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Wow. I totally get it. This Byron guy. He’s …
Is it me who’s spellbound by Byron’s magnetism? Or is it actually West, who’s never once in his short life allowed himself to look at another guy the way I do?
He’s … fucking amazing. He’s totally like you, too. And damn, look at those guns! He must look jacked with that tight vest off. Wait, what the hell am I saying?
Before I know it, we’re in front of a tall and skinny townhouse, the windows practically swelling from the crowd they’re containing. Byron cheerily greets a guy at the door, then the pair of us slip through into the thick masses of skeletons, slutty bunnies, and cat masks. The noise level is so high, we can barely hear each other as we shove our way through. Byron says something and makes a funny face, and I laugh even though I didn’t catch a word of it. A cup of punch is in my hand, which I taste and promptly discover is mostly alcohol with just a splash of actual punch. Byron is caught by a couple of his friends—a woman with angel wings and a guy in a hoodie who seems too cool for school—and proceeds to chat with them after introducing me.
Drink up, bro, we’re both gonna need it.
I frown down at my cup of punch. “It’s strong.”
Exactly. The stronger the alcohol, the stronger you will get. I can feel your nerves tightening around him.
I down my cup in one go, cough, then glare at the punch bowl. “Better?”
Nope. Another glass.
I glance at Byron—still occupied with his friends—and decide to go for another cup. It tastes stronger than the first one. To my surprise, I go for yet a third cup. Is it me going for this third cup, or West?
Suddenly I’m not so sure who’s in charge anymore.
Byron shouts something to me over the noise, but all I catch is, “somewhere quieter!” before he’s leading me up a very narrow staircase, squeezing past people heading down.
This reminds me so much of my eighteenth birthday at my best friend’s old house. Everyone from school was there. And there was this girl I wished I’d spoken to …
I see a flash of that eighteenth birthday party, as we head up the skinny stairs. “Yeah, I see it,” I mutter, my voice lost to the noise of the house, only West hearing.
There were so many things I wished I did. I should have kissed her that night. She was a good person.
We reach the second floor landing, then navigate a series of tight halls, passing occupied bedrooms, closets, a smoky study full of stoners, and a strangely crowded bathroom with a gaggle of laughing girls.
I wonder sometimes if I’d be alive today, had I just kissed her and let whatever it was between us advance to that next level. She could have been good for me. She could have straightened me out. Her name was Nina.
“Now’s not the time to spiral,” I warn West—or myself. “Besides, I’m feeling the story even without you explaining it. Your memories are kinda mine, too.”
I wonder if maybe fear was my issue, like you. I was just good at covering it up with alcohol, with partying, with a wall of my stupid drunk buddies around me … so I never noticed how afraid I was. Afraid of amounting to nothing. Afraid of being unimportant. Of being boring. Forgotten. A loser. It’s the same way you cling to your fears, letting them prevent you from living your best life.
“West …”
Maybe we’re a lot more alike than I realized, bro.
Byron stops halfway down the hall and turns to me, lifting an eyebrow. “You say something? I missed it.”
I smile and shake my head. “Nothing. I think we’re getting to the quieter part of the house.”
“We are! There’s this cool terrace-balcony-thing off the third floor. I want to show it to you.”
Suddenly a crowd of people burst from a room and squeeze past us in the hallway, laughing and shouting. By seeming instinct, Byron grabs ahold of my hand, as if afraid I might be pulled away with the crowd and separated from him. Flattened to the wall, we turn and look at each other. Surprise fills his pretty eyes.
Breathless, I stare back at him, then crack a smile, the crowd pushing past us like a flood.
Maybe I didn’t go for the girl. But you? You’ve got a real shot with this guy.
The crowd has passed, and neither of us seem too urgent about letting go of our hands. So he keeps hold of mine as we move farther down the hallway. My heart races with my footsteps, as light as air, swelling.
Fuck, Griff, I’ve missed this feeling …
A door opens to a balcony, which overlooks part of a courtyard, with a partial view of the street to the left. To the right is a wall where a long bench rests, colorful orange and green lights dangling above it. A jack-o’-lantern sits on the ground by the metal railing, its eyes and jagged mouth glowing from the candle within it. No one is out here, which is rather surprising, considering how crowded it was inside.
