"Dog."

Nick points far to the left, at a cloud that had a long middle like a snout. Two puffs beside it acted as the dog's ears. I can see it.

"Star," I point to the right; while the star was a little lopsided and one "leg" seemed longer than the others, Nick nods in agreement.

His hand trails back above our heads; far enough that I need to crane my neck. "Pitchfork."

There's indeed a cloud longer than it is fat, with little protrusions towards the end. The protrusions aren't quite shaped properly but I give the find a nod. It's not a competition; just for fun.

I point at another, right above our heads. "… Cloud!"

It is indeed the perfect shape—the type you'd find in illustrations. Gentle billows of white flying in the soft breeze.

Nick snorts beside me, and I elbow him at the response. Only in jest, though. I laugh, too.

"Don't be mean, yank. I gave you pitchfork, you can give me cloud."

"Hey, I don't have to do anything. But I'll let it slide."

I'd stick my tongue out at him if he could see it, but it'd go unnoticed. We're beside each other on the grass, nearly elbow to elbow, staring up at the sky. So I do the next best thing. My hand goes to his line of sight, middle finger raised.

"And you call me a dickhead."

I shrug and drop my hand, elbow bumping against his. "We can pass the crown."

"Consider it passed."

I roll my eyes—even if he can't see it—and point back to the sky. "Clover."

"Okay, no. That is not—"

I let out a cackle. "Totally is! Three-sided one!"

"No. I can give you cloud, but not clover. No."

"Are you blind, mate? Look, three sides, longer bottom like a stem."

"This is where I draw the line, T." I snort. "Find a different cloud—"

"I will do no such thing."

"T—"

"It's a clover. Get over yourself, yank."

Nick lets out a huff of indignation before the sound of footsteps against the pavement fill the air. I crane my neck to the pathway, and wave to Madison as she treks up to us.

"Hey, kids!"

My hands droop to my face, covering my eyes from the sun so I can look to her. "'Ello."

"Hey, mom." Nick smiles. "Come to enjoy the pool, too?"

"No, I came to give you your next dose." She holds out a pill. "C'mon, you need another one."

"Nah. Don't need it."

I silently raise an eyebrow. Since when?

"Nick, please. You're still in remission, you need another—"

"Mom," he interrupts. "I'm fine. Seriously. Give it to Griselda, she needs it more."

Madison presses her lips together, and I'm sure my face is doing the same.

"Since when?" I pull up from my spot, sitting upright so I can properly stare at him.

"I thought you of all people would be happy to hear I've successfully kicked the habit."

"Well I am, but…" No, it hasn't been a full two weeks. While he shouldn't be itching, he shouldn't be throwing it away, either.

"But I got clean too fast? C'mon, T, when is me giving my pills away a bad thing?"

Nick pulls himself up, sitting beside me with a curious look.

"Considering last time you went through this you were in a rehab center with multiple coaches? What, the world ends and you suddenly find clarity to get clean alone?"

"T, it's not that serious—"

"Madison, what do you think?" I look to her. Then immediately feel bad for putting her in the middle of the fight; she looks like a deer caught in headlights. Heh, sorry.

Her eyes flick between the two of us—seemingly un-wanting to join either side—but eventually says, "I agree with you. I think he's moving too fast, and I don't think he's kicked it like he says he has."

And the thing about Madison—she's his mom. She's a counselor. Reading troubled youths is kind of her superpower. Whatever she thinks is probably right on the money.

"Cool, are you two done profiling me?" Nick huffs, annoyed. With vigor he pulls himself up and grabs at a towel, shimmying it through his hair.

"Nick…" Ah, bollocks.

"Just, take it, please?" Madison puts the pill on the plastic seat and—with a gentle look at her son—she turns back to the pathway and heads through. My stomach lurches unhappily as he stares at the pill, bored.

With half-hearted vigor I pull up from the concrete and hastily say, "I—uh, I should go…" My skin's mostly dry from the sun, so I grab at my jeans and shimmy them back on my legs.

"Why?"

"I just…" I'm not enjoying this conversation and would like to leave, thanks. "Got stuff to do. Shower, and all that."

"You're running away."

