I let out a breath, thinking about how Tiffany could be the most confident person in the room one minute and so heartbreakingly vulnerable the next. She was the type of girl who made people stare when she walked in, the type who seemed untouchable, like nothing could get to her. But right now? Right now, she was just a girl hoping to be loved for who she really was.

I wanted to give her the answer she was looking for, the one that would make everything feel okay, but there wasn’t really one. There were no perfect words that could erase the hurt, the disappointment that lingered in her chest.

“You’ll find someone who gets you,” I offered quietly, reaching over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know you will.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I hope so,” she murmured. “But for now, I guess it’s just you and me.”

I laughed softly. “Yeah,” I agreed. “And maybe some more questionable brownies.”

* * *

Tiffany’s cravings became the most urgent matter in the world. She declared she needed a Diet Coke as if it were a life-or-death situation. I tried to convince her that water was probably the best idea, but she wasn’t hearing it.

So we made our way downstairs, laughing at nothing and everything. Tiffany was whispering something about Coke being the nectar of the Gods when she misjudged a step and grabbed onto me, which made me stumble, which made her stumble, and before we knew it, we were clutching onto each other.

“Why do stairs feel so weird?” I whispered as I gripped the banister like it was my only tether to reality.

Tiffany huffed out, “Because they are weird. We’re all just trusting planks of wood not to betray us.”

That was such a profound thought that I had to sit down on the step and process it for a moment. “Oh my God.”

But the mission was clear. We had to keep going.

We wandered into the kitchen, and the first thing I saw was Jamal, mid-groan, eyes closed like he was having a religious experience. He chewed slowly, savoring whatever he just ate.

“Man,” he moaned, barely able to speak through his bliss, eyes rolling in pure pleasure. “I don’t even like brownies that much, but these?” he said, licking his thumb. “These brownies are unreal.”

Blake leaned against the counter beside him, watching with mild amusement. “Yeah,” he agreed, finishing his own piece, “they’re amazing.”

That was when everything hit me all at once.

First, the weight of the air. Had it always been this heavy? Second, the overwhelming realization that we were absolutely, without-a-doubt high out of our minds, standing in the kitchen with two perceptive people who would know immediately. Third, and possibly most horrifying, the fact that Blake and Jamal had just eaten a brownie.

“Oh, no,” I whispered-hissed.