“I just need some air. I’m good.”

Keeping my head down, I push toward the front door, which hisses open. Thumping music streams into the dead night air before it slams behind me.

Leaving me in silence.

It’s so dark that I can only make out what’s vaguely lit by the blinking neon sign.

It’s so still that my thudding heart shakes my entire body.

I tilt my head back and stare at the millions of stars strewn across the endless sky, some brighter than others, some fading into black.

Something rustles in the dark on the other side of the house, sending a chill down my spine.

I turn, expecting a bear because, of course, that’d be my luck while drunk on my birthday. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the dark, and it’s Jack, sitting in a camping chair, phone in hand. I expect him to stand up and brush past me, to leave me alone under the blinking fluorescent light, but he doesn’t.

“Sorry. I just needed some air.”

“You looked like you were having fun in there,” he says.

“You too.”

He snorts. “Not really my scene.”

“What about that girl?”

“Who?” He crinkles his brows. “Oh. Her? She’s in my creative writing class.”

I mosey over to one of the empty camping chairs and plop down.

He’s tapping at his phone screen.

“I’m sorry about showing Rae your writing. I—”

“It’s fine.” His face isn’t peppered with a smile or a promise of something else.

“It’s not, though. I shouldn’t have broken your trust like that. I was just—” It feels like one of those “do or die” moments, where I take a chance and tell him how I feel to see if maybe he feels the same way about me.

“Just what?” he asks softly.

My palms are sweaty, and my mind whirrs trying to find The Perfect Thing to say.

“Forget it,” he says, rising to his feet. “I’m heading back to campus.”

He makes it to the edge of the road when my feet kick into gear, and I run after him.

“Go back to the party, Chase,” he says coldly.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” I ask, grabbing hold of him. “I said I was sorry.”

He’s breathing rapidly, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. Moonlight shines softly on his pale face, and I can see just how wet and cloudy his eyes are.

“Talk to me,” I ask gently.

“I need to sit.” He squats on the curb and brings his knees to his chest.

“What’s wrong?” I ask again.

“Everything,” he confesses. He’s shaking, and I inch closer, wanting desperately to wrap my arm around him and pull him into me, to protect him from whatever he’s going through, even if that thing is me.

His foot tentatively slides across the concrete and meets mine, lingering for a brief second, but retracts quickly, as if it were probing new territory and found something scary.

I don’t want to play these games anymore.