I shrug, and grab my shirt from the ground. "Maybe."

Can't exactly say he's wrong.

"Every time it's brought up, you run the other direction." Nick notes. My hands fiddle with the sleeves on the shirt, ready to throw it over my head. But, just as my arms raise, his hand rests at my elbow to stall me. "Why?"

"Just—" I hate when I don't know what to say. "I guess it reminds me that you're not the same person I met freshman year. There's this side of you that I don't know, and to be frank I don't want to know."

"I'm the same person, T. I'm still Nick. Even when I'm high."

His hand releases my elbow as he takes a step back, and I shift my weight on the balls of my feet. "I've never seen you like… that, but everyone's different when they're using. It's just fact."

"I could be high as a kite right now and you'd never know." Nick plucks the pill from its space on the plastic chair.

"Are you?"

His eyes flick from me to the pill before he throws it back, offering a smile when it's down his throat. "I will be."

My lips press together tightly. Not exactly a good thing, but remission has its ups and downs.

"Okay, really, I should go and shower." I hum. The sky's starting its descent into the pinks and oranges of the evening, and the militia's been cutting the utilities earlier and earlier each day. I'm not dealing with chlorine-soaked hair for the night.

"You go first. I might take another dip."

"I was actually going to head to my apartment." I point my thumb behind me towards the street. "You take forever, and I'm not exactly Speedy Gonzales either."

Nick snorts.

"Is it a lie?"

He shakes his head and I smile affirmingly. Then I finish the task of throwing my arms up and shimmying the shirt back on. Who hoo, street legal yet again.

"Ah, man."

"What?" I grab a towel, looking to him with an eyebrow raised as I shimmy to towel-dry my locks.

"I was enjoying the view."

I blink. "You were—what?"

My mind connects the dots as his eyes flick ever-so-slightly to my cleavage and my cheeks flush immediately. Freshman year Tina would be proud.

Room 24 is up one flight of dingy old stairs at the end of a carpeted hallway to the left. The sight of the pale white door takes the breath out of my lungs.

Unlock it, Tina. Key, keyhole, twist.

I stare at the white paint.

This is proving hard to do. I didn't realize it would be. Two weeks since I've been here. Two weeks since I've last seen my parents.

If only mum and dad were on the other side.

Silently I unlock the door, listening to the CLICK as the internal mechanism opens. I take a tentative step through the threshold.

The kitchen is to the left, living room the right, and branching off the hall in the middle is my old room and my parents'. TV remotes litter the small coffee table by the couch, across from a large flat-screen. Family pictures are scattered around, smiling faces staring at me as I frown at the hole in my chest. Gingerly, I walk up to a photo; shaking fingers pick it up. It was one of my mum's favorites, so it sits beside her large potted plant, slowly turning brown and brittle from the lack of proper care.

The picture is from the first day we moved here. We're standing outside the apartment complex on a bright day, a U-HAUL truck behind us and boxes in our hands. We wear the biggest smiles.

My thumb lightly traces over mum, who's behind me and to the left. Dad's on the right, an arm around mum's shoulder. Small streaks of grey pepper his hair. Right, that's when he started going grey. He blamed it on me starting high school, with those, "evil American boys who won't treat me right."

The picture beside it is me at a year old, dressed up as Smurfette. Mum is holding me in her arms tightly, though her hand cradles one of mine to wave at the camera. Her eyes are bright as she stares behind the camera, at dad. Setting it back down gently, I go to the kitchen, my eyes looming over the single picture in the middle of the table. The selfie they begged me to print. My parents and I are snuggled on the couch, and I proudly hold up a tiny bi flag.

I came to the realization of my bisexuality the summer before sophomore year; a secret I kept for months until I came out to Alycia one night by accident. The following week had National Coming Out Day, and school held a fundraiser to raise money for an LGBTQ+ charity.

Of course, the logical thing was to buy myself one of their mini bi flags.

I was terrified to actually come out to my parents, so I did the next best thing—set the mini flag in with the flower vase that rested in the middle of the table, hoping one of them would find it. It took them until dinner, when dad noticed it and plucked it from between the stems.

