“Hey, guys,” Noah said, smiling, then asked me, “Can I talk to you a sec?”

I followed him to the hall.

“I’m going to a party,” he stated.

“Uh, no, you’re not,” I said.

“Why not?” he whined. “Why can’t I go?”

“Because you didn’t ask me anything.”

“Ugh.” He rolled his eyes. “Can I please go to this party downtown?”

I could see from my periphery that we were being closely watched. Sam leaned over the piano, resting her head over her folded hands, while Adam and Blake had both turned to the hall, hiding behind the back of the couch.

“Sure,” I said casually.

Noah instantly beamed.

“What kind of party is it?” I asked.

“I dunno. Some lame senior is throwing a pre-party before some competition starts.”

“Dean? Is Dean the lame senior?” Adam loudly—and excitedly—asked from the other room.

“He’s a lame senior,” Blake said, winking at me.

“I don’t think so,” Noah said. “It’s someone from my school.”

“Bummer,” Alex said, disappointed. “I thought it might be the same party we’re going to later.”

“Oh, really?” Noah said ominously, slowly turning to face me.

“They’re going. Not me.”

“Oh,” he said, also disappointed.

“Are you drinking?” I asked him.

“No?” he was quick to reply.

“Let’s try this again. Are you drinking?” I slowly repeated.

“Not…too…much?” he said, rather unsure.

“Better,” I said, pleased.

“And I’ll text,” Noah volunteered.

“You bet your ass you’ll text. And you’ll answer to my texts too.”

“Of course.”

“Quickly,” I warned him, raising a single eyebrow.

“Deal.” He beamed.

“Do you need money?”

“Kinda.”

I reached for my wallet down the inside pocket of my jacket—Ethan. Ethan’s jacket. I reached inside Ethan’s jacket.

“Here.” I handed Noah a fifty.

“Thanks, Thomas!” He turned and waved happily at the trio. Bye, guys. Nice meeting you all.”

They all slowly waved back, so unbelievably high.

Noah walked toward the door but doubled back. “Uh—” He suddenly had trouble looking me in the eye. “Will you—I mean, are you okay? For me to go, that is.”

“I’m fine, bud.”

“Great!”

When he was almost at the door again, I made him turn around.

“What’s her name?” I asked him.

He took a deep breath. “Cynthia.”

“Last name?”

“Thompson. Cynthia Thompson. She’s a senior.”

“I know Cynthia. She’s cool.”

Poor kid. I took a step forward and handed him another fifty.

“Have fun,” I told him before he finally left and closed the door behind him.

When I turned around, Blake, Adam, and Sam were all staring.

“That was so cute,” Blake said.

“It really was,” Sam said.

“I can’t agree, because I’ve decided to pretend being mad at you for not coming to lame Dean’s party,” Adam said.

“Okay,” I said, smiling.