Nora plucked the beer and vodka bottles from the counter and set them carefully into an already quarter-filled trash bag.

Her dad didn't usually drink this much in one night. But, with the anniversary getting closer—and, not to mention, his rising tolerance—the counter was becoming steadily harder to find each morning. Usually, she'd make sure to get at least some of it cleaned before Andy picked her up for school. Today, though, Erin had needed to get to school early to meet with a teacher, which threw the entire carpool out of whack. She hadn't had time.

Two more beer bottles went into the bag. She grimaced at the smell. It didn't matter how often she cleaned up her dad's messes—whether it be bottles, vomit, or missed attempts to go to the bathroom. The smell continued to be unbearable.

A few more bottles, and she was able to tie off the bag. She set to Clorox wiping the countertops, then hitting the room with a few—and by that she meant at least ten—squirts of air freshener. Lavender. Much better.

She toted the bag where she had the others: to the basement, to be forgotten about until she was able to make it to the return center. That was always a fun trip. The workers never commented, but it was obvious what they were thinking: what was a seventeen-year-old doing carting this much alcohol? She was lucky the police hadn't been contacted.

"It's what you deserve." Her dad's voice rang through her head. She shoved the thought away and hurried down the hall, to the basement. She practically ran down the steps, set the bag down next to the three others—those ones full—and scurried back up.

She should check her dad's room—his bathroom, too. Both usually fell victim to something or other. But Andy would be here soon, and if her dad got home from work before he arrived, she needed to be able to grab her guitar and go.

Crap. Her guitar.

She crossed back through the kitchen, to the entryway, and up the stairs.

Her guitar was waiting for her in its usual place: hanging on the wall, next to her ukulele and keyboard. She snatched it and looped the strap around her shoulders. Was she forgetting anything else? She didn't think so. The sheet music would be inside the case. Her cell phone was in her pocket. She'd already eaten and done the majority of her homework.

Still, she took a cursory glance around her room. It was the only room in the house that radiated her. Posters lined the walls with quotes about music and God. Her bureau housed her makeup, because her dad told her "to keep her shit out of the bathroom." Her bed, made and ready for her to return, hid her songbook and and prayer journal under her mattress.

She had everything. After giving her room a small smile, she hurried back down the stairs.

She'd barely reached the bottom step when the front door opened and her dad appeared.

She faltered, grip tightening on her guitar case's strap. His white skin was faintly tinted red—a bad sign—and even before the door closed, he was yanking at his tie—another bad sign. Something had happened at work.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, spotting her there.

"I—"

"And would you quit playing your guitar late at night? The racket keeps me up, and I have to wake up early in the morning."

She never played her guitar at night. She actually made it a point to not play music in the house when he was home. But...maybe the couple of times she'd lost her headphones and decided to chance playing music out loud, he'd heard. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'll stop."

He locked his jaw and averted his gaze to the far wall. "Good," he muttered. He stormed into the kitchen. The refrigerator opened. A bottle clanked. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She'd planned to wait in the kitchen, so she could see Andy pull in. If she didn't head out the moment he parked the car, he'd get impatient and honk. But her dad might not gravitate to the living room before then. And if she waited in the living room, he could gravitate there and he was already tense—she shouldn't make it worse.

That left one option.

She bit her lip and stepped off the stairs. She started for the door—

"Where do you think you're going?"

Her dad appeared at the kitchen doorway, a beer in hand. It was already half-empty.

"I...I have band practice," she said.

"And when were you going to tell me?"

She had. She was pretty sure. Maybe she'd forgotten?

"I'm sorry," she said.

"You say that a lot."

She averted her gaze to the floor.

"I don't know why you bother," he said. "You're not going anywhere."

I know.

She waited for him to scoff, to leave, to take his place in the recliner and turn on the TV. But he just stood there.

"What are you waiting for?" he snapped. "Go."

She shuffled to the door. "I'll be home around eight," she said.

He took a gulp of his beer.

"Bye, Dad. I love you."

He shoved past her, into the living room. She left.

✝

About ten minutes after the door shut behind her, Andy pulled into her driveway.

She jogged over to his Jeep and put on a bright smile, shifting her mindset as easily as she would change a chord. Her conversation with her dad hadn't affected her. Her chest wasn't tight. She was just excited for band practice.

The passenger door creaked as she tugged it open. Erin and Max were already in the back, and she grinned at them as she buckled her seat. "Hey," she said.

"Hey!"

"Long time no see, Garner," Andy said.

"I know," she said. "It's been centuries."

He pulled out of the driveway and zoomed down the road. Andy was the kind of guy to take a left turn at a forty and laugh at anyone who reached for the handlebars over the windows.