He was silent as he spun it between his fingers. "What's this?"

My heart hammered in my chest. "It's a bisexual flag… Y'know, people who like guys and—girls… There was a sale during lunch for a whole bunch of LGBTQ+ themed stuff."

"Trying to tell us something, love?" Mum looked to me. My hands stayed underneath the table, hidden so they could shake in peace.

"M-maybe?"

They both broke out into wide grins. My dad gave a hearty laugh as he tucked the flag behind my ear. "D'you think this is news?"

"What?" I let out a surprised squeak.

"A mother always knows, little dove." My mum came over and pressed a loving kiss to my forehead. "And your father isn't too big a dunderhead to realize it." I give a silent laugh as he scoffed. "We love and support you, always. Every part of you."

"And quite frankly it's a relief," my dad jested. "I won't need to sleep with an eye open if you have a girlfriend."

"Charles!"

"What, darling? It's the truth!"

A strangled laugh escaped my throat as I pulled both close and hugged them tightly. They promised one of these years we'd go to a pride parade. We never did.

Before I can choke up I hurry to my bedroom, pulling some new clothes from my dresser and heading into the bathroom down the hall. I don't dilly-dally like I normally would, though. God forbid they shut the water off early.

When I'm changed into new sneakers, jeans, and a low-cut black shirt—Nick did say he enjoyed the view, I think with a mischievous grin—I find myself walking into mum and dad's bedroom.

The queen-sized bed is in the middle of the room, sheets neatly made and pillows puffed at the top. I'm surprised dad made it before mum complains a total of three times before he grumbles out, "Fine."

The sleek black dresser is set to the side, next to the closet door. A small cream-colored hamper rests beside the bed, only a few items inside. Mum must have done the laundry last. It's all dad's clothes.

Tentatively, I pick up a button down pale green shirt; one of his favorites. I let my weight fall back on the bed as I bring it to my face. Slowly, I take a small whiff. It smells like his awful cologne—the one mum loved but I hated so much. I was there when he thought about buying it, and was adamant the right answer was no. Now his image floods my head and he's all I see.

Then I lean back on the bed, and let tears fall freely.

God, I miss them so much. Now they're… god, who knows? The two people I love most in this world are gone and never coming back to me.

I sob loudly, tears trailing down my face like a waterfall. My hand goes to palm the tears away, but it's no use. I'm crying too hard for that to make a difference. I will my brain to think they might not be dead. That it was just a mugger caught in the act. But even then, they couldn't come home. No more planes, ships, nothing. They couldn't ever come home. I'm here, they're there. I'll never know what happens. And if they are alive, they'll spend the rest of their days worrying about me. What's worse?

I lie on the bed, clutching my dad's shirt close until my breathing evens out and the tears stop falling. Leaving the shirt crumpled on the bed, I head into their attached bathroom and quickly splash water on my face. It lessens the redness of my eyes a fair amount. Good.

I don't want to leave just yet. Even though it hurts to be in my apartment, it's strangely comforting, too. This place is my true home. I don't know everything that goes on in the Clarke household. I hardly know all the people there. But here? It's familiar, it's quiet.

Mindlessly, I open the closet door. There's general clutter at the bottom; old, loose papers and school projects of mine that I was really proud of.

There are some shelves set up to the left, important folders stacked on a couple pieces. The top shelf carries a few medical textbooks mum would study from every now and then. However, one of these things is not like the other. The topmost book, skinny in comparison to the others, has the words EMT TRAINING written in bolded block lettering. But… mum wasn't an EMT. She was an oncologist.

Curiosity peaks so I grab the book, taking it back to the bed and plopping down. Loosely I thumb through the plastic pages, browsing the words and diagrams every so page. How fascinating.

I wonder why mum bought it. She seemed happy in cancer research and treatment. Maybe it was just some light reading? Or maybe she needed a change of pace?

I get lost in the pages, scanning through different forms of medical training during emergencies. I'm so lost that the sun starts to set, and my natural light from the window diminishes. Ah, bollocks. They'll be calling curfew soon.

Regretfully, I stand from the bed and drop the book onto the mattress as I stretch my arms out. I shift my weight from foot to foot. I was sitting far too long. There's a definite crink in my neck.

