• • •

I watch Gray become the center of attention in the group that seems to have adopted him. He's dribbled beer down his t-shirt and he takes a red cup one of the guys passes him, and I dread how he's going to feel in the morning. I don't know much, but I know it's a bad idea to mix drinks and he's been doing that all night.

But he's having fun and he knows parties better than I do. I don't want to cramp his style in front of everyone so I give him a smile and a moment later, Liam's back. He presses a cup into my hand and I know that the clear liquid isn't water. It smells like nail polish remover.

"Vodka lemonade," he says when I sniff the drink. "But we're running low on lemonade." He frowns at the drink he made. "Sprite, maybe?"

Whatever it is – and his lack of conviction isn't convincing in the slightest – I'm not going to drink it. I don't know what to do about the cup I don't want until my stomach groans with a sickening ache, as though it's warning me not to touch a drop of alcohol without eating something first.

I pull Liam closer, his shirt bunched in my fist. He seems to like that, but it's only because it's too loud otherwise. My lips are right by his ear, his long hair tickling my nose when I yell, "Could I get something to eat?"

I can barely hear myself over the music but Liam understand. He points at the ceiling and wraps his hand around my wrist. I guess holding hands is more intimate than a drunk kiss. As he drags me upstairs, Gray catches my eye. He looks confused and alarmed, leading away from his new friends when he sees Liam's hand clamped around my arm.

I mime eating a sandwich and his face clears. He sticks up his thumb and seconds later, he's laughing as someone pulls him into a game of beer pong. He has no hand-eye coordination but nobody else seems to fare much better in their various states of inebriation. He fits right in. I'd do anything for his confidence.

Forcing through the crowds to get upstairs, relief crushes me like a wave that drags me under before pushing me to the surface. I can hear again; I can breathe. It feels like a world away from the throbbing underground party, quiet enough that I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, and I can hardly tell there's a party going on beneath us.

I see what Navya means about secrecy. If the smokers hadn't tipped out and left the door open, we wouldn't even have been convinced there was a party going on here at all, let alone figured out how to get in. The front door is heavy and intimidating, and it locks automatically.

Liam leads me to a huge kitchen, with industrial fridges and counters. It feels like a proper restaurant kitchen, all shiny steel and no soul, and I get the feeling we're not supposed to be here.

"We usually have a chef," Liam says, opening a few cupboards before he finds a load of bread, "but it's, like, midnight. I can make you a sandwich?" He swings open the giant fridge, stocked with a crazy amount of cheese and meats, and what looks like a ten pound tub of butter.

"Perfect," I say, and I take advantage of his head being in the fridge to quickly dump out the vodka and refill my cup from the faucet. He doesn't seem to notice the sound of running water. I down half of it at once and try not to pull a face when it still tastes faintly of vodka.

"I'm gonna make you the Alexander special," he says, grabbing sliced meat and cheese and a box of shredded lettuce, then a couple of unlabeled squeezy bottles that look like mustard and mayonnaise. My mouth waters at the thought, hunger replacing my nerves. This may not be my scene but I'm feeling good now that I'm here.

"Who's Alexander?"

"Me." He prods his chest with his thumb. "Liam Alexander. Unless you wanna get real fancy, then I'm William Sanders Kazimir Alexandrov." He gives me a serious look. "But Liam's just fine."

His voice is so deadpan, his expression so serious, that I splutter a laugh. I wasn't expecting that. "Russian?" I ask. He nods.

"On my dad's side. His family's from Moscow," he says. "Mom's from Alabama."

"Wow. That's cool." I watch him clumsily make a couple of sandwiches, layering meat and cheese with lettuce and mayonnaise and a think swipe of bright yellow mustard on one side of the bread.

"And you"–he points his knife at me–"are Storie from Queens?"

I nod. I'm not sure I want to lay all my cards on the table but as I'm sipping my weird vodka-infused water, he asks what my full name is. All I say is, "Astoria." He could get that much from my name tag though.

"Like Madonna?" he asks. "Or Cher? Or Lorde?" He almost cuts his finger when he slices one sandwich in half. "Where's the rest?"

"If you want to get real fancy," I say, mimicking him, "then I'm Astoria Eszti Klotild Sovany. But Storie's just fine."

