• ••

It was nearly midnight when we finally made it home to find a plate of cookies on our kitchen table, with a note from Tad. Mom beamed, a little colour in her cheeks, and she kissed my forehead before she went to bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

We had an exhausting couple of days with Kris, as he showed us every inch of his city. After stuffing ourselves on ice cream in Ohio City, he drove us back across the river and we spent a few hours in the rock and roll hall of fame. As full as we were, we couldn't resist sitting on the café balcony with a soda as we looked out over Lake Erie.

At the Cleveland script sign, Mom got another tourist to take a photo of us. She was insistent about where we all stood and I didn't understand why she wanted Kris and me in front of the C while she stood in front of the second E, until I looked back at the photo. Between the three of us, the sign read LEV.

It felt like we went everywhere but I know there's still so much we didn't see and I can't wait to head back someday, but it was nice to collapse into my own bed with nearly eight hours before I needed to be up.

Even so, I felt half-dead when my alarm shrieked at seven thirty, still hardly conscious as I chewed a couple slices of peanut butter on toast. Gray somehow seemed alert and enthusiastic when he came over with a fresh pot of coffee his dad had brewed, even though I know he was still reading when I went to bed, and Mom was in good spirits too. The weekend revitalised her.

I only just feel semi-alive now, getting into the car with Gray next to me and a thermos of coffee in the cupholder. I hate the taste but I need the boost and I like the smell. When I slam the door, I rest my hands on the steering wheel and let out a groan. My legs ache after two days of walking more than I normally do, seeking out the city's secrets.

"You ok?" Gray asks as he checks his reflection in the mirror, making a poor attempt to tame his hair. It has a mind of its own and today there's a thick lock that won't behave. He gives up and snaps the mirror shut.

"Yeah, just tired," I say, stifling a yawn against the back of my hand. I don't want to drive to college today, but there's no other choice but to pull the car out of park and back out of the driveway.

Neither of us talk much on the way to South Lakes. The radio fills the silence, only the occasional word shared between songs while Gray reads and I hope my gross coffee gives me an energy boost. The weekend was intense and as much as I loved it, it absolutely drained me.

It's hard to relax while I'm behind the wheel but at least the journey is familiar enough that my mind can slip into neutral. By the time I pull into my favourite spot on campus, my shoulders are a little less tense and although it's Monday morning, I feel good when I take a deep breath.

Gray shuts the book that he started when we got in the car. He's already over a hundred pages in. He marks his page with a bookmark Mom gave him: he's obsessed with bookmarks, an extensive collection tacked to his walls. Some of his favourites, the ones signed by the authors, are framed.

"Good book?"

He carefully slots the book into his bag and lets out a long, heavy sigh. "Amazing. You have to read it when I'm done."

"Awesome, I will!" Gray is often handing out recommendations and I always read them, and he has yet to pass on a bad book. I try to match his pace but I didn't read a word over the weekend and he finished four novels.

When we get out of the car, Gray asks, "So, on a scale of one to twenty-four, how re-energized are you feeling?"

I yawn. "Minus seven."

Gray rolls his eyes and tuts. "I said re­-energized. As in, in comparison to this morning.

"Oh. Then ... thirteen."

He hums to himself. "Better than fifty percent. You passed," he says, cracking a grin and patting me on the back. When I laugh, he adds, "That's the spirit! And there's nothing like freaking classical literature on a Monday morning to rejuvenate you."

"Ugh. I can think of a million things I'd rather do," I say with a groan, beginning to drag my feet as we near the dreaded lecture theater. Maybe the right teacher could make it interesting but Professor Byrne is drier than the books and his Irish accent is hard to understand.

"So ... let's." He grabs my hand and I nearly fall over when he jerks me away from class and towards Starbucks.

"Gray!"

"Neither of us want to go," he says, his hand warm in mine. He's holding on so tightly that I can't let go. "Byrne is boring as hell and all the important stuff is on the slides. And, let's be real, we're pretty smart."

