I’m the same age as Kaitlyn but still officially a sophomore, since I started part time.

Chastity is actually the oldest of us all. At twenty-one, she’s a year older than I am. But running away from a cult steals your teen years.

“You’re making too big a deal of this,” Kaitlyn says, pointing toward the living room. “Look, she’s fine.”

I walk to where I can see through the doorway. And there’s Chastity, back from the bathroom already and dancing in a loose, crazy freeform way beside Rickie. Every third or fourth beat they bump hips and then laugh.

And now I’m smiling, because that is incredibly cute. Chastity isn’t one to let go very often. She’ll probably have a terrible hangover tomorrow. But right now she’s having fun.

The song ends, and she and Rickie stand there breathing hard. “How do you feel about pot?” Rickie asks, his hands on his hips.

“Never tried it!” Chastity replies.

And that’s my cue. “Another time,” I say hastily. “Did you find your backpack?”

“Yup!” she says.

“Jacket?” I prompt.

She shakes her head in an exaggerated way. “Didn’t wear one.”

“Can’t we take your truck?” Kaitlyn appears behind me. She’s wearing her jacket, so I guess she’s coming with us.

“No, I can’t drive. Too much booze and pot.” I’m barely tipsy, but I won’t risk it. I’m a fun guy, not a stupid one. “It’s a ten-minute walk at the max.” I put a hand on Chastity’s shoulder and guide her toward the door.

“They’re still having sex,” she breathes. “Does it usually last that long?”

Kaitlyn snorts, and Rickie chuckles. “Depends who you ask.”

There’s a reason that I’ve never invited Chastity to one of Rickie’s parties. You never know what you’re going to see. I open the front door and remind Chastity to watch the steps. “They’re steep.”

“I can handle a couple of stairs, Dyl,” she says with a sigh.

“It’s cold,” Kaitlyn complains.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I point out. “The wind off the lake makes Burlington one of the coldest places in Vermont.” I remove my jacket and lift Chastity’s backpack off her shoulder. “Trade you.”

“Why?” she asks as I set the jacket onto her shoulders. “You don’t have to.”

“I’ve got a flannel shirt on. And I run hot. All you’ve got is…” I gesture toward her pretty silk shirt. And I kick myself a little for noticing how good she looks tonight. It’s not the first time I’ve snagged my eyeballs on Chastity’s cleavage. You’d have to be blind not to see how pretty Chastity is, or how stacked.

But it’s bad form to ogle your drunk friend. Luckily, Chastity accepts my jacket and buttons it, shielding that delicious cleavage from view.

We head down the street. It’s a crisp, fall night. The lamps inside all the antique homes give the rooms a yellow hue. The air smells like falling leaves and wood smoke, and I associate that smell with sadness.