"Oh, damn." He laughs. "And I thought mine was a mouthful. Where're you from?"

"Queens." He knows that. I know he knows that. He said it two minutes ago. I just want to call him out. But he's unaffected.

"Where's your name from?" he asks.

"Hungary," I tell him, and I can't be bothered to explain that I've never been there. I don't even have a passport.

"Cool. Cool." He finds a couple plates in the fourth cupboard he tries and he passes me a sloppily-made sandwich. I'm not sure what his deal is but he made me food and he's sticking around to eat with me, and he'll forever be my first kiss.

Navya's words come back to me. All of them, all at once. Watching Liam, I want to know what happened here. I need to know, a sudden craving that hits me hard. When he takes a mammoth mouthful, I form the question while he's chewing.

"What happened here last year?" I ask.

"Huh?" His eyebrows pull together. His hair falls forward, brushing over his shoulder when he dives to catch a bit of pastrami before it drops out.

"I heard that a couple of guys died here," I say, and his face darkens. He nods and takes another mouthful, and I wonder if that's the end of it.

"Yeah," he says. He swallows. "Two of my brothers. They were in my year. Brett Cameron and Tanner Wynne."

"What happened?"

He pulls a face like he doesn't want to talk it about it. But I want to know. I need to. If I don't have all the details, my brain will fill the gaps with the worst case scenarios, a reel of horrible fantasy. Liam takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully.

"It was messy," he says. My mind jumps to blood-splattered walls with an awful chill before Liam clarifies. "Not their deaths," he adds. "They hanged themselves in the woods outside town. The situation was messy."

I don't want Liam to stop talking but it's hard to hold in a groan of appreciation for the sandwich. He knows what he's doing, or drunk cooking is his forte. I chew quietly and give him the silence he needs to continue.

"They were kind of a ... couple, I guess, but they were totally in the closet. No-one knew. I mean, they both had girlfriends in Sigma Tau Phi," he says, shaking his head to himself. "Anyway, some girl from Omega Pi found out. They're, like, a rival frat to STP. She started blackmailing Brett and Tanner and threatening to tell everyone."

"Oh my God." That's not what I was expecting. I guess Navya isn't right about everything.

"Bitch took it too far." He grits his jaw and shakes his head, his eyes low and dark. In the badly lit kitchen, his irises almost look black. "They were my brothers and they'd still be here if that stupid bitch hadn't stuck her nose in."

My nose wrinkles at his language, but I get it. He has a reason to be pissed.

"She outed them," he says, "and they killed themselves. And then some stupid rumor went around that we killed them for being gay, for tainting the brotherhood or something?" He lets out an angry snort. "Nobody cared about that. There are, like, ten gay guys in the house. We're equals. We protect our brothers. If we'd known what was going on, we would have protected them too, but we didn't get a chance."

An awkward silence lingers. I focus on the sandwich, which really is delicious and exactly what I needed. Liam finishes his and then downs the rest of his drink in three loud gulps before he burps. He doesn't move until I'm done, then he drops our plates in the sink and beckons for me to get to my feet.

His serious demeanor drops away. He gives me a grin. The alcohol he downed has gone straight to his head and he's back to being the grinning host he's been all night as he leads me to the basement stairs. The noise hits me when he opens to door and pulls me after him.

I don't tell him that I prefer being up here, that I like talking to him and being able to hear him. The more we talk, the easier I find it to suppress my uneasy mind and push away Navya's Greek life skepticism, and I like hearing his voice, but I don't want to be needy. So I wet my lips with my water, and I follow him down.

• • •

For over an hour, I've been awkwardly hanging off the strands of conversations Liam has with his brothers and guys from a couple other frats. I smile when a wasted Phi Phi Nu girl – the one with the stomach flat enough to balance shots on – gushes over my hair and gets a bit too close. I swallow my embarrassment when Liam's friends give me a shameless once over, their eyes violating my body as they sweep over my breasts and my stomach, and my breasts again. Some nudge each other. I know they're whispering about me. Probably wondering if Liam's gone blind.

