The door opens before we reach it. A tall, skinny guy with a mop of curly blond hair is standing in the doorway. Graham, I’m assuming.

“Hi, Sydney!” He beams at my sister, making no attempt to hide his excitement about seeing her. It’s cute, watching them exchange shy smiles. He greets Cassia next. His tone is just as friendly, but it lacks the same eagerness, making my opinion of him rise a little more. Treating Sydney well while having no romantic interest in Cassia are the two best ways to endear himself to me.

“Graham, this is my brother, Holden,” Sydney says. “He wanted to come.”

Wanted is a stretch. But I did choose to. I wasn’t dragged along, so I don’t dispute it as I hold out a hand to Graham. “Nice to meet you, man.”

“You too,” Graham says, as he shakes it. His grip is firm, but not tight. “Although we’ve, um, we’ve met. We had Physics together freshman year. Mrs. Liberman, third period. Remember?”

No. I barely remember taking Physics, let alone anyone in the class. But Sydney and Cassia are watching me closely. If bonding with Graham over sitting in the same classroom for an hour three years ago will make this “party” easier, I’m fine with lying. “Right. Yeah.”

“Come on in,” Graham says, stepping to the side so we can enter the house. The open floor plan is similar to the layout of my house, with the living room to the left and the kitchen back behind it. About a dozen people are sitting in the living room, most of them spread out on the fluffy rug covering the floor. Everyone has textbooks or notebooks spread around them.

A few faces look familiar. Probably people I’ve shared classes with over the years slightly more memorable than Graham.

Everyone stares as we enter.

“Grab a spot wherever,” Graham says. “And help yourself to anything.” He gestures toward the coffee table covered with snacks. “I’m just going to grab some more chips from the kitchen.”

Graham heads deeper into the house, leaving us standing here. Cassia and Sydney start talking with some of the “party-goers.” I’m not sure who came up with the term study party, but I think study session would be the more accurate descriptor.

I smile at the two girls who make eye contact with me but don’t engage anyone in conversation. I head toward one open corner of the living room and take a seat on the rug, leaning back against the bookshelf covering the wall.

My muscles protest the movement and the sitting on the ground. I’m going to be sore as fuck tomorrow. Practice was rough and lounging on the hard floor isn’t helping.