"We are," I say, almost choking on a laugh of surprise. It was one thing to cut class when the traffic forced us to, but this is entirely different. It's deliberate and thrilling, and it feels like a weight off my shoulders when we step into the warm coffee shop. There's no turning back now, and there's nowhere I'd rather be than here with my best friend.

Gray drops into his favourite seat once we have our drinks. He holds an iced coffee in one hand, the straw bobbing around his chin before he gets his lips around it. "That's more like it," he says. "Welcome to my life. How d'you like it?"

"It feels good," I say, sinking into the armchair. "I can see why you like spending so much time here." From this table, we have a perfect vantage point over the entire store, no-one behind us to peer over our shoulders.

Gray leans forwards, elbows on his knees, and gives me a flash of his simple charisma in that wonky smile. "We've hardly spoken since the party."

He's right, I realize. Mom and I left pretty sharply on Saturday, once she came around, and aside from Gray's call later that day, not much has been said. We didn't speak at all yesterday and only a few words this morning. We haven't talked about the party.

"How much do you remember of it?" I ask. He laughs and takes a sip.

"All of it. It's not like I blacked out," he says. 2I did a keg stand and I played beer pong, and you made out with Liam. Then you disappeared, and a girl kept trying to dance with me. I think her name was Fifi."

"Phi Phi Nu," I tell him, laughing. "It's a sorority."

"Oh. Then I've got no idea who she was," he says. "She was nice, though. Told me you were in the kitchen when I lost you. I thought Liam might have lured you up to his room."

"No!" I splutter, though I feel a tingle at the thought and try to swallow it down. "We had a sandwich and then I was outside for a while before you found me. There was no luring." My cheeks are warm but not so hot that a blush taints my skin.

"And when you guys went for a walk?" he asks, sitting back and crossing his knees as though he's interrogating me. "That feels a bit fuzzy."

"Well, you were kind of high," I say, nudging his leg with my foot. I pull my ankle onto my knee. "In the car, you were gushing about the stars and you said they looked like someone stabbed the sky with a fork, like some kind of instant meal, and the light escaped. And then you fell asleep."

"Oh, God." He laughs and rakes a hand through his hair. When he grins, he only has one dimple, a deep dent in his left cheek. "Sorry."

"It was funny. You're adorable when you're drunk and high," I say with a shrug, like he isn't adorable all the time anyway.

"Why thank you." He awkwardly bows without standing or uncrossing his legs. "Now, tell me what happened on the walk, because I honestly have no idea how long you were gone but I do know that Fifi – well, not Fifi, I guess – came out crying on the phone and told me her boyfriend was an asswipe."

"Was she ok?"

He shrugs. "She went back in the house. Where did you go?"

I tell him about the creepy garden and the kiss; I tell him that it was hard to push Liam away but I did; I tell him that I was only gone for a few minutes. "He wanted me to stay," I say. "He really wanted me to stay, but we just kissed for a bit, then I drove us home."

He sips his latte and licks his lips. "Did you want to stay?"

"No. You know that."

"I know, I know, you didn't want to stay at the party. But did you want to stay for him?"

My hesitation seems to be enough of an answer for him. For me, too. These feelings are all new. I don't quite know what to do with them but I'm not going to deny them. I can't ignore the flutter of my stomach or the fizz in my spine, the way my knees weakened when Liam kissed me, the surge of confidence when I kissed him.

"Do you like him? Or do you like that he likes you?" Gray asks. Both hands are wrapped around his coffee, his eyes fixed on me. His glasses are a little scuffed but the light catches his irises and they seem brighter than brown.

"A bit of both," I say. He nods. "I like him," I continue, "and for me, nothing has ever had a chance at being more than a fantasy crush, but he likes me too and, yeah, it makes me like him more. It feels so good to be wanted by a guy. I know that sounds pathetic but-"

"It's not pathetic," Gray says, softly smiling. "It's human. Everyone wants to be wanted. You don't need to defend yourself."

"I know I should be cautious, especially when he can be a bit pushy and I don't know him that well, and I don't want to sound deranged or anything, but it feels so freaking good that he wants me enough to be pushy."

