My drawer of sketches was getting out of control. Ever since the night of the semifinal, it had become almost a necessity for me to draw Anna before I could fall asleep. I could practically feel her touch on my cheek every time I saw her in class, or when her name popped up on my phone. Every night I would draw something I thought was special; Anna in a sundress smiling wide with her eyes closed, Anna holding a bouquet of flowers, Anna splashing in a pond, Anna walking happily with a faceless man that just so happened to be about my height. I started playing more music too; lots of the poppy stuff that Anna liked. My mom commented a few times while I was noodling around on how interesting it was that I had started listening to that kind of music. Like any good son, I had told her to lay off and let me do what I want. I was going to do everything in my power to avoid the cardinal sin of any teenage boy: letting your mother find out that you like a girl. I could picture it in my head even at the first inkling of the thought. Every day would become nothing but Mom saying stuff like, "Why don't you have Anna over?" or "I bet Anna would like to—" yada-yada-yada. My life would turn into a big game of "How fast can Mom get her son a date?" Never ever would I declassify that information to Mother Dearest, no matter how sweetly she asked.

I had to move my sketches from my drawer into the corner of my closet, behind a pile of old jackets and pants in a spot that Mom definitely wouldn't find them. I felt sort of bad hiding them the way I did, but I would just tell myself that they were only drawings, and the Annas on them couldn't tell that they were being stuffed in a closet, and it meant nothing important, and I would feel better. They were nothing more than drawings, though my hesitation came from what they were drawings of. I was starting to feel like Anna could sense that something was going on, as though a part of her soul was being trapped in each of the sketches and every pair of teal blue eyes that sprung from my pen were portals into my bedroom that she would use to watch me practice guitar or watch me scribble out the next sketch the next night. I never did anything I should be ashamed of; I didn't feel right doing that. I had thought about it before, and I'm not going to pretend like I don't do that every once in a while, but it felt…just…wrong to fantasize her in that way. That's why everything I drew was clean, because she wasn't that type of girl; she was clean and kind and proper and innocent, and it was an insult to her to even think of disrespecting her like that.

The football season ended at the championship game, which we lost to some school from upstate in a tight thirty-one to twenty-eight slug fest. Cap was pretty broken up about it in the immediate aftermath, despite playing the game of his life an adding three more sacks to his résumé, or so Anna said. Within a few days, though, he was back to his old self, and nobody would have been the wiser. He asked for my cell number once the season ended, and every couple nights he would shoot me a text asking how my day had gone. It was very interesting to me that he would go out of his way to speak with me like that, even if it was only a quick text once in a while; I didn't quite know how to proceed or what it meant in the big picture of things. Was he trying to become friends with me? That couldn't really be the case, I told myself—it would be social suicide to hang out with me. Did he want something from me? The only thing, or rather person, I could think of that would prove that fantasy to be true was Anna, since I had nothing else in my life with any value other than her; this idea was quickly squashed because of how much time he was spending with his girlfriend and leaving Anna to text me and complain about how Elsa was never around any more. So, he wasn't after Anna. What, then, was his endgame?

The question stumped me all the way into winter break, then school let out for the Christmas holidays. Cap more or less drifted from my mind as I found myself with hours and hours a day that I would devote to lazing around the house, noodling on the guitar, or drawing. I would go do things with Anna on occasion, but it was relatively infrequent. We did simple, silly stuff; go to the movies, go downtown and crawl through McLoughlan's Antiques looking for the oldest thing we could find, we even tried building a snowman once when there was a little bit of a flurry, but it was a fruitless effort. That sounds like an awful lot of time spent together, but in reality it was only two days of a nearly month-long break. Even during the waning days of the fall semester, Anna and I had done little more than text one another. She had been spending a lot of time with other friends she had been making, with I was totally okay with; I couldn't expect her to actually devote all her free time to lame old me. She was, after all, pretty enough to run the school; she needed more loyal subjects than just me.

That's what I told myself, at least.

