The quiet murmur of voices comes from the kitchen when I walk inside the Adamses’ house on Friday night. It’s unexpected. Usually when I come over, Sydney is the only one home.

“Hello?” I call out. Maybe Sydney is talking to her dad? Or Graham? He’s not supposed to come over until later.

As much as I like Graham, I’m dreading it. If not for the late-night plans I made, I would have come up with an excuse not to come over.

I know Sydney is trying to include me. She’s not the kind of friend who would ever abandon you for a guy, especially not as part of a tradition we’ve had for years. I think she’s also nervous about being alone with her crush.

“Kitchen, Cas!” Sydney calls.

I walk past the stairs and through the living room into the kitchen. Holden is leaning against the sink, arms crossed and smirking.

I focus on him first, my gaze sweeping over the sweatpants and t-shirt he’s wearing. His hair is damp from the shower he must have taken after the game against Covington earlier.

Sydney is sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen counter, also dressed casually. I watch as she tugs at a hole in the knee of the yoga pants she’s wearing.

“Uh, what’s going on?” I ask, glancing between the two of them.

Sydney looks at me, a serious expression on her face. “Is Holden failing?”

Out of the periphery of my eye, I watch Holden roll his eyes and tuck his hands behind his head as he leans back against the edge of the counter. His shirt rides up, providing a very distracting view.

She takes my silent appreciation the wrong way. “Oh my God, he is.”

“No. No. I mean, I don’t think so.” I glance at Holden. “Are you?”

“No!” His tone is exasperated as his arms fall back to his sides. “I’m tired from the game earlier, so I’m not going to Grace’s party tonight. Sydney seems to think that means I’m either sick or flunking high school. She’s settled on the latter, thanks to Baker’s big mouth.”

“Oh,” I say. He’s not going to Grace’s party tonight?

I’ve spent all day replaying our conversation in his car last night. Preparing for the possibility he could change his mind while surrounded by hot girls and alcohol. Second-guessing ever asking him in the first place.

“You’re hardly ever home,” Sydney says. “And never on Friday nights.”

Holden shrugs and takes a sip from the open Gatorade on the counter.

“Is this about Graham coming over? Because—”

He coughs a laugh. “Syd, I just want a quiet night. Stop reading into it.”