"I get that. You're not deranged."

"Ok. Good. And I'm not stupid – I know we've only kissed when he's been drunk. For all I know, he regretted it as soon as he sobered up."

"Now you are being stupid," Gray says, shaking his head at me. "Don't get too in your own head. You don't know what he's thinking. But you can find out." He nods at my bag. "You have your phone; you have his number. Ask him out for coffee or something."

Those three words send a fearsome chill through me. It's one thing to turn up at a party; it's a whole other ballgame to initiate a date. While I'm momentarily paralyzed, Gray reaches into my bag and unlocks my phone.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to send anything."

"I haven't even put his number in yet."

He gives me a look. "Are you sure you like him?"

"I'm just nervous. Once I add his number, that's an acknowledgement that I'm going to text him and then he'll have my number," I say, barreling on even though I know I sound stupid and paranoid, "and once he's got my number, I can't take it back. If things turn out badly, he'll still have it."

"Ok..." Gray's staring at me as he tries to figure out what to say to me. I don't know what I'd say to me right now. Perhaps shut up or oh my goodness, you're ridiculous or for the love of God, girl, get a grip. "I think that's a worst case scenario," he says after a while. "We can cross that bridge if we ever come to it, but right now, you want to see him again. Right?"

"Right." That I know. He intrigues me. I know there's a lot I don't know. It makes me want to find out.

"So you text him and you ask him out for coffee, which we know he already likes and approves of as a date. If you meet here, you can turn it into lunch if it's going well, and I'll be on call in case you need an excuse."

He's making it sound so easy. His confidence helps. There's no quaver in his voice, barely a pause in his fingers as he types out a message in a note and passes me the phone to review the text.

hey, it's storie. any chance you want to grab a coffee tomorrow, starbucks at 1?

"Simple. No nonsense," he says, watching me read. "You don't want to sound too formal and you don't want to over-explain yourself, but you cut out all the questions. It's simple: Starbucks at one. Coffee with you. You don't need to sell it to him when he already knows what he's buying."

"You're good at this."

"Not for long. I've never got past this kind of stage before," he says with a laugh. "But I've read enough romance to kind of know how it should go. Ideally with less of the unnecessary misunderstandings."

He's right on the edge of his seat, watching as I dig out the piece of paper with Liam's number and add it to my contacts. Before I can think too hard, I copy and paste the message and hit send. A grin breaks out across my face. It feels good being decisive. I wish I could be like this every day.

I put my phone away so I won't be waiting for it to buzz against my fingers and I occupy my hands with my hot chocolate. "I'm not working today," I tell Gray when I remember, unsure of whether or not I already told him. "We can be home for six."

"Oh, awesome!" He tips his mug at me. My bag vibrates. We both look down. Then Gray meets my eye. He nods. "Go on then."

My heart's in my throat when I dig out my cell, unsure if it's even Liam replying, but his name is on my screen for the first time, above his response.

"What'd he say?" Gray asks. I show him the text.

finally trusting me with your number! i'll be there. see you then

"That's good," he says.

"It's a bit ... short."

"The tone?"

"Yeah."

"You can't tell tone in a text," he says.

I struggle enough with tone in regular conversation. Talking on the phone is worse, when I can't use someone's expressions as a guide, forever messing up when I can't tell if it's my turn to speak. Texting is the worst, when an emoji or a bit of punctuation can change the way I perceive it by so much. I end up criminally overusing emojis, just so I won't be misinterpreted.

Gray's right. As per usual. I put my phone away and smile. I have a date.

• • •

It's just before six when we arrive home. Gray's house is dark, lit only by the sun, but I see light pouring out of my kitchen window and when we get out of the car, I hear gentle music floating from the same direction. The smell hits first: the intoxicating aroma of home cooking wafting through the house.

Mom's leaning against the counter with a glass of iced tea. Tad's standing over the stove, stirring whatever smells so good in a spitting pan. They both look up with bright smiles when Gray and I walk in. It's not often the four of us are around at the same time for long enough to eat together.