A few days before Christmas, while my mom was covering a night shift at the hospital, I was sitting in bed strumming away the chorus of "She Will Be Loved" when my phone started to ring—the one that sounded like singing birds reserved for only one person. I accepted the call and raised the phone to my ear. "Hey, Anna!"

"Micah?" Her voice was garbled and broken up by loud noises in the background. She asked again. "Micah, can you hear me?"

I spoke up a bit in the hopes that it would help her to hear better. "Anna, hi! I can hear you fine!"

"Oh, hey, Micah!" She giggled. "We're coming to get you now; we'll be by in, like, five minutes." Obviously my silence wasn't an acceptable reply. She clicked her tongue at me. "Will you be ready or not?"

"R-read—uh..." No words were coming out of my mouth in any particular order. "Wha-what—uh—for, uh, for what? Ready for what?"

"Terri Bryant's party? Didn't you hear about it? Like, everyone is going to be there; I'm having Stuart swing by your house to get you on our way!"

"Party? I didn't uh..." Why in the blue Hell would I be invited to any parties? And who was Terri Bryant? Who was Stuart? I felt a panic begin to set in deep in my chest.

"Micuuuuuuuuuuhhh!" Anna dragged out the final syllable of my name exasperatedly. "Micah, please come? It's going to be so fun! Please?"

My lips flapped noiselessly. "A-anna I didn't—"

"I want you to come! Please? Can you please come to the party with me? We haven't barely seen each other all break; let's go do something together!"

The words came out before they even crossed my mind. "Sure, then. I'll be ready in five."

Anna's voice was so sweet I could practically taste it. "Yaay! Oh, thank you, Micah! We'll be there soon!" I heard some laughter in the background that was quickly muffled by the sound of jostling for the end-call button, then the harsh-toned beep of the line going dead.

"Bye," came my final word, my phone lowering slowly from my face. Then, like a tidal wave, reality crashed down over me. "God almighty..." I was about to go to a party. It was Wednesday night—Christmas Eve's eve's eve's eve—and Anna had just convinced some random guy named Stuart, who was undoubtedly an upperclassmen with a car and also undoubtedly ridiculously handsome, to come to my house and pick me up and drive me to a party hosted by someone I had never met before. That doesn't happen to me. If there was ever a time that I had felt panicked, it was now.

What should I do? I looked down the length of my body at my clothes; jeans, and a Howl's Moving Castle tee. Should I change clothes? What would I wear? What am I expected to wear? Maybe I should text Anna and ask...

No! Wait! I leaped off my bed and started tearing through my closet. I threw collared shirt after collared shirt onto my bed in a flurry; anything I owned that was colored complimentary to the shirt I already had in. Dress cool, but not like you're trying. That's what the cool guys always do. You're a big boy, you can do it yourself. Plus, if you get it right, you might surprise her with how stylish you are. I pulled on a shirt and sprinted down the hall to my mom's room, making use of her full-length mirror. I was happy with the outfit I had put together; I looked like Junpei Hyūga had walked right off the page of the last chapter of Kuroko no Basuke. When I realized how proud that made me feel, though, I sighed heavily. Things like that are why you don't get invited to parties, you nerd.

There was a honk from out in the driveway, and I shouted that I was coming as I sprinted to the staircase. I hastily threw on my Converse and grabbed my house key off the hook. Locking the door behind me, I scurried down the driveway towards the Chevy sedan that was running. As I approached, a door popped open and a figure emerged from within. "Micah!" it exclaimed, and I immediately deduced who it was, despite the fact that I was blinded by the headlights.

"Hi, Anna." I replied. I passed the range of the headlights, and Anna buzzed up to me and wrapped me in a massive hug.

She squealed. "Ooh, I'm so happy you're coming!" She smelled funny. I mean, she smelled good overall—I wasn't repulsed by her—but there was something extra in the air that was getting my attention. She was dressed up a bit more than I was, but not too much so. She had on a backless black shirt, surprising when you consider how cold it was, and a pair of painted-on blue jeans with sequined patterns on the thighs. Her hair was down, which I liked; in the fading light it shone like copper and it bounced voluminously when she backed away and hopped in place anxiously. "I am so excited! You look great; I love that shirt!"

