.

"My life," he whimpers. "My entire life is n— nothing without you. You know that we're the only thing that ever made sense for each other. You know that, Ellie."

I hold the phone away from my ear as his wails come out of the ear piece in torturous waves, and I’m suddenly fed up with him. For all these years, I’ve let him have too much of a hand in my life. And right now, sitting in the backyard of a man who nearly worships me and makes me smile without asking anything from me in return, I’m done.

Be the storm, Ellie.

"Go to bed, John," I say and hang up the phone. I make sure to block his number before he can call me again. And for extra measure, I delete every single text and voicemail I'd received over the past few weeks from that number. I'm proud of myself for finally standing up to him, three months too late, but still. And though the idea feels a little foreign, I know that he and I never made sense together. Not like Mason and I do.

I pull my single cigarette and lighter from my pocket, and though the cigarette is a little bent, I light it promising myself this will be the last cigarette I ever smoke. I've just gotten it lit when I see the back door open.

“Shit,” I whisper as I try to hide the cigarette by holding it close to me. “What are you doing up?”

"I couldn't sleep," Beth says, rubbing her eyes with a yawn. "I heard you come downstairs."

“I’m sorry,” I say, taking a drag of my cigarette. “You caught me smoking.”

“Can I have one?” Beth asks.

I smile at her. “Absolutely not,” I say, shaking my head. “But here.” I hand her the cigarette for a quick pull.

She breathes in and immediately starts coughing. “That tastes disgusting,” she laughs.

“Yeah, it does,” I say, meaning it. “Don’t ever smoke, okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah, okay.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, something I've never been comfortable doing around another child. But I'm too preoccupied to let it affect me right now.

“Are you Mason’s girlfriend?” she finally asks.

“No,” I say, taking another long drag. But even as I say it, I realize that if Mason heard me say that, it’d probably hurt him. But why? I'm not his girlfriend, and that's the truth. We haven't even talked about a relationship with one another.

Sure, we'd joked about girlfriend boyfriend stuff. But as far as an actual, legitimate relationship?

"Was that your boyfriend on the phone then?" she asks, stopping me with my cigarette halfway to my mouth. Beth's gaze is sharp in the night, but she comes off as innocent. A child, yes. But a smarter one than I ever was at sixteen.

“Ex-boyfriend,” I say.

“Have you had a lot of boyfriends?”

Feeling like I'm being interrogated here on the lawn, I want to ask her what's with all the questions. Sounding meaner than I intend, I answer. "No. Have you?"

Beth laughs, her hair frizzing against the lawn chair.

"No," she sighs. "There's a guy I like at school, but he's older than me so I probably can't have him."

I shrug.”Your brother’s older than me.”

“By how much?”

“Seven years “

"Ew," she sings, her voice ricocheting off the shed, echoing out over into the neighbor's yard.

Laughing, I stub my cigarette out on a wet leaf that I pick up from the ground. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s better when you get older.”

“Yeah, well it sounds awful.”

“You know,” I say, hugging my knees tighter to my chest. “You’re a cool kid, Beth.” I see her eyes trace over me, lingering on Mason’s shirt.

"He likes you a bunch," she says.

My heart drops, and for a split second, I think she's talking about John. "Who does?" I ask, almost defensively.

"Mason, duh." Her answer makes me feel instantly stupid in the way only a teenager can.

“Really? What makes you say that?

“Yeah, like a lot,” she says with wide, sparkling eyes.

I narrow my gaze at her. “Did he say something?”

Beth shakes her head. “He didn’t have to. He’s never brought a girl here before,” she smirks. “And he’s not sleeping on the couch.”

Not being able to suppress it, I grin. “You should go to bed. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

"Yeah." She yawns, stretching her arms up to the nighttime sky. "I hate it though."

"Well," I say, my tone empathetic. "If you don't hate school as a teenager, you're doing it wrong."

"Thanks for a great birthday, Ellie. Will I ever see you again?" Her voice has a forlorn, hopeful type of ring to it as she asks me.

The question catches me completely off-guard and makes my heart ache in an innocent way. "I'm sure you will," I nod with a hint of sadness underlying my answer. Because I'm not actually sure at all.

"Okay, good." Standing, she turns back to me with a smirk. "I know Mason likes you. But I really like you, too."

"Thanks, kiddo," I say right before she disappears into the house.

Letting my head roll back onto the top of the chair, I stare up at the stars. Looking around at the house, this entire neighborhood, Mason's job, his put-together family, I think that no matter what Mason says now, I'm never going to be what he wants in the long run. I'm a chain-smoking barista with too many band T-shirts and not enough furniture. The white picket fence life is never going to be for me, regardless of how much he or his sister likes me.