It got too much for me, so fifteen minutes ago, I came up for air and I don't want to go back down. It's too loud and there are too many people, and they all try to give me drinks I don't want, and the more Liam drinks, the more touchy he gets, his hand slipping down from my shoulder to cop a feel. I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it because it's new and exhilarating, and I get a shiver of a thrill when he touches me, but there are too many people around. Too many eyes.

I want to kiss him again. I need a do-over. There are tons of voices swirling around my brain, clamoring about everything from Brett and Tanner to Gray and Navya, but the loudest one is telling me that I liked the kiss and I want to try it again. On my own terms. But I couldn't stand to be down there any longer. Parties just aren't my scene. That won't change.

I'm sitting on the steps outside, my shoe propping the door open, when Gray tumbles over from around the side of the house with a loopy grin, and he almost trips over me before he drops down hard and rests his head on my shoulder.

"Hey," he says. "I was wondering where you'd got to."

I haven't seen him since I went to get a sandwich. When I returned, it was difficult to stray from Liam's group and I had no idea where to go anyway.

"I needed a breather." I shift so I'm a bit more comfortable and I catch the unmistakable waft of marijuana clouding Gray like an aura. "Did you smoke pot?"

He giggles like a little kid and holds his thumb and finger an inch apart. "I might be a tiny bit high."

"Oh my God, Gray."

"I like it," he says. "I feel warm and fuzzy. And droopy." He lets out a sigh and sinks against me like a sleepy child. I smell the entire party on him, whiskey and weed and beer, and the perfume of a Phi Phi Nu girl who was grinding all over him. They seem to be Theta Chi Theta's favorite sorority. I don't blame them: the girls are all gorgeous. Apparently they raised thousands doing a naked calendar last year.

"Well, as long as you're feeling good," I say. "Seems like you've got quite a high tolerance."

"I know, right? You learn something new every day. I got white girl wasted," he says with a laugh, and then he lets out a heavy sigh. "How're you?" He pokes me harder than I think he means to. "You don't like parties."

"Not really."

"Wanna go home?"

I don't want to pull him away when he's having a good time after I made him come here with me, waiting for hours while I worked my shift, but I know I don't want to stay the night. The roads will be quiet now – we can be home in less than ninety minutes and I like waking up in my own bed.

"Just lemme know when you wanna go," he says, his words tripping over each other as though they're fighting for first place. "We can go whenever you wanna leave." He slings a drunken arm around me.

"Thanks, Gray."

"How's your lover?" He laughs and smacks his lips. "Saw you guys making out. You're not a lip virgin anymore!"

"I know. It's weird."

"The kiss?" He suddenly looks dramatically sad. "Is he a bad kisser?"

"I don't know. I've kissed exactly one person, one time. I'm not sure how to know if it's good."

"I've kissed exactly one person one time," he says, "and I know it was bad. You know if it's bad."

"I liked it," I say. I think about Liam's lips on mine, his body pressed against me, his stubble bristling my cheeks. Just long enough that it wasn't too scratchy. I don't want a rash, especially not when I'm seeing Kris in a matter of hours.

"Then it was a good kiss," Gray says. "It looked good anyway." He lets out a happy sigh and yawns. "Ugh, I'm so tired. What time is it?"

I show him my phone screen. One thirty. That's late for me, but probably early for this kind of party, though I don't know how much more drinking can be done before everyone passes out or throws up. The sorority girls are tiny but they can really hold their liquor. Unless they're using the same trick as me.

The door opens behind us. Someone trips over my shoe, kicking the ballet flat at my back. I grab it before it can go missing and Gray almost tumbles down the steps when I move.

"Storie."

Liam's voice. I look up, tilting my head back so he looms over me.

"Hi."

"I was looking for you," he says. My heart warms a little. He wavers on his feet, his eyes lingering on Gray for a moment before he remembers who he is. "What're you doing out here?"

"I needed air," I say. I hold back a yawn. I haven't had any caffeine, nor do I have the buzz of alcohol to keep me going, and I don't want to push it so late that I'm too tired to drive home.

Liam jogs down the steps and almost loses his balance. His eyes are glassy. "Come back in." He holds out his hand. Now that I've been out here for so long, though, I have no desire to go back to the sweaty basement. It's a balmy night, even at this time, and I'm enjoying the gentle breeze.