"That smells amazing, Tad," I say, glancing into the pan. "What is it?"

"Gyudon. Very simple," he says. "Rice, beef, onions, eggs. And a few family secrets." He taps his nose and grins. There's no questioning where Gray got his Gray-ness from. As far as I can tell, he got nothing but DNA from his mom.

"Well, it smells great and it looks great," I say, salivating at the scent alone.

"Mmm," Gray hums. "I can't wait to get that in my belly." He pats his stomach and licks his lips and waves at Mom. "Hi, Jen. I hope Dad's not driving you insane."

Mom laughs. "Driving me insane? Are you kidding? Anyone who can make my kitchen smell this good is welcome every minute of every day," she says. Tad chuckles to himself.

"Good timing," he says to me. "This is ready when you are."

Gray grabs the plates before Mom can reach for them. I dig out a few mismatched forks. I swear we bought a full set when we moved in but now, nothing matches. I think half the cutlery in the drawer has migrated over from next door.

A moment later, a steaming bowl of delciousness is sitting right in front of me but I have to wait before I can eat it. Mom reaches for Tad's hand and then mine. I take Gray's. The four of us are linked around the table as she says grace.

That's something of a new development. Until recently, we haven't had much to be thankful for but a few weeks ago, Tad asked if it would be ok if he said grace when the four of us sat down to eat a full roast dinner that he and Mom made together. He focused on thankfulness for the small things. I guess it put stuff into perspective. In staring at the forest, she lost sight of the trees.

Her grace is short and sweet, and she touches the cross around her neck when I let go of her hand. She holds it for a few seconds. When Tad lets go of her other hand, she smiles at us and picks up her fork. Gray glances at me. He holds my gaze for a couple of seconds before his attention drops to his food and he hungrily digs in.

"Storie, honey," Mom says, and I know she's about to ask a question. Those two words always preface a question.

"Mmm?"

"Do you know Maggie Williams? From back in Queens?"

Odd question. I frown. I was never close enough to anyone that Mom learnt their names, and I know I never mentioned Maggie to her. She was in my grade, but that's it. We maybe had one math class together, but we moved in different circles. Or more accurately, I guess, she had a toe in every circle and I floated on the outside of them all.

"Yeah. Why?"

Mom swallows her mouthful, covers her mouth with her hand. "She's missing," she says. I snap my head up, fork paused halfway to my mouth.

"What?"

She's shaking her head, her lips pressed together. "I saw today," she says. I know that means she was hunched over her laptop, looking for anything and everything. "Awful. Just awful."

"Oh my God." I don't know what to think. I didn't really know Maggie but I did know her.

"The paper said she went to your school. I thought maybe you knew her." Her eyes are wet. I wish she wouldn't spend so much time surrounding herself with stuff that upsets her.

"Not closely but yeah, I knew her. She's missing?"

Mom nods. Tad and Gray are silent. Gray is wide-eyed and dumbstruck; by the look on Tad's face, I'm guessing Mom already told him. Maybe he came over and saved her from a google spiral.

"Apparently she didn't show up for work yesterday," she says. "There's a huge manhunt."

The manhunt Dad never got. That's what Mom's thinking. I don't need to point out the obvious to her. Maggie's a pretty, popular, nineteen-year-old blonde girl. She was on the honor roll every year in high school and she made history four years in a row with a string of chess championship wins.

"Hopefully she's ok," I say, though I know how these stories end. The Williams have money. There are three outcomes that jump into my mind: she's run away; she's been kidnapped, or she's been killed. I hope it's just a misunderstanding. I didn't have to be friends with Maggie to know she was a nice person.

"Her poor family." Mom's still shaking her head. She only stops when she takes a deep breath and lets it out through her nose, sitting straighter and digging her fork into her rice. "I hope they find her."

As mad as Mom gets that Dad was overlooked, she always cries with relief when someone turns up alive and well, and she weeps when a body is found.

• • •