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“Fine, you can stay, but I am going to the party.” I grab my phone from my desk and find the group chat blowing up with questions of my whereabouts. Every single one of them asks if I need a ride, so I assume they’re waiting for my answer before partaking in some drinking.

“You’re gonna leave me here?” He takes a bite, hissing at how hot it is.

“Yeah, see yourself out the window—” I turn from the door to face him. “Why the window, by the way?”

He shrugs, pizza in his mouth. “Your mom has cameras on all the doors.” He chews. “Which, what the hell? There’s no camera covering the only outside entrance to your room?What’s the point, then? You’re unguarded.”

“I’ll be sure to let her know that you have those concerns as the only person to scope out the house and then break into my bedroom. I’m sure she’ll thank you.”

“That would be nice since it doesn’t seem like you’re going to say it.” He kicks his shoes off and then twists the cap off one of the beers. “I’ll probably just be here when you get back.”

I sigh. “If you’re waiting for an invite to the party, it’s not going to come.”

“I’m the one with a car. You’d be lucky to be invited to the party by me.”

We duke it out in the Staring Contest Battle Arena. He wins—I remember he always used to win because he has unnaturally wet eyeballs. After the first couple of times we had “playdates” as kids, my mom sat me down and asked if I was bullying him because he always seemed on the verge of crying.

“Fine,” I say heavily. “You got me. I don’t want to go to the party.” I sit on my bed and he turns the pizza box toward me. I pick up a slice and take a bite, kicking off my own shoes. “What am I supposed to tell my friends?”

“Tell them you’re staying in tonight and...” He stares at the wall. “Is that—” His eyes flick to mine in alarm. “Why is theCatfishguy riding a killer whale on your wall?”

“Tilikum.”

“Bless you.”

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t steal my bit. It’s not nearly as cute when you do it.”

He bites his lip playfully. “But it issomewhatcute, right?”

I refuse to focus on how the answer to that is an undeniableyes, so I go for the informative response. “It’d be cuter if it wasn’t insensitive. Tilikum is a Native American word, and also the name of the infamous captive orca.” I try to decipher how it must look to someone who’s never seen it before. Yes, my grandma painted Nev Schulman riding Tilikum into the sunset on my bedroom wall. It’s really not as weird as it sounds, especially when you take into consideration that the original idea included Gypsy Rose Blanchard and JonBenét Ramsey—but my mom drew the line, saying it was too morbid to wake up to every day and that she refused to raisethat muchof a weirdo. I smile, remembering how my grandma laughed every time she worked on it. “Those two documentaries are what got me interested in film.”

“But what’s the whale one?”

I fake-choke. “Excuse me? You’ve never seenBlackfish?”

“You haveCatfishandBlackfishon your wall?” He takes a huge bite of his pizza. “What the hell is with the fish?”

“No, don’t change the subject.” I face him. “You haven’t seen it? We’re watching it right now and ruining your childhood love of aquariums and zoos.”

“I made a mistake coming here, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” I pull the DVD from its case and prepare to change his life. “And I’ll make sure you regret it and learn your lesson.”

Afterward, when we’re bored of spiked root beer, Holden and I raid my mother’s wine fridge. I’ve had enough to drink that I pay no attention to my constantly buzzing phone, or the time, and this is how we end up playing a drunken version of theWhisper Challenge, or whatever it’s fucking called, where one person wears headphones playing music and the other whispers something that the original person needs to repeat.

Holden’s mouth moves but I have no clue what he’s saying. I never have any clue what he’s saying. I am exceptionally bad at this game and it probably won’t hit me until I’m sober that the only reason he’s good at it is because he’s most likelynotlistening to music during his turns.

“I have no clue, just say it.” I rip the headphones off my ears.

“Are you going to the dance?”

I blink, the alcohol mixing in my stomach. “Was that what you were saying or are you asking me?”

“Both. Are you going to the winter formal?” He spins a little in my desk chair.

“That’s a big no.” I adjust my tights, wishing I had kicked Holden out earlier to change into leggings. But I’m at the point in my drunkenness that I don’t care anymore, and he’s not going to see anything, so I just shimmy them down and kick them off my feet. “I can’t dance. I mean, I can do a dance if it’schoreographed, but I can’t just dance to dance. That feels too, I don’t know.”

“Vulnerable?”