I almost leave the room as is—dad's shirt and the medical book on the bed and the closet door open. But I can't. I can't just leave my mess hanging about, not when this is all I have of them. So I pick up dad's shirt, giving it one last whiff before tossing it back into the hamper, and shut the closet door. I grab the medical book, putting it under my armpit as I smooth out the wrinkles I created on the mattress. There. Much better.

I take the EMT book with me as I leave. It's good knowledge nowadays. Who knows, I might save someone's life with this. With that thought, I pocket my key and wave goodbye to the empty apartment. Maybe next time will be easier.

My legs briskly take me down the street to the Clarke household. I don't know how late it is; no one does these days. But curfew is soon enough. I don't want to be out when our little green friends call it.

However, something catches my eye. Well, ear, rather.

"Hey, knock it off!"

Rhea?

"No! He stays—he STAYS!"

When I turn the corner, I see a large military vehicle parked outside a small house, three of its green men milling about. Rhea's parents hold onto each other tightly in their open doorway, eyes puffy and red. Her mother's head rests against her father's chest, and his hand cradles the back to pull her in tightly.

Rhea, on the other hand, is furiously screaming at a militia man holding onto a small child in the driveway. Tousled blonde hair, gentle brown eyes with a touch of fear in his irises, and red cheeks.

Scott?

"Hey!" I trot up to the group, frowning. "What's going on?"

"Don't worry about it, ma'am." The militia man holds up a hand to me, the other still tightly gripping onto Scott's forearm. "No need to concern yourself."

"Tina, they're taking Scott!" Rhea points accusingly at him. "They're taking my baby brother!"

"Woah!" I flip my attention to the soldier. "What the hell? Why?"

"Ma'am," the soldier stares at me warningly. "There's no need to concern yourself. Go on home before curfew is called."

I furiously shake my head, taking quick backwards steps to stand beside Rhea in solidarity. "Absolutely bloody not. Not until I know why you think it's okay to take an innocent seven-year-old from his family!"

"Rhea," Scott whimpers, eyes cast down to the cement driveway in fear. "I don't wanna go."

Rhea drops to her knees to meet his eye level, her blue eyes glistening brightly. I know Rhea enough to know that she does not cry easily; now she's forcing herself to hold back tears. She brings her hands out to cradle his face, but the militia man jerks Scott out of reach.

"I know, booger. They can't take you." She looks up to me desperately, bottom lip trembling. "Cristina, they can't take him. They can't—they can't!"

"I know, love. I know."

The militia holding onto Scott walks away to the military-grade vehicle, dragging Scott behind him at a pace too fast for the child. Scott whimpers in protest, turning back to look at his family. Vaguely I hear his mom behind us, brokenly sobbing into her husband's shirt. Rhea beside me takes in a heavy breath, tears gently falling onto the pavement below. My hand goes to rest on her shoulder, giving silent support; it's the only thing I can do. I stare hard at the militia man's back, imaging what it would feel like to knock him out with the EMT book.

Before I can stomp up to the vehicle and belt out a dozen nasty curse words, another soldier comes up to me and Rhea, looking bored. And almost exactly the same as the other one. Do these guys get made in a factory? "Only reason he's coming with us is because he has a fever 103.5. We need to keep the public safe and contain any possible outbreaks."

My eyes glare up to reach his, and unconsciously I scrunch my nose in anger. "Then contain it, and bring him back. He has a cold, not malaria."

"We're just taking any necessary precautions."

Like taking a seven-year-old away from his family. My hand twitches at my side, as if it's ready to fling up and smack him in the face, but I take a breath to keep my cool.

"I'm sure. Just make sure he comes back home."

My stomach flips about a dozen times as I stroll back to the Clarke house, worry settling into a pit at the bottom. The curfew horns blare just as I reach the front steps of the house, and internally I raise a middle finger at the militia. Fuck you, wankers.

When I open the front door I'm immediately greeted with cheers. I'm taken aback, but give a, "Hi, everyone!" with a chuckle. "Did you miss me?"

