The Friday before Halloween is particularly busy. I barely have the energy to make it through my shift. Kara's party is tomorrow night. I have no idea how I'm supposed to survive the war my heart and my body are going to wage being in the same room as Miles.

A teenage girl is rushed into the ER. She's unconscious, barely breathing. Her lips are blue. She's thin enough the breeze could break her, and her arms are covered in track marks.

One is fresh.

A few hours old max.

Her mother is at her side. She's clueless. She's lost. Confused. She had no idea her daughter was on drugs.

How could she have no idea? There's no way this girl is any older than sixteen. She's covered in track marks. How the hell did Mom miss that?

The girl is dying.

Dr. Anderson, the doctor I scribe for, pushes me out of the way. "Take five, Meg."

I can't move. I can't pry my eyes away from the girl.

One of the nurses pushes me out of the way. They're rushing to her. But it's too late. It's not going to work.

I know how this goes. The paramedics should've given her Naloxone. It's supposed to counter the opiates in heroin. It's supposed to restart her heart and her breathing.

The sounds around me swirl together until they’re this awful mix of air conditioning, squeaking rubber soles, the erratic beep of the heart rate monitor as the girl's pulse fades away. Nothing they're doing is working. This girl is too far gone. There's nothing anyone can do.

Just like Rosie.

I hide out in one of the single-stall bathrooms, trying and failing to will myself to go home. I can't sit in my bed alone. All I'll feel is her absence. We used to live together in a two-bedroom place in the same building. The landlord was understanding when she died—helped me move all my stuff into a studio and offered a discounted rent.

I miss my big sister so much. She was funny and bright and full of life. She understood things that flew right over my head. I thought she had it all figured out, that she knew the secret to balancing school and having a life.

That she really was that effortlessly happy.

I wish she was here. I wish I could tell her how much I miss her, how much worse our parents got after she died. They've always pretended but now they're shells of themselves. They're broken.

She'd know what to do to fix them. She'd know how to cheer me up. She'd definitely know what to do about Miles. She'd take me out, get me drunk, and send me home with the perfect guy to wipe my memory clean. Then, she'd take me to brunch, stuff me with pancakes, and squeal over me finally growing up.

She had me fooled. She seemed okay for so long. She'd look me in the eyes and smile, and I'd feel it in my gut—everything had to be okay if my sister could smile like that. Even though I knew better, I believed it was okay. She'd never lied to me before, not like that.

I call Kara. I've kept all my grief to myself for so long. I can't do it anymore. I need to be with someone who understands so I can cry my heart out. It's stupid I didn't do it sooner. Kara's dad died when she was in high school. She knows how this feels, knows enough to drag me out for my own good, knows enough not to press for details.

Damn. Voicemail. I call again. Voicemail again. One more try.

"Hey, Kara, just wanted to say hey… text me tomorrow." I end the call and wrap my fingers around the smooth plastic of my phone.

I need to feel something else, something beyond how much I miss my sister. There's no one else to call. None of my other friends would understand. My parents certainly don't understand. There's no one who knows what this feels like.

No one except Miles.

I dial before my senses can catch up with me.

Damn. Voicemail.

"Hey, Miles. I thought I wanted to talk to you, but now I'm not sure. I'll see you tomorrow I guess. I…" I hang up before I can tell him I miss him.

* * *

It's a half-hour walk to the top of the hill where Rosie and I used to hang out. We called our outings hikes but we spent most of the time talking about school and friends and especially about our parents.

There are houses here, expensive ones. We used to make fun of their blandness. Everything is beige. Everyone drives a black sedan or luxury car. Everyone looks perfect on the outside. Like our parents do.

Like she did.

I find an empty patch of grass and take in the view of the city. I can see the entire UCLA campus. To the left is Century City. To the right is the ocean. It's cloudy tonight. I can't see downtown. I can't see the stars.

I can't see the path to being okay without her.

My phone buzzes. It's Miles. Calling me back.

I stare at the screen. My fingers refuse to move. I'm not sure I can handle hearing his voice. It's already in my head, singing that song over and over.

Again, my phone buzzes. This time, it's a text.

Miles: Are you okay?

Meg: No.

Miles: Where are you? I'll pick you up.

Meg: Is that a good idea?

Miles: I'll take you home. If you want me to leave after that, I will.

I send him the address of the nearest house. It's pure impulse. I want him here. I want his arms around me.

Miles: What happened?

Meg: There was this girl in the ER… I'm not sure I should discuss this with you.

Miles: Let me help you. I want to.

Meg: Would you let me help you?

I stare at the phone for minutes, but there's no response. That's as good as a no.

The world is heavy. I pull my knees to my chest and bring my gaze to the sky. Still no stars but the half-moon is a beautiful shade of silver.

The neighborhood is quiet. No sounds except the wind Then there's a car. It parks. The door opens. Footsteps come closer.

Someone kneels next to me.

"Hey." Miles slides his arms around me. "Come on. You'll be okay."

I shake my head. But I soak in all the comfort of his arms anyway.