My face practically combusted right then and there. I pulled at the open buttons of the shirt I had picked. "Oh, uh, you do? That's cool...I mean, like, it's just a shirt I had in my closet—"

"Oh, I was talking mostly about this one." She poked me in the chest, singling out my Miyazaki shirt. "It's an awesome design; it looks like something you'd draw."

I laughed nervously. "Thanks…uh…thank you." I rubbed my head furiously. "I wish I could draw like this, but, I—uh—I mean I do use Miyazaki for inspiration…some…times…"

Anna giggled giving me a little push in the chest. "You're so funny," she said, grabbing a hold of my shirt and pulling me towards the car. "Come on," she urged, "we have to get going!"

I dropped into the one open seat in the back of the sedan, finding myself next to two other girls I had never seen before. Or, maybe I had seen them before, but they were wearing so much makeup their faces were practically concealed. The sort of sneered at me, but not enough for me to feel unwelcome; maybe I had accidentally dressed myself well enough to blend in. The front seats were occupied by another girl in the passenger's seat and a guy—Stuart, no doubt—in the driver's seat. There was loud, thumping dance music playing through the speakers, but nobody said anything. I smiled nervously. The other passengers nodded halfheartedly. Good enough for me, they're not trying to gut me on the spot.

"Bottoms up!" Anna's cheery shout was punctuated by a pair of shoes flying past my face. As the rest of Anna's legs appeared in front of me, I realized that she was about to flop into my lap, since there were no open seats left in the back of the car. My entire body tensed up into a statue as she plopped down on top of me; she was much lighter than I imagined she would be. She wrapped an arm around the back of my neck and shut the door behind her, leaning back against the window. "Onward, driver! We have a party to go to!"

"Whatever you say, princess," Stuart said sarcastically, twisting around to look out the rear window so he could back out of my driveway. I was right, he looks like a movie star. The other girls in the car chattered excitedly about going to a party and how much fun it was going to be, but I said nothing.

I felt like my entire body was paralyzed. Anna's arm felt like lava burning the back of my neck. As she rocked back and forth, enjoying the music with the other people in the car, her hair would swing into my face, making it hard for me to breathe. Not like I wanted to breathe much in the first place; the car reeked of beer. That's what I had smelled before getting in, beer. Anna smelled like beer. The girl next to me smelled like beer. There was a beer can on the floor between my feet. Who had drank it; Stuart? Anna? No, I thought to myself, she would never…Or would she? I had no idea what she did with her "popular" friends; I had heard from some of the other football guys that it was a pretty regular thing for people to get together when parents weren't around and pound a pack of beers, and of course I knew that drinking was crazy at parties, so if Anna was hanging out with the people that did that, then she probably did it too. I didn't know if I liked the thought of her drinking, though. It was uncomfortable to think about. Unlike the way in which I was uncomfortable now, because I could very clearly point towards what was making me feel like my heart was going to explode.

Anna adjusted herself on my lap, her phone in her back pocket digging into my thigh. "Micah, are you excited?" She squeezed around the back of my neck a bit. "Isn't this going to be so much fun?"

I cleared my throat. "Yeah," I chuckled weakly, "it's gonna be great." I felt my glasses begin to slide down the bridge of my nose―I was starting to sweat. I tried to move to push them back up, but both my arms were trapped underneath Anna in some way; my left was being pinned beneath her legs, while my right was pressed up against the door by her back. Her hands, though, were free. Maybe she'd―

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than Anna's hand began to rise up towards my face. "Boop," she giggled, pushing my glasses back up my nose. The involuntary noise I made sounded like a small animal being strangled. Anna smiled. "Your glasses were falling off," she said sweetly, "I got 'em for you."

"Tha―uh―tha-thank you," I stammered, my throat completely closed off.