"Oh, loads." Alycia greets from the left side of the couch. Beside her sits Nick on the other edge, and Chris lounges on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. Ophelia takes the rocking chair by the window.

"Is that what we're telling her?" Ophelia adds teasingly.

"What's the truth?" I ask jokingly.

"Oh, I was gonna say we were talking shit."

"Want me to leave?" I point back to the door with my thumb. "You guys can continue your anti-Tina talk, if you want. Just leave food and water outside the door. I'm pretty self-sufficient."

My addition gets a few chuckles as they beckon me over. I haphazardly shove the EMT book and key into my backpack before going to the couch. "Any dinner?"

"You missed it." Alycia explains. "They already cut the power off so you can't nuke anything."

"Bugger. Nooo." I fake cry into her shoulder, dramatically gripping her arms. "What cruel, cruel fate is this?"

"There, there," she pats my side in fake uncaringness, "we have apple juice and Doritos. You can have that."

"Serves you right." Nick shoves at my leg. "Why were you out so late?"

"I was busy planning world domination, if you must know. I didn't realize it takes so long to organize."

"Papa and mama are gonna call bedtime soon." Ophelia says absentmindedly, gazing out the window. She brings her legs up into the chair, hands going around her knees as they bend underneath her. "I don't want to go just yet. I like talking with you guys."

"We like you too," Alycia smiles.

"Speak for yourself," I teasingly roll my eyes. "You're both horrible."

Ophelia cracks a smile and chuckles. "We love you too, Tina."

"How about this?" Alycia leans forward in her seat. "We play a game or something before going to bed?"

"What kind of game?" I ask.

"Twenty questions, truth or dare, never have I ever?"

"I could go for a game of never have I ever." Nick agrees.

I nod. "A classic."

"That's a drinking game, though." Chris raises an eyebrow. Like we couldn't find any booze in this house. I know Madison enjoys a drink or two after a rough week at school.

Alycia shrugs. "We have the apple juice."

In a few minutes, we're all handed a small, fat glass of the sweet amber liquid. I shimmy in my seat, sitting upright as I swirl the juice around in the cup.

"Who wants to go first?" Alycia asks to the group.

I shrug. "I'll do it. Never have I ever…" I look around the room. My eyes glaze over the DVD collection, landing on Mulan and Finding Nemo atop the cabinet. Lightbulb! "Been to Disney?"

Nick and Alycia both bring their glasses to their lips, taking quick sips. Ha ha!

"Me next." Nick claims. "Never have I ever wanted to go to Disney."

There's a collective groan at his copycat question, but he grins in response. "I'm not taking it back." I take a small sip, along with Chris and Ophelia.

"Alright, my turn." Alycia waves her hand in the air. "Okay, never have I ever lived outside the United States."

"Rude." I blow a raspberry at her and begrudgingly take a sip. Ophelia goes to take one, too.

"Where are you from?" I ask, curious. Didn't realize I wasn't the only foreigner.

"El Salvador. What about you?"

"Suffolk."

"I wanna go next." Chris shimmies on the ground. "Just to get Alycia back, never have I ever lived in LA for more than five years."

She glares down to him, but takes a sip with Nick. I lean forward in my spot to give Chris a well-deserved high five. "You're my new best friend, Chris!"

The grin he gives me is adorable. He should smile more often. Angsty teen does not suit him well.

"Okay, okay, me next." Ophelia straightens her back, an evil grin on her face. Oh no. "Never have I ever… Smoked weed."

My glass stays firmly in my hand. I've never been that adventurous. Chris keeps his down, too.

Unsurprisingly, Nick takes a sip. But to my left, Alycia takes one too.

My jaw nearly drops. "Alycia!"

She gives a sheepish grin. "Matt had some at his parties. I would take a puff or two."

"I can't believe it." I shake my head disapprovingly. "Saint Alycia, my ass."

"Sorry to ruin the allusion, Tina. You want to start us off again?" Alycia bumps her shoulder against mine. I nod eagerly.

"Of course. Never have I ever had alcohol."

Nick, Alycia, and Ophelia take sips. Oh, Ophelia? Not so saint-like, either, I see.

"Alright, me next." Chris calls. "Never have I ever had sex."

