"Do you always invite strangers to things?"

"Told you, no filter or personal boundaries," Marcus whispers, nudging my arm.

"Only the interesting ones," Camilla grins, a confident sparkle in her eyes. "We'll pick you up on our way through. It'll be fun."

I hesitate, my fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of the summer list peeking out from my notebook. The whole point was to push myself beyond these comfortable walls I've built. To say yes when every instinct screams no. The paper might as well be glowing, challenging me directly.

"Uhh, yeah," I finally manage, swallowing down the anxiety rising in my throat. "Yeah sure, why not?" The words feel foreign on my tongue, but somehow right.

Camilla claps excitedly, her bracelets jingling with the movement. "It's settled. Give me your phone so you can text me your address."

She punches in her digits and hands me back the phone.

"I think this is the start of a really amazing friendship, girlfriend."

"We'll see you tonight at seven!" Camilla yells as she walks toward the front door.

As they leave, I glance at my blank seventeenth item. Maybe it's a placeholder for unexpected adventures. This summer might just be one for the books after all.

11. You Should See The Other Guy

CHAPTER 11

YOU SHOULD SEE THE OTHER GUY

NATE

Watching Nora get into the car with Jake twists something deep in my gut. I can't take her home myself—not in my state—but knowing he's the one taking care of her drives a thorn deeper into my side. She hasn't been here a full day and she's already wreaking havoc in my head.

The party rages on around me, everyone too caught up in their own worlds to notice what just went down. Lines of white powder disappear up noses, couples lose themselves in dark corners, and I need a minute alone. In the bathroom, I lean over the sink, examining Connor's blood on my knuckles. At least that bastard got what he deserved.

The vanity's cold marble grounds me as I take a few steadying breaths. I pull out my phone and dial Jay's number. He picks up on the second ring.

"What's wrong?" Jay grunts, his voice rough with sleep.

"Who shit in your corn flakes?"

"Newsflash, asshole, you don't call unless something's wrong. Unless you've suddenly developed a taste for pleasant chitchat."

"Fuck off," I say, but there's no real heat behind it.

"You called me, remember."

"I need a ride. Can you come get me?"

"Where are you?"

That's one thing about Jay—he never asks too many questions. As much of a dick as I've been lately, he's one of the few who's had my back these past couple years. I know he'll answer whenever I call, even though I don't deserve that kind of loyalty.