“Gross!” Carson said appreciatively.

“Mrs. Maxwell!” Janna stuck her head into the hall. “Delaney threw up!”

Decker immediately ran over, slid his hands under my arms, and pulled me to standing. “You okay?” he said.

“Fine.” I looked at Tara, whose jaw was twitching but who knew she couldn’t flip out on me, and shuddered. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

Tara realized that everyone was looking at her. So she did what any attention whore would do when covered in vomit in front of cute guys. She stripped. Under her sweater, she wore a tight white tank top.

“No big deal,” she said. “But hey, maybe I can get some shampoo?” And she laughed.

Mom ran in and searched my body for defects. “Delaney, what’s the matter? Are you nauseous? Does your head hurt? Everyone else, downstairs. There are cookies.”

“I’m fine. Tara just hugged too hard.” I nodded to myself, extra justification in my aversion to hugs.

I grabbed a spare shirt, brushed my teeth, and gargled mouthwash before joining the group downstairs. Tara was rubbing the bottom of her hair with my bathroom towel. “Here, Tara.” I tossed her the gray sweatshirt.

She half-smiled, half-giggled. “Oh, Delaney,” she said, looking me over slowly, “we’re not the same size.” I wasn’t sure if she meant her chest was bigger (true) or her waist was smaller (also true), but after averaging everything out, we probably wore the exact same size.

She curled her half-naked self into Decker’s side as he downed Mom’s macadamia nut cookies. “This,” he said, holding out a half-eaten cookie, “is what I missed about you the most.”

They were all joking and eating my food; the only one feeling uneasy was me. “So,” I said. “I’m feeling sick.”

Only Janna got the hint. “Right. No problem. Guys? Up.” She swatted at them each until they stood up. “We’ll see you around. And seriously. Call me.”

* * *

Decker stayed on the couch after everyone left, one eyebrow raised at me.

“Don’t look at me like that. I tried nice. Nice made me puke.”

“You didn’t seem to mind being nice to Carson.”

I stuffed half a cookie in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to talk. That whole thing with Carson wasn’t something I did often. Actually, it’s something I did never. Seriously. Never. And it wasn’t a big deal. Because as Decker pointed out so aptly when he walked in on us making out on his living room couch, Carson Levine would hook up with anyone.

My parents didn’t let me go to parties, but it was my seventeenth birthday. That was Decker’s gift to me. A party. Just a small one—a few kids from school, including the guys from the lake and Janna. But there was alcohol and people and my parents wouldn’t have approved, which seemed like the perfect way to celebrate turning seventeen.

At some point during my second drink, Carson pulled me into the living room. I was lying underneath him on the couch, his hands up my shirt, when the sound of Decker clearing his throat interrupted us.

“Sorry, dude,” Carson had said. He hopped up, flashed me his wild grin, said, “See ya, Delaney,” and went into the kitchen where everyone else was hanging out.

I’d pulled my shirt back down but couldn’t quite make eye contact with Decker. He let out a throaty laugh. “Well, that was bound to happen. You are the only girl here who’s not related to him.” I shot him a look and went home. I never went to parties with Decker, but I imagined he had no right to talk.

And now, Decker was staring at me, like he was waiting for some explanation. I kept chewing.

“Are you staying for dinner tonight, Decker?” Mom had carpet spray in one hand and deodorizer in the other.

“Not tonight. My parents claim they don’t remember what I look like anymore.” And he left without another word to me. I choked on the cookie and waved at the swinging door.

I woke to the feeling of a leash tugging on my insides and an itch spreading down my arms. The light from my alarm clock glowed red, but the numbers were all fuzzy. I rolled over and put my face close to the clock until the numbers settled into focus: 2:03. I stumbled out of bed and pressed my cheek to the cold window. Ice crystals framed the window on the outside and my unsteady breath fogged the inside. I placed the palms of my hands against the glass and took deep breaths, trying to undo the itch and the pull. But it kept spreading. And then my fingers started vibrating against the glass, like gentle rain falling against the window.