Ah, I snicker internally. Another classic, "Never Have I Ever," question. Poor baby Chris.

Beside me, Nick and Alycia take sips. Ophelia does, too. But I have to ask playfully, "Wait, opposite sex or same sex?"

Chris raises an eyebrow. "Would that change your answer?"

"Very much so."

"Alright," he starts tentatively, "with the opposite sex."

I keep my glass firmly in my hand, grinning. "No dice."

"Wait," his eyes widen. "You've had sex with a girl?!"

Then I bring my glass to my lips. A gasp comes from both Ophelia and Chris. Alycia snickers beside me. She already knew. I twist my head to look over at Nick to see his reaction. His eyebrow quirks up, a smirk on his lips. "Do tell."

"Sophomore year." I explain. "Bella DeLuca. We'd been dating for about a month before we had sex. It was once, and it was awful. We were both too young and stupid to really understand anything. We broke up a couple weeks after."

"No raunchy details?" Nick teases. "No make-out details, hickies, foreplay?"

"No." I playfully slap his arm. "Sicko."

"C'mon, I'm not the only one thinking it."

"So, wait, you've never… y'know… had actual, like, intercourse?" Chris asks. My face goes beet red.

"C'mon, Chris, that's personal!" Ophelia says.

"Fine. Never had I ever had intercourse."

"First of all," I start, "you just took a turn. You can't take two in a row. Cheater. And two, if you really must know: no. I haven't. No penis—real or otherwise—has ever entered the Forbidden Valley." I raise an eyebrow. "Happy now?"

He shrugs, embarrassed, and looks to the ground. How's that for personal?

"Well then." Ophelia clears her throat. "Does that make it my turn?"

"Sure." Alycia nods.

Slyly, Ophelia starts off, "Never have I ever," and her eyes lightly pass over me, "wanted to kiss a person in this room."

Oh, you bitch.

I freeze, heart hammering in my chest. I don't need to take a sip. It's just a silly game, no one will know if I lie. Alycia and Ophelia will, I internally argue. I just don't want him to know. My moral compass is too strong for me to withstand. With a mental middle finger pointed directly at Ophelia's face, my shaky hand brings my cup up and I take the tiniest of sips.

Eyes land on me as I set the cup back down on my thigh. I can't look at any of them; I'm not explaining this one. My eyes stare blankly at the floor in the silence. How dare you, Ophelia.

Alycia taps at my thigh, and I lightly glare at her. Silently she points beside me, and I raise an eyebrow. Curiously, my eyes follow her direction and I'm shocked to see Nick taking a sip, too.

… Oh?

Oh!

That might not be about me, I reason. He could totally want to kiss Ophelia. I mean, come on! She's gorgeous.

But his eyes capture mine as he slowly sets the cup back in his lap, rubbing it between both of his hands. When he breaks off the stare, I note the small tinge of color in his tanned cheeks.

My mind goes blank. A thousand thoughts run through my mind all at once. Was that about me? Oh, lord, what if it was about me? What do I do? Not once has a male crush liked me back before. I've never even dated a bloke.

The next thought that fills my mind is Nick. Has be been flirting with me this whole time? I've always believed that to be his personality; he's a flirt. Bloke makes teasing remarks and playfully smirks at everyone—not just me.

Still begs the question; who was his sip for?

"Ophelia!" Daniel calls from up the stairs. "Time for your prayers."

"Coming, papa!" I notice the devious grin she gives me as she finishes off her glass of juice. "Well, that was a lot of fun, guys, but duty calls. Good night. I'll see you in the morning."

With a wave, she puts her empty glass in the sink and heads upstairs to her family.

"I should head to bed, too," Chris says, standing from the ground. "Unless I want mom and Travis breathing down my neck."

He finishes his juice, sets the cup in the sink, and waves good night. First-name basis with father-dearest? That can't be good.

Alycia downs hers and sets it in the sink, curiously twisting the knob. When a small waterfall pours out, she exclaims, "Woohoo! Water's still running, so I'm gonna take a quick shower. Don't hurt yourselves while I'm gone."

"You act like we're children." I scoff.