Anna put her hand on my forehead. "Geez, you're warm," she said―And you're making it worse―before leaning over and tapping Stuart on the shoulder. "Hey, can you turn the heat down a bit? We're roasting back here." I nervously glanced at the other two girls and saw that their makeup had begun to run a bit as they too were sweating. I breathed a minuscule sigh of relief; I wasn't the only one who was fidgety and uncomfortable.

"Sure thing, sweet-heart," Stuart drawled, messing with a couple knobs on the dashboard. "It's only another couple minutes, though, y'all don't have to wait much longer."

"Thank you!" Anna's voice was even more sing-song than usual, and she left her hand on Stuart's shoulder for a moment and rubbed it with her thumb. I swallowed past a lump in my throat. She turned her attention back to me, her eyes flicking between my face and the other two girls. "Oh my God," she said, putting her hand on my chest and stopping my heart, "you all haven't met Micah before!"

"We've seen him around before," one of the girls next to me said, "he's on the football team, right?"

"Yeah! He played in the semifinal a month or so ago!" Anna drummed her fingers on my collarbone.

"Oh, yeah!" The girl in the passenger's seat looked back over her shoulder at us for a second. "Abressian; number thirty-eight? You came in for a couple plays near the end."

I nodded. "Yeah," I said.

Anna pointed towards the girl in the middle seat. "Micah, that's Jen―" She and both nodded at one another "―and over there is Kitty-Anne." Again, the girl and I nodded towards one another, but no words were exchanged. The nods weren't so much greetings as they were a mutual understanding that this interaction would amount to nothing for anybody involved, and the moment we left this car our lives would never cross again. I don't think any of us felt any the worse for it, either.

Anna suddenly belched rather loudly. I might have been the only one to react in surprise; everyone else seemed to be perfectly okay with it. "Geez, babe, you didn't just puke, did you?" Stuart looked ofer his shoulder quickly as he asked the question.

Anna laughed, brushing her hair back out of her face. "No, Stu, I'm fine. This is what I get for letting you drive me around after having a few; you get my insides all shook up."

Stuart shook his head. "Don't puke in my car, babe," he said dismissively. So, my suspicions had been confirmed―Anna had been drinking. She didn't seem drunk, but she'd had enough that Stuart was worried about her throwing up. And was he calling her "babe?" Why was he doing that?

"Ooh!" Anna pointed excitedly out the windshield as Stuart rounded a corner. "Stewy, there it is! That's Terri's place!"

"I know, Anna, I'm the one who drove us here." As Stuart pulled into the driveway, I leaned around Anna to try and get a good look at the house. It was a big house, probably three floors, and it was surrounded by all manner of trucks and cars. There were lights on inside, some windows glowing yellow, others flashing red and blue. The rooms upstairs were either dark or just barely lit by an open door to the hallway; probably bedrooms. Stuart pulled his car to a stop and put it in park. "Everyone out, we're here." The girls next to me threw open their door and practically flopped out of the seat into the driveway. Stuart pocketed his keys and let himself out the driver's side door. "Looks like we're the last ones here," he said slowly.

"Thank you for going to get Micah," Anna said loudly as she wiggled the door open and slipped off my lap. I let the air return to my lungs for a moment before I too climbed out of the back seat. The other girls had already headed up to the front door, and Stuart was standing impatiently at the bottom of the front porch stairs. Anna put her arms on my shoulders and held me at an arm's length. "Micah," she said sternly.

When she didn't continue her thought, I replied; "Yes, Anna?"

She gave me a little shake. "I know you don't usually do parties, but it means a lot that you came with me." She smiled. "Please try to have a good time! Maybe we can go to more parties together in the future!" Before I could do or say anything to let her know I most likely won't want to go to any more parties in the future, she clamped down on my wrist and dragged me up towards the house.

I was not prepared for what was inside.