"No, thanks," I say, and I give him an apologetic smile. He doesn't realize how much it took for me to actually come here, and to stay so long. There were so many times I almost backed out.

I can always use Gray as an excuse if I need to. He won't mind, and I doubt Liam will want to keep him around if he's at risk of making a mess. But then I realize that Liam thinks I've been drinking all night. If I drive home, he'll know I lied. Unless he's too far gone to even put two and two together. Maybe he's not that kind of responsible.

"Come on." He nods at the door. "Come and play beer pong. It'll be fun."

"I don't want to." My mind's made up now. It never reaches a decision that quickly – I'm going to take the hint. It's time to go. We can be home by three. Earlier, even, when it's traffic that adds twenty minutes to the journey. "Gray and I are going to get some air and then we're going to head home."

"You can stay here," he says. "It's late to drive."

So he either doesn't care that I've been drinking, as far as he's aware, or it doesn't cross his mind. Or he does know and it's a challenge. I'm not sure who has the upper hand.

"I've got to be up in the morning. Thanks for inviting us – we had a good time – but we need to get home."

Liam looks as though he's about to protest again when Gray lifts his head and points a wandering finger in Liam's direction. "Stop pressuring her. No means no."

Liam holds up his hands. I blame the alcohol. I haven't even been with him the whole night but I know he's drunk a lot. He was tipsy when I arrived three hours ago. "Sorry," he says. "If you wanna get some air, come for a walk before you go?"

Not a demand. A question. I think about it for a moment before I say, "Ok. Just a few minutes."

When I stand, he links his arm through mine and Gray vows to stay put until I'm back – and to call the police if I don't return. I'm on high alert. It's dark and I'm at a frat house, arm in arm with a pretty wasted junior I don't know that well, but there's still that thrill at the back of my mind. Despite every rational thought, that little niggle is jumping for joy. He wants me to stay. He wants me.

I don't want to be desperate, but he is cute and when we're just talking, I like being with him. And when we're kissing. And even when we're walking through the back yard at stupid o'clock at night.

"This is kinda creepy," I whisper.

"Only because it's dark," he says. He's right. This place isn't creepy during the day. It's just a garden enclosed by a high wall. But it's big. It has more oak trees than Five Oaks.

It's silent out here. My heart races faster. I think of Navya. I think of Gray. I even think of Mom, that irrational side beating the thrill for long enough to scream that Liam's leading me like a lamb to slaughter. I stop walking. My feet won't cooperate.

"What?"

"This is freaking me out," I say. I hate the dark. The unfamiliar dark is even worse. I've never been here in the day. I don't know the layout and it's hardly illuminated by the lights from the house, which cast shadows across the lawn. "I think I'm gonna go."

Liam drops his arm from mine. Then he takes my hand.

"Ok," he says. "It's nicer in the day anyway. I'll show you sometime."

My paranoia slips away. I hate how quickly it comes and goes, jumping to the worst places in a fraction of a second. Of course he's not trying to kill me. It's laughable. He's just a drunk twenty-year-old. If anything, he wants to get lucky, not homicidal.

"Ok," I say.

"Wanna grab a drink next week?"

"Sure."

"Can I get your number yet?"

"I have yours," I say. Then a wave of confidence rushes through me and I stretch up to kiss him. This time it's my choice, my hands on his neck. I'm still not sure what I'm doing but I like being the one to make the move. I've never been the type to take initiative, overthinking every tiny step, but I know he wants this.

He doesn't pull away. Instead, he groans and pushes his hand through my hair. I try to mimic his movements, replaying every kiss I've seen on TV. At least I have a clear head, though it might be easier if I'd had something to drink.

"Oh, God," he mutters, his hand moving to my chest again. Part of me thinks I should push it away but I like it. I like the attention. I've never felt this way before, like I'm in any way desirable, but he's groaning and biting my lip and I can feel that he likes it.

It makes me feel good.

"Stay," he says again, his hand messing up my hair. He's the one who sounds desperate now. I never thought I had that kind of power. I drop onto my heels but he bends down to kiss me again, pushing me against one of the shadowy trees. His hands are wandering, his tongue urgent.

"No."

It's hard to push him away. I don't want to ruin my chances. But I don't want to make a mistake.

• • •