Saturday at the Santiago house was chaos. All the kids were home from school. When we slipped in the back door, we were met with a blaring TV and kids running around roughhousing and screaming. I cringed and pulled Asher down the stairs to the basement.

Once inside my makeshift bedroom, I shoved my dresser in front of the door since there was no lock, and I didn’t want random people flying in without knocking and interrupting us.

The thunder of running feet above our heads was constant. A girl squealed, a boy yelled, then Mrs. Santiago shouted something above them both. A minute later, someone decided to pound on the piano. It wasn’t music. It was fists to keys and full of rage. Whoever was trying to watch TV hollered for them to shut up. And on it went.

“Holy shit, this place sucks,” Asher said, staring at the ceiling.

“I know. It makes it hard to study. And think. And sleep.”

Asher sighed and dropped onto my hideaway bed, covering his face with his hands. “Atti, make it stop.”

He didn’t mean the noise upstairs. He was talking about the noise in his head.

I sat beside him, tugging him against me into a side hug and played dumb to get him talking. “Make what stop?”

“My head. It’s spinning and spinning. I’ve barely slept all week.”

“I know. Me too.”

Asher dropped his head on my shoulder. I stroked his hair and breathed him in. He smelled like the expensive shampoo I used to use. For a long time, we sat like that and listened to the madness one floor up.

All Asher’s confessions from earlier played on repeat in my brain. The hotel room Thursday and all that had transpired was still crisp enough I could see and feel all we’d done. Logically, we shouldn’t pursue this. It was wrong and weird, but if I knew anything, I knew Asher couldn’t turn back any more than I could. We’d started down this road together, and so far, it had been nothing short of amazing.

I wondered if Asher was thinking about Thursday night too, especially after all we’d had to do for the camera today.

His hand landed on my thigh. Gentle brushes of his fingers danced along the inside of my leg. My heart responded, pumping my blood thick through my veins. My breath caught in my throat when Asher lifted his head and faced me.

It was us. Asher and Atticus, not Ender and Elliot. The idea of proceeding, of exploring more terrified me and thrilled me in equal measure. Unfortunately, reality was way harder than fiction. This was a big line to cross because society wouldn’t understand. Our parents and friends wouldn’t understand.