I had heard from some of the other football guys what parties were like, and I had seen my fair share of movies and TV shows that displayed what a teenage house party would look like, but I wasn't really ready for it to be right in front of me. There were girls everywhere, all of them carrying red plastic cups that I could guess were filled with cheap beer, based on the smell. For every girl there were two or three guys following her around, trying to get her attention. They, too, had drinks in their hands, and a couple of them were even carrying two cups in an attempt to get the girls' attention by bringing them more drink. It was a buzz of noise; there were a few rooms of people just mingling and talking, one room off to the side that was pulsating with trance music and colored lights, and another room filled with couches where couples were getting incredibly well-acquainted before scurrying upstairs for extracurricular activity. I freed myself of Anna's death grip and immediately bee-lined for the safest possible corner I could find; right next to the table where all the snack foods were.

I leaned against the wall nonchalantly, trying my best to appear like I belonged in this place. I don't think I did very well, though; people sneered at me as they passed, hiding what I knew were drunken insults behind the rims of their cups.

I subjected myself to disdain for a minute or two before deciding it might be less painful for me to take a look around the rest of the house and pretend I was on an Open House tour. I first went to the kitchen, where I saw a wide assortment of cheap beer kegs up on top of the counter waiting to be drunk. I found an empty cup and filled it halfway with some drink I had never heard of before. Beer grossed me out; I had tried a bit of my mom's once when I had asked to see what it tasted like, and it was repulsive. I got the cup more to blend in than anything, I had no intention of drinking anything.

I shuffled through the crowd and made my way to the room that was oozing club music. There were a sweaty mass of people inside what would have otherwise been a study room or an office gyrating and grinding against one another in time with the grating electronic rhythms. It looked like a whole lot of effort for no reason, and I left the room rather quickly.

I returned to my spot in the corner, now holding a drink and looking less out of place. Or, rather, the other guests weren't acting like I was as out of place as I had been a minute ago. Comfortable with my increased inconspicuousness, I started looking around for Anna; she was, after all, the only reason I came. I had been quick to find safe haven once I got inside the house, but now that I had managed to settle myself down a bit, I started to feel as though I needed to find her again and connect with someone I knew amongst these dozens of strange people that were mingling about all around me.

As I looked out through the people, I realized that I was able to see the living room from where I stood. The living room was where guys and girls were getting friendly; there were couples with their hands all over one another, faces smushed together kissing, or bodies mangled up in positions that could not have been comfortable at all. I shook my head slightly. That's just indecent, I said to myself. Being in such a public place, getting all up in one another's business like that seemed so unnecessary. Not to mention the parade of people that were funneling up and down the staircase, which I had absorbed enough information about to recognize what it was they were planning on doing.

Then, I thought I saw something among the mass of writhing sexual energy that almost made my cup fall out of my hand.

I paced over towards the living room to get a better look. It was…Anna. She was sitting atop a pair of legs—that's all I could see from where I was standing—straddling them like a horse. Her arms were holding on to what I assumed to be a pair of shoulders, and her hair was swinging back and forth slowly as her head rocked in the same way. I pushed past a group of chatting girls to see exactly who it was she was on top of, and my chest felt like it was going to rip apart when I recognized the dark hair and chiseled face of none other than Stuart.

His eyes were closed, and he and Anna were kissing one another furiously.

I was frozen in place. His hands were all over her stomach, her hands were on his face.

My brain was screaming to stop them, but my body refused to move.

He slipped his fingers into her back pockets.

The only thing that came to mind was…Please…

She's not that type of girl.

I turned away from the two of them. I felt…sick. I felt like I had just been punched in the gut. I felt like my head was spinning. The house smelled terrible. I had beer in a cup in my hand. I wanted to go home.

…I want to go home.

I wanted to go home. But Anna had asked me to come. But she was…So why was I here? Should I go home? I looked over my shoulder at Anna. She was pushing Stuart's hands away from her chest, entwining their fingers and talking to him in a low tone. He smirked, nodding and allowing her to climb off of his lap. She pulled him to his feet and led him away, towards the staircase.

She's not…—they started climbing the stairs—…that type of…She's not that type of girl.

