I suddenly didn’t want to leave that basement, didn’t want to deal with everything that lay beyond these walls. My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes watered. I blinked rapidly. A surge of grief rose up, but I stuffed it down. It was too strong, too threatening. I couldn’t handle it.

“You okay?”

No.

I never would be again. Didn’t he know?

I sighed. “You’re having a pool party. You ready to par-tay?”

He shook his head. “That’s right.”

The guys decided they should be “social” after another hour of playing video games. Should be. Yes. Because they wanted to be polite not because they wanted to drool over girls in bikinis. It had nothing to do with all the bare skin running around Ryan’s backyard.

I joined, but I was the non-social one. I was fine to pop in my music and hang on my own. The booze had simmered me out. Ryan checked on me a few times, but I reassured him I was good, and he finally went over to his friends, laughing and doing what was expected of him. Erin was there too, her friends in tow. They all basked before her, as if they were trying to catch whatever sunglow she had in excess. Peach kept shooting her nervous looks.

From my vantage point—on a lounge chair in the corner—I saw again what I’d noticed earlier. There were two groups of girls—Erin’s group and another clique. I assumed they belonged to the infamous Stephanie Witts. A couple of them were in the water with some other guys, playing a new game of dunk basketball.

As I watched, one of the girls caught the basketball but turned and glared at Erin.

One of the girls from that group walked by me, and I asked her, “What grade are you?”

She stopped, seeming surprised by my question. “Senior.” Then her lip curved up and she sneered at me.

Silly me. She was a popular senior. Who was I to talk to her?

I ignored my desire to flick her my middle finger and lay back down. With my sunglasses in place, I resumed the antisocial role.

I plugged my earbuds back in and “Glory” from Dermot Kennedy filled my ears. I filled my lungs. Sitting there, with all these strangers around me, in a social scene I didn’t care about, I was having a come-to-Willow moment.

What was I doing there?

This wasn’t my scene, not even if Willow had been with me.

I would’ve been home. I would’ve been with my soccer friends, and if they’d wanted to go and scrimmage, I would’ve tried to talk them out of it. Seriously. Netflix and junk food were way more appealing.

This was Willow’s scene.

She cared about popular girls, about popular guys. She would’ve already scoped out who to maim, who to kill, whose ass to kiss, and who to fuck.

Her world whirled around me.

Their laughter sounded like kids playing on a playground as it filtered through the music. I was in a self-assigned tornado, and everyone else seemed fine.

Why couldn’t I be normal?

Why didn’t I even want to try?

I felt tears fall from my eyes, trickling down behind my sunglasses, and I didn’t care. I never moved. I didn’t wipe my eyes. I wasn’t going to stop them, but I also wasn’t going to keel over in sobbing hiccups. That wasn’t me either.

I didn’t even remember the last time I’d cried before Willow.

She was the sobbing, melodramatic twin. Everything was ending if she got dumped, if she did the dumping. If a friend betrayed her, God forbid, her life was over . . .

Bad choice of words there.

I thumbed over to the music, hitting the next one. I needed a change of tempo if I was going to stick with socially appropriate behavior.

“I Need My Girl” by The National was next.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I hit forward again.

“Sleep Baby Sleep” by Broods.

Shit.

I should hit it again, and my thumb lingered over the button, but I couldn’t.

The words made me remember that night.

She had been on the floor. Her eyes had been vacant, open. The blood had pooled around her.

I had laid down, my head next to hers, my hands in the same position. Her blood surrounded me, and it had felt like mine.

We would lay together. She would tell me a secret. I would pretend to be excited to hear it.

That’s what we did before, and I pretended that’s what was happening that night as I had lain there..

God.

Fuck.

Shit.

My tears had tripled into a steady flow, and though I hadn’t moved, I knew people would eventually notice.

Letting my music blast, I got up and went inside.

The world was better this way. Having tunes in my ears, I could handle the looks, the questions, the vibes people sent my way. The music protected me. I was in my own world. I didn’t have to feel their shit, whatever it was. It was me and the music—and somehow Willow.