"You know, I was thinking I could sing tonight," he said, wriggling his eyebrows. "I'm definitely better now. Would still get rejected from a singing show, but they'd be a little conflicted about it."

"Conflicted about how to tell you nicely, you mean?" Max asked.

"Hey, I can kick you out of this car any time." Andy narrowed his eyes warningly at the rearview mirror. "Don't test me, James."

Everyone snickered.

"Willow needs to get here already," Andy grumbled. "I'm tired of being the only one of you assholes who can't sing."

"Swear jar," they chorused.

"For the last time, it doesn't count until she's at least in the United States of America."

"For the last time, yes it does," Max said.

"Who says?"

"Willow."

"Pfft."

Nora grinned. She couldn't wait until May 27thth—less than two weeks now. Eleven days. Eleven long, long days until Willow would finally return from London and would be home for the entire summer.

"I want to go to college abroad," Erin mused, toying with one of her red braids.

"You gonna ditch us for Oxford, too?" Andy asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Her cheeks reddened. Nora folded her lips together to suppress a smile—Erin's crush on Andy was growing more obvious by the day. "No," Erin said with a small laugh. "Maybe New Zealand, though."

"Oh, I see." He sighed dramatically. "You have fun in New Zealand, Bailey. I'll stick with Ann Arbor."

Ann Arbor. Her parents went to the University of Michigan. Willow's, too. When she was little, she would put on her dad's University of Michigan baseball cap and her mom's pullover sweater, and she'd envision herself on the campus, taking the classes. She couldn't wait until she grew up, so she could go there, too.

Now?

"I'm not going to college," Max announced.

"Really?" Erin asked.

He shrugged. "Not feeling it."

"Makes sense," she said. "How about you, Nora?"

"I'm not sure yet," she said, the lie sliding smoothly off her tongue. She shrugged, a nonchalant motion, nothing betraying the rock in her stomach.

But, of course, she was sure. She wanted to go to the University of Michigan. She wanted to study composition. She wanted to spend her life creating and sharing music.

She couldn't do any of that, though, and that was okay. It would have to be. She could settle for listening to Willow's stories about her adventures at university, and, in the future, Erin's and Andy's. She would continue working at Second, one of Greeley's thrift stores, and she would be fine.

Willow's stories.

Crap. She was supposed to Skype with Willow after practice. But with her dad already in a mood...

She would have to cancel. But she never canceled this last minute, even with a mountain of homework threatening to topple on top of her. She'd always just do her homework, seeking help (and, honestly, answers) while they chatted. So if she were to cancel now it would have to warrant an emergency—and that would defeat the purpose of canceling in the first place.

"The racket keeps me up, and I have to wake up early in the morning."

She bit her lip. It would be okay. She had her headphones.

But what if he started throwing things? Screaming so loudly that Willow would understand what he was saying?

It'll be okay.

She reached for her cross necklace. Please let it be okay.

Andy tugged her back into the conversation—which had now switched back to Willow's upcoming arrival and how they planned on getting to the airport—and she forced herself to pack her worries away. She smiled and laughed and planned and slowly, surely, she was able to put her dad out of her mind. By the time they pulled into Holy Trinity's parking lot and hopped out of the Jeep, her main focus was on band practice.

They'd be singing one of her originals this week. It wasn't uncommon. They'd been periodically throwing her music into the mix since Max and Andy caught her working on one of her pieces during a break from practice—that was three years ago.

Her dad was right when he said she wasn't going anywhere. That she didn't deserve to. But just having this space where she could play her music and have it be appreciated...it was enough to quiet the dissatisfaction.

Ryan was there to greet them at the main entrance. "Hello, hello," he said, opening the door wide so they could all enter. Nora smiled as she passed him, into the lobby.

As she peered around at the lilac walls, the greeting desk to her left, the couches next to the stairs that led to the sanctuary doors, a feeling of home swept over her. Tension released its grip on her shoulders. For the next three hours, at least, she didn't need to worry about anything. She could play her music and hang out with her friends and God.

They practiced the first two songs in their set—an acoustic cover of Symphony by Switch and Dillon Chase, and a cover of River by Jordan Feliz. And then it was time for her song.

She switched out River's sheet music for her handwritten ones. A familiar twitchiness took over her fingers. Why was she nervous? She'd sung this song with her friends more than ten times already, and they received it well each time. But her nerves refused to settle.

She closed her eyes and started to play.

✝

"So, how was practice?"

Nora tugged a makeup removal wipe from its plastic covering and wiped it across her cheek. "Good," she said, keeping her voice low. "Andy wants to you to come home because he thinks you can't sing."

