“Yes,” I say quickly. Then I hear how fast I said it and try to recover. “I mean—if you want to.”
Kai’s eyes narrow again. “Harlow.”
Right. We don’t do fake politeness. He can smell it from a mile away.
“I’m good for, like…” I glance around the kitchen like there’s a timer on the wall. “Another five minutes.”
Weston reappears out of nowhere, offended on my behalf. “Five minutes? Headed home before midnight? That’s a crime.”
I lift a shoulder. “I’m already a criminal.”
Weston points at me like I just made his day. “See? She’s one of us.”
Kai doesn’t laugh, but his mouth twitches again like he wants to. “Go stand outside for a minute,” he tells me, voice gentler now. “Get some air. I’ll be out soon.”
“I can just?—”
“Harlow,” he says, one word. It’s the version of my name that meanslet me take care of you without you fighting me on it.
So I nod. “Okay.”
I squeeze through bodies toward the front door, heart hammering from the crowd and the music and the fact that someone brushed my shoulder and I couldn’t tell if it was on purpose. The living room is worse—packed and flashing and loud, the kind of loud that doesn’t just hit your ears. It hitsyour bones. I make it out the door and onto the porch like I’m escaping a burning building.
Cool night air smacks me in the face.
I inhale.
The sky is black velvet, and the stars are barely visible over the neighborhood glow. Somewhere across the lawn, people are laughing, shouting, living like they’ve never had to convince their own brain to calm down.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Kai: i’m gonna stay a bit. u good to uber back?
Of course he is.
Because Kai is a senior and a captain, and he belongs in rooms like this. He has teammates here. Friends. A role he can slip into like armor. This is easy for him. Dragging me here was probably his version of proof that I’m not turning into a hermit, which is…a fair concern. I type back before I can overthink it.
Harlow: I’m good. Leaving now.
A pause.
Then:
Kai: proud of you for coming.
I roll my eyes at my screen, even though it warms something in my chest.
Harlow: Don’t.
Kai: too late. text me when you’re back in your dorm.
Harlow: Yes, Dad.
I order an Uber and wait on the sidewalk, arms folded, watching the house pulse with light and hear the noise coming through the windows. I feel like I’m looking at something I’m supposed to want and can’t quite make myself want.
By the time I’m back in my dorm, it’s only 10:48 p.m. Which is the worst time to leave a party—too early to justify it, but late enough that everyone else is still out, and the hallway is quiet in that eerie, empty way.
I kick off my shoes, toss my sweater onto my desk chair, and sit on my bed with my hands braced on either side of my thighs.