I had to leave. I wanted to go home. I worked my way to the door. I needed to get out of that house. I wanted to go home. It was cold outside. That image was burned into my mind. She would have been cold, she had been wearing a backless shirt. My face was burning. Did I still have a drink in my hand? I did. I threw it as hard as I could into the door of a nearby truck, sending beer splashing everywhere. I clawed at me cheek, where the ghost of her lips was eating away at my skin. I want to go home.

I was going to go home.

How? I didn't know where I was; I didn't know where this house was. Where was my house? I couldn't drive; how was I going to get home? I'd have to get a ride. From whom? I pulled out my phone, opening my contacts. It was seriously laughable how many people were in there:

Anna. I clicked away almost immediately.

Mom. She was at work right now. And, more importantly, there was no way in Hell I was going to let her know I was at a party.

That meant there was only one name left in my contacts list. Dammit, I thought to myself. It was my only hope. I took a deep, shaky breath and pressed the call button.

It rang four times before I heard a rustle at the other end. "Micah? What's up, buddy?"

I chewed my lip.

"…H-hey, Cap…"

I didn't want to say anything. Cap—or, rather, Dylan as he'd insisted on being called now that the football season was over—had agreed to come and pick me up almost immediately. When I opened the door to his truck, the first thing he'd said was, "I ain't gonna ask you nothing, bud; let's get you home." I had hesitated getting into the cab, unsure as to how to respond to that. I fully expected to have to explain the whole nine yards to him, but he had been completely silent as I had shut the door and buckled myself in. He started driving, country music low on the radio, just staring out at the road ahead of him. I looked at him for a minute, trying to decide if he was holding off on the polygraph exam or not; his face was pretty blank, he seemed to just be driving. I looked out the window, letting the waves of disappointment crash back over me again.

After what felt like hours of silence, I decided to say something. "Are we almost there?"

Dylan shifted in his seat. "Yep, yep," he said. "Just about ten more minutes." I nodded. He reached over and clicked the radio onto a dead channel, the sound of static filling the cab. "Do you have a favorite radio station?" I turned to look at him, my eyebrows furrowed. He was glancing from me to the road and back. "G'head," he said, motioning to the dials, "Anna's mentioned that you don't like country music that much; what do you like to listen to?"

"Don't—" I held my tongue, taking a breath. I didn't want to talk about Anna. I reached over and spun the radio dials onto the station I put on in the car with Mom; nintey-six-five, "The Turn." It played acoustic music from the early two-thousands, and a lot of it I had learned to play. Sometimes I would listen to it while I sketched; it made me feel relaxed and calm. I needed to feel more calm right now.

Dylan took in air to speak, but paused and ultimately let it go without saying anything. The music floated through the cab for a while, and then I saw the sign for my street. We turned on it, swung into my driveway, and put the truck in park. "Here y'are," Dylan said, "safe and sound." I looked out the windshield, checking to see if Mom had come home yet. She hadn't. Dylan tapped on the steering wheel. "Do you need anything else? I'm happy to help."

I paused, looking at the floor. "Why didn't you ask me anything?"

He smirked. "What do you mean?"

"Aren't you curious at all why I needed a ride?"

"Well, honestly, I am a bit. I knew that you were at a party when I pulled up to get you, but if you wanted to leave I guessed it probably wasn't a good time for you. Unless you wanted to talk about it, I can go without knowing, though; I ain't gonna make you say anything unless you want to." I must have looked confused. He turned is body towards me. "Do you want to tell me anything?"

"No." The word came out almost immediately.

He nodded slowly. "Then don't. I'm not going to make you."

I looked at him for a minute. Huffing, I turned and opened the door. "Thanks for the ride," I said briefly, dropping out of the cab.

Dylan put his truck in reverse. "Merry Christmas, Micah," he said, "I'll talk to you soon." I shut the door behind me, and he started backing out of the driveway. As he reached the street and took off, I shook my head and started back up the stairs. I…appreciated that he hadn't asked about why I needed a ride. It felt good to not have to explain anything to anyone, I could just keep it all inside. It was almost like Dylan…understood me. I don't think there was really anyone who understood me. He gets me more than…Well…Maybe.

