Noah

The party was already a blur of sound and movement by the time I made it there. Someone must’ve told half the senior class, because the place looked like a music video—people packed shoulder to shoulder, lights flashing, bass thumping hard enough to shake the windows.

Normally, I’d be right in the mix with Jackson, but lately everything between us had felt off.

So I stuck near the back porch, leaning against the railing, a half-empty soda in my hand, trying to drown out ...