She stares at me, deadpan. "The day I met you, you tripped over nothing and sprained your ankle. A year later we went to the beach and you almost swallowed seaweed on a dare. Yes, you are a child."

I laugh at her explanation, but nod. "Fine. You win. Go shower."

Alycia leaves the room and hops into the bathroom, the noise of the running water filling the silence.

Ha. And then there were two.

"Well." Nick starts. "That was an exciting game."

"Yes, yes it was."

He looks down to my hands, my glass still between them. "You have a couple sips left. So do I." He holds his up a tad. "Want to keep going?"

I shrug. "You go first."

"Okay." Nick says. "Never have I ever almost eaten seaweed on a dare!" His nose scrunches in disgust. I laugh heartily, gladly taking a swig. "That's appalling. I feel like there's a story behind that."

"Oh, there is!" I cackle. "But that's a story for another day."

I kick my legs underneath me, sitting up straight as I think of a question. "Never have I ever… Owned a dog."

Nick takes a small sip, raising an eyebrow. "Really? Never?"

I shrug. "Had a couple cats, but no dogs."

"Damn. That is one sad life."

"It's been a very nice life, thank you." I huff playfully. "Your turn."

"Okay. Never have I ever," he draws out the words before pausing. "... Wanted to kiss my best friend's brother."

Well, bollocks.

I freeze for the second time tonight as my brain betrays me; all thoughts shut down and I can't form a proper sentence. "Nick…"

Please don't make me answer that.

He's barely audible as he says, "That's my question." Waiting a beat, he adds, "Please. Answer it."

And I do, truthfully. I toss my apple juice back, downing the rest. My eyes go to the empty glass, staring at my reflection in the bottom.

"Never have I ever wanted to kiss my sister's best friend." Only when I finish my words do I look back at him. My gaze is unwavering as I search his chocolate brown irises, waiting.

And sure enough, he tosses his head back, finishing the rest.

Bloody hell. It is me.

My head pounds with this new information, heart soaring and combusting, but I don't know what to say. The first thing that spills is:

"Nick, what the fuck?"

Nicks lets out a laugh. "Really, Tina? That's the response I get?" He sets his glass on the coffee table before looking to me, cocking his head curiously.

"I—I'm sorry, I just… what the fuck? When?"

"Okay, okay." He holds his hands up in surrender. "I just, when I first met you, y'know? We were young, and you were pretty, and different, and you weren't afraid to throw hands or talk shit with me. And you were my sister's best friend, so you were over all the time. How could I not have thought about you?"

"I…" My mouth gapes open like a fish. C'mon, Tina, say something. "And you didn't do anything?"

"Neither did you." He quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, you know me with anxiety." My hand tightens its grip on the empty glass. "I tend to run in the other direction. But you, you run to the danger."

Nick shrugs, casting his eyes down. "You're my sister's best friend. That's like, top-level forbidden fruit. You're off-limits."

"And here I was thinking you flirt with everyone."

"Well," he shrugs. "I sorta do, but with you—"

"—It's real?"

He chuckles. "Don't sound so surprised. I admitted to checking you out not even three hours ago."

I snort. "That's true." A moment passes and playfully I waggle my brows and gesture to my shirt. "D'you like the shirt? Thought you would."

His eyes flick to the black material happily. Knew it. "Very much so. Though I prefer you in a bikini."

"This'll have to do."

"Maybe I could get you into the pool again tomorrow."

"Sorry yank but you'd literally have to drag me—" I start, but am interrupted by the bathroom door opening. A messy Alycia emerges, wet strands of hair stuck to her face and slightly damp clothes.

"Water ended seconds after I got my conditioner out!" She exclaims, rubbing a towel through her soaked messy locks. "Talk about luck."

When she turns to look at the two of us on the couch, she cocks her head to the side. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Just finishing off our juice, 'Lych." Nick answers for both of us. He stands and turns to me, holding a hand out.

My glass. He wants my glass.

I hand it to him and give a quick thanks. As he heads to the kitchen, I stand from my seat. "I'm gonna go change."

I head down the hall, to the garage where the washer and dryer are. Madison has us on a strict schedule for laundