I struggle upward, blink into the near dark.

“Hey,” Brick says. “You okay? You’re okay.”

Oh, no. Oh, God. It all comes back to me. The shots, the kissing, him pushing me away.

“What happened?” I whisper. “What am I doing here?”

He sits up. He’s rubbing my back. “You don’t remember?”

All I can do is stare at my hands. I remember. And I’m humiliated.

I shake my head. “I drank too much.” Maybe this is the best course of action.

“Oh.” Brick scoots closer. I can’t tell if his voice is disappointed or relieved.

“I probably did something embarrassing,” I admit. “And I’m in your bed, so…”

“Nothing happened,” he assures me. His arm is around my waist and it shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t. He’s warm and close and his hand cradles my hip. I’m still in my clothes, so it feels safe enough to let him hold me. I turn my face into his shoulder.

“I can’t have you walking around drunk, trying to get home after curfew is all. You always have a place here.”

“Why are you this nice to me?” It’s like I want him to say it. Even though I’d have to shoot him down.

Or would I?

“I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself.”

“I’m fine. Really.” I let my face rest on his muscled chest. He’s so broad, unlike Noodle. He feels like a wall around me, like nothing can touch me here. Safe.

“My boys … We’re all going to this demonstration in a little while.”

“Zeke and Kimberly were here,” I recall. “You made plans with them?”

“Yeah.” Brick strokes my hair. “You wanna talk?”

I lean into him, without answering at first. Maybe I’ve misjudged the whole situation. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so black and white.

“I messed up,” I whisper. “Noodle—”

“That’s nothing,” Brick says. “He done you wrong.”

It’s not so easy to see it that way. I came here. I wanted … something. Just not Noodle. Not like that.

“Listen,” Brick says. “You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. I—you just say the word, and I’ll mess him up so bad—”

“No, no.” My hand cups Brick’s bicep. Oh, wow. An uninvited laser of YES shoots through me. Those muscles. I’m kinda turned on and I hate it because it reminds me of last night. Of Noodle’s hand going between my legs.

“No,” I whimper. With my face in Brick’s chest, I can’t stop the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so messed up.”

Brick hugs me gently, whispering nice words.

When I’m quiet, when I’m trying to figure out what to say next—in other words, right when it starts to get awkward—Brick shifts slightly, reaching for something. Then comes the blinking, sucking sound of the TV powering on.