impossible not to. No offense.”

“None taken.” I shrug. I’m used to the guys all coming over just

so they can be doted on by my mom. Even when we have school trips, the

guys try to bribe me to get her to be the chaperone. Suddenly my

living room, which has always seemed like a cave when I’m alone, feels

too hot, too tight. The AC is on, and I’m still sweating. I want to

tell everyone to get out so that I can jump in the shower, but that

would be rude.

Ryan combs his fingers through his slick blond hair, a telltale

sign that he’s getting ready for a speech. Aside from being on the

archery team, he writes for the Thorne Hill High School Press and is

treasurer of the senior class. He has parents who are still married,

don’t hate each other, and work in the city. They live in the Sea

Breeze gated community not a five-minute drive from here.

Sometimes it annoys me how perfect he is. It’s like he can do no

wrong. When we took a school-required test that’s supposed to tell you

what you should be when you grow up, he got “President of the United

States.” I got back an empty piece of paper, because they’d lost my

results. And it bothers me even more because he always says he was

born to be something great. He just knows it in his heart, and so does

everyone who’s ever met him.

Everyone who meets me likes me, sure, but I’ll never be suave like

Angelo, and I’ll never be as smart as Ryan. I don’t even know what I’m

going to do tomorrow, didn’t even know before my near-drowning. So

I’ve got that going for me.

“So,” Ryan starts. “I was thinking of getting a group together and

heading down to the Wreck. They’re having some end-of-the-world party

all week long. Who’s down?” He looks at me eagerly.

I’m not, but I say, “I’ll think about it. They gave me this

prescription that makes me want to sleep.”

Layla gives me a sideways glance, because she knows we weren’t at

the hospital long enough for them to give me a prescription. “I just

got a text from Maddy. She just invited me to the same thing.”

“Dude, I’m surprised she’s not here,” Jerry says. “She was pacing

in front of your hospital room for like days. I only went the one

time. It was so crowded. But she was definitely there a while.”

“Yeah, she was there when I went too,” Ryan adds.

Layla’s quiet, arms crossed over her chest. She looks small, like

she’s sinking into the couch. I get up from the floor and sit next to

her. So does Jerry.

“Why’d you guys break up anyway?” Bertie asks. The whole room

turns to look at me.

“When I broke up with Rebecca-” Ryan starts, but Bertie has his

hand up. “Hold up. No, man. We’ve already heard the Rebecca story a

bajillion times.”

I asked Maddy out three months ago. I think the pigtail braids did

it for me. Plus, we were already friends. I don’t want to talk about

me and Maddy. I don’t want to talk about it ever. I want to jump in

some cold water. But they’re not going to let it drop until I at least

say something.

“She’s nice and all, don’t get me wrong. But she wanted to be with

me every single minute. She wanted to call me as soon as we got home

from school and watch TV together over the phone . She waited by my

locker. She waited in my lobby downstairs before school.”

“Did she let you kiss her?” Bertie raises his thick black eyebrows

and wiggles his head, giving him the effect of a cartoon bobblehead.

“I mean, yeah?”

“How far did you guys go?” Bertie leans over Layla to ask me this.

Layla’s body feels hot next to mine. I glance at her. I can’t say

it. Not in front of her.

“Don’t you dare say a word, Tristan Allen Hart,” she says, evoking

my whole name as if it’s the ultimate command. Her eyes squint at me

like she has lasers and they’re about to slice right through me. Oh

god . I want to bang my head against the wall. I want to jump out the

window. She knows. Of course, Maddy told her.

The guys take it the wrong way. Even Wonder Ryan high-fives the

other guys for me. I try to deny it, but they talk over me.

“Look, she’ll get over it. It’s not like you’re going to be the

only one.”

“Plus, that friend of Samantha you made out with at the bonfire

was ten times hotter than Maddy,” Jerry blurts out, emitting a round

of manly man cheers.

The bonfire. The night before the storm. The reason I was hungover

the next day. I’m not a good drinker. I’ll have a beer and a half and

be plastered. That’s why I don’t usually drink. I just nurse the same

bottle the entire night and pretend like it’s always a new one. The

Hot Mess that was with Samantha. She saw I was miserable. I was trying

to avoid Maddy the whole day after she told me she was madly in love

with me and then started undoing my belt buckle. I could’ve stopped

her, but I wasn’t exactly thinking with my brain.

Either way. The screwed-up part is that I don’t even remember the

girl I was kissing. I don’t remember what she tasted like. I don’t

remember her eyes. Nothing. I just remember Maddy walking around the

big boulder and gasping. Then crying. Then throwing her beer in my

face and then the empty cup at the Hot Mess. She slapped me and I let

her.

Maddy was the girl I wanted to take a chance with because I was

tired of dating girls who couldn’t put a whole sentence together but

knew their father’s credit card number by heart. It’s just-she wasn’t

the right girl.

And now sitting here, with all my friends cheering me for being

alive, for being their idol, I feel lower than low. Because Layla gets

up, shaking her head at me. I try to grab her hand, but she pulls

away, and I don’t know what I can say right here, right now to make

her want to stay.

My head is pulsing. I tell Ryan that I’ll make it to the Wreck,

but something doesn’t feel right. I know I’ll probably puke my guts

out and go to bed. Layla and I take seats at the dining room table

with our parents, who sip on red wine, and Coach Bellini, whose

mustache is tipped in beer foam.

I vaguely understand now how it feels to be a wounded puppy that

wants to be left alone to lick his wounds. A very manly, strong puppy,

that is.

Mrs. Santos pops a cheddar cube into her mouth. Layla is a skinny

version of her mother with her dad’s hazel eyes. Mr. Santos is a tall

and broad Ecuadorian dude with a mustache who always smells like his

cigars. He extends his arm and pats my shoulder. I tighten my body

against the pain that spreads down my entire back.

“Listen here, boy,” says Coach, pointing a finger at me. Why do

grown-ups seem to do that, like if they’re not pointing in your

direction, you’re not going to know that they’re serious. “What the

hell happened out there? Don’t you ever go doing anything so reckless

again. Think of your momma right here. Your friends. Your team.”

“He was trying save someone,” Layla interrupts. She thinks Coach

is right, but it’s her nature to take the opposite side. Ms. Contrary.

“He was being heroic.”

“Firemen are heroic. Marines are heroic. You’re just plain

reckless.” I’ve never seen Coach turn so many different colors so

quickly. I think even his mustache is twitching. Everyone laughs at

his expression, and for this moment, it’s just a regular Saturday

night with friends and family.

“I think what Arthur wants to say is that he’s happy you’re well,”

Mom chimes in, all smiles and bright eyes. She rubs my dad’s back, and

everything is calm again.