I made my way up to my room and kicked off my shoes, flopping into bed and picking up my guitar again. I picked at the strings, but I didn't feel any music in my fingers. I felt empty, hollow. What did I mean to her? Why did she do one thing and act another way? Did she bring me along to make me see that? It didn't make any—

*ring-ring*

*ring-ring*

I pulled my phone out of my pocket…

Slowly, I placed my guitar on the floor next to my bed.

*beep*

"Micah? Micah, where are you?"

The music in the background was oppressively loud. "Anna, I—"

"I'm looking all over for you, I can't find you! Did you leave?"

I took a deep breath. "Yeah, I did."

"You what?" Her voice was shrill through the thumping background noise. "Micah, are you serious?"

My heartbeat increased. "Anna, I didn't—I mean…"

"You didn't what, hmm?"

"I didn't…want to stay. I saw…" I bit my lip. "I saw all I needed."

"I thought we were going to come to this party together, Micah. Where are you now?"

"I mean, Anna, I got a ride home. I'm in my room."

Her end was wordless for a long time. "I thought we agreed to come together to this party, and you just up and left."

"Anna, you were…"

"I was what? I didn't leave."

"If we were supposed to be going together, why weren't you doing party stuff with me?"

"Micah, I wasn't going to babysit you. You're a big boy, you can go to a party without me holding your hand the whole time; I have a boyfriend to spend time with too."

I nearly dropped my phone. "B—a boyf-friend? Since when?"

"Since after the state final? Stuart asked me out that next Monday?"

"That guy that drove? I'd never met—"

"Stuart is on the football team, Micah. You're telling me you've never met him?"

I didn't have anything to say to that.

"…Micah, why did you leave?"

"I-I—"

"You know, I thought you would have at least tried to stick around; that's what friends do, Micah."

"Anna, you—"

"What? Tried to spend time with you? Did something nice for you? You wouldn't have even heard about this party without me, and I thought you might have had some fun. Apparently I shouldn't try to do nice things for you any more."

I felt my blood start to boil, my heart was pounding out of my chest. "Anna…"

"If you can't tell me why you left, I'm hanging up."

I took two deep breaths. The words wouldn't come.

"Anything to say?"

I shook my head silently.

"…Fine. I guess we're not the friends I thought we were. Goodbye, Micah."

*click*

I took my phone away from my face, watching the time continue to roll along on the call. It grew higher and higher, the cackle of the dead line blaring from the speakers mockingly. Her words echoed over and over in my head.

I guess we're not the friends I thought we were.

I remembered the day she showed up in middle school, remembered me right away, and asked me to sit with her at lunch.

I guess we're not the friends I thought we were.

I remembered when she and I spent the afternoon in my room singing Billy Joel.

I guess we're not friends.

I remembered how excited she had been for me when I had gotten into the art club.

We're not friends.

My face burned where she had kissed me that night, after the football game.

Goodbye, Micah.

I grit my teeth hard. "You don't mean it." I spiked my phone off the mattress, sending it careening across my room. "You're drunk, you don't mean it!"

"Who's drunk?" My heart practically leaped through my eyes when I heard another voice sound from the corner of my room. I looked to the source, and saw Mom standing in the doorway.

I smacked my mattress, flopping back onto my pillows. "Nobody, Mom. I was just talking to myself."

"Who were you on the phone with?"

"Nobody, Mom. I was just talking on the phone."

She crossed her arms. "Okay, Micah, calm down a bit. I was just curious." She looked around my room quickly. "It's late, sweetie, you should go to bed." She stepped out of my room slowly. "Good night, honey."

"'Night, Mom." I put my hands on my face.

Mom leaned back into the door. "If you need anything, just ask; okay?"

"Goodnight, Mom!" She sighed, and I heard her shuffle away down the hall to her room. I sat up, pushing my guitar away. I had to draw something. I got up and slammed my door, storming into my closet and withdrawing my sketchpad and jumping onto my futon. My pen hit the paper, and everything I hadn't been able to say spewed out. My liberation was soon to be realized.

Anna was dancing away into the distance, looking out at what lie before her. She reached her hand out for what stood in her path: a gigantic, black figure that loomed overhead. It was a twisted figure, with long, claw-like hands and a haunting, monstrous face. It reached for Anna, laughing as she tried to meet it halfway. Anna's other hand—the one she was not giving to the monster—was out behind her, casting away the item it had been carrying. It was a sheet of paper with a heart drawn on it, ripped to shreds and the pieces fluttering away in the wind.

Beneath the image, there was a single word:

Fine…

*Knock knock*

I licked my lips. From the other side of the door I heard rustling. "Huh? Who's there?"

Slowly, I creaked the door open. Mom put up her hand to shield her eyes from the hallway light. "Sorry," I said weakly, my throat still clenched shut from the tears that had been running until just recently, "were you asleep?" Stupid question.

Mom looked at her alarm clock. "Micah, it's nearly three in the morning; is everything okay?" She threw her sheets off herself and made to stand up.

"Don't; Mom…" I held up my arms, showing her that I wanted her to stay in bed.

Her shoulders slumped. "Micah, what's wrong?"

I shook my head, taking a deep breath. "I…went to a…um…I went to a party earlier…like…earlier tonight." Mom blinked. "I mean…I got, like, invited to go, so I…um…well, I got a ride there, and, like…um…I got a cup of…something…but, like, I didn't, y'know, drink it. I just, like…held it. You know what I mean?" She blinked again. "Um," I stuttered, "so…yeah, I was, like, holding a cup at the party and, like…I dunno…it was—it was dumb; the party was dumb. I, like, was there for like…I dunno. I was only there for, like, ten minutes or something. I didn't even, like, do anything; I was there for like ten minutes, and I called someone for a ride and came home."

Mom sighed. "Oh, honey." She stood up, walking to the door and pulling me in for a hug. "Thank you for telling me that, Micah."

I took a deep breath. "Am I in trouble?"

She laughed, and I pulled away in surprise. She was smiling. "No, Micah, you're not in trouble." She ran her fingers through my hair. "I'd prefer you not go to parties with illegal drinking, but I'm not mad at you." She kissed me on the forehead. "Now that you know that, though, I will be a little more harsh if I find out you've gone to any more parties…"

I scoffed. "Don't worry, Mom, that's not gonna happen."

She smirked. "Good, I'm glad." She rubbed my shoulders. "Okay, honey, you need to go to sleep." She let me go and walked back over to her bed. "And I need to go to bed too; I had a busy day today and I'm pretty tired."

I stood in the doorway for a moment. "Mom?"

"Yes, Micah?"

"Can we go Christmas shopping tomorrow? I want to…um…spend some time with you."

She looked surprised. "Oh? Sure, honey, we can go!" She lifted her legs up and pulled the sheets over herself. "Do you want to text Anna in the morn—"

"No!" Mom's surprise grew even greater at the force and explosiveness of my refusal. I rubbed my forehead. "Sorry, I…I just, um…I want it…I want to go with you tomorrow." I sighed quickly. "Just you."

Mom waited a second or two before replying. "Okay, just us."

"Thanks, Mom." I stepped back from the door and began to shut it.

"Micah?" I poked my head back into the room. Mom was leaning over, her face visible in the beam of hallway light cutting through the darkness. "You know that if there's something on your mind, you can tell me." She raised her eyebrows. "You can tell me."

I nodded slowly. "Not…now." I bit my tongue. Too much; you said too much. I pulled my head back from the door. "'Night, Mom; I'll see you in the morning." I shut the door before she could ask me another question.

I walked back to my room, entering to the picture I had drawn staring up at me tauntingly on my bedspread. I stuffed it in my closet, dressing down and climbing into bed.

Fine. I guess we're not the friends I thought we were.

I shut my eyes and tried to forget.

Goodbye, Micah.

I was never going to forget.