Willow gasped. Nora glanced away from her circular vanity mirror, to where she'd set her laptop on the free space on her bureau. Willow's laughing form brought a smile to her face. "Oh, he's gonna get it when I get home," she said. "I mean, it's the truth, but ouch."

Nora laughed softly. It was true. Willow was talented in many ways, but singing was a gift she hadn't been granted.

Willow yawned. "Oh, hey, did you ask that guy"—She snapped her fingers, searching for the words—"that guy, uh...crap. I totally just had it."

Nora's eyebrows raised. "You mean—"

"No, don't tell me. I've got this. Or I'm gonna hate myself a little bit. It's fine."

"Drastic."

"It is what it is."

Nora snorted out a laugh and slapped a hand to her mouth. She resisted the urge to shoot a worried glance at her door, but listened hard. Nothing but the distant sounds of the television.

Her dad had been surprisingly quiet tonight. Some rumblings here and there, but nothing she couldn't play off as him ranting at a television show. She couldn't be more thankful.

"Noah? Nathan? Wait, no, that's my dad. Wow, I need sleep."

Nora grinned and finished off her wipe."I believe in you," she said.

"Nolan. Ha!"

Nora clapped her hands lightly, careful not to make a sound. "I'm proud of you."

Willow gave a tired thumb's up and propped her chin up with her hand. She was sprawled on her dorm room's bed, the room cloaked in darkness. Only her beige face, messy bun, and some of her pajama shirt were visible. "Thanks," she said. "Did you ask him to sit at your table?"

"Yeah," Nora replied. "Yesterday."

"How'd it go?"

"Could have been worse," she said. "He said no, but he was nice about it."

"I wanna see what he looks like."

"What? Now?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you said he was cute and I'm curious."

"But I don't know his last name," Nora said. How was she supposed to Facebook stalk somebody without a last name? Okay, stalk was a strong word. More like investigate. Like a detective without the coffee and cool hat.

"Oh." Willow pouted, then perked. "Wait, wait, Andy's in his class, right?"

"Yeah." Andy was really good with last names.

"Ask him."

"Couldn't you ask him? Or, better yet, ask your dad?"

"FERPA," Willow said. "And I'm lazy." She waved Nora onward. "Come on, let's go."

Nora sighed dramatically, but tugged her cell phone out of her jean pocket and sent a message to Andy. Yo what's nolan's last name?

"There," she said.

"Thank you."

She wrinkled her nose. Willow laughed.

The reply came almost immediately, though it took Nora a couple of minutes to discover it, because she'd put her phone on silent.

Haynes......why, you creep??

Ugh. Andy and his dots. Ellipses. Whatever they were called.

Willow wants me to play detective

She minimized Willow and opened Facebook. Nolan Haynes, she typed in the search bar.

A soft ding lifted her eyes. "Why did Andy just call me a creep?" Willow asked, looking up from her phone.

Nora laughed softly. "Because you're being creepy."

"I take offense to that."

"Oh, oh, I found him." His hair was a little longer, less styled—natural waves in place of a styled tousle, and he wore a mischievous grin, unlike the sullen frown she'd been seeing since the day she'd first noticed him at his picnic table. "He looks a little different now, but close enough."

She copied the link and pasted it into their Skype chat.

"Thanks, babe," Willow said. She clicked on the link. "Oh, you're right, he is cute."

"Would I ever lie to you?" Nora asked. Her eyebrows creased. His last post was from two years ago.

Anyone know how to do the bio homework?

A number of replies, all to which he'd responded. He and a guy named Chris had a lengthy conversation that swiftly turned from "you're so stupid, this homework is easy" to a bunch of what were clearly inside jokes, because she had no idea what the heck they meant by anything they were saying.

She scrolled down. A few more statuses, and then...

Her eyebrows rose. A link to a YouTube video with a short description at the top: New video! ALMOST DIED in NYC with Christopher Welsh. Enjoy our stupid decisions

She clicked on the link. A new tab opened, leading her to a video entitled yeah, we almost died in the city of dreams. Before the video could begin, she clicked Pause. Almost 100,000 views. He had over 200,000 subscribers.

Holy crap.

She clicked on his channel. It, like his Facebook account, hadn't been updated in two years. The yeah, we almost died in the city of dreams video was the last upload.

Willow yawned, tearing Nora's attention away from YouTube, back to Skype. "I'm gonna head to bed," she said. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay," Nora said. "Night. Love you."

"Night and love you too." Willow made a peace sign and ended the call.

Makeup off, pajamas on, Nora flopped into bed and pulled her comforter over her. She set her laptop on her lap and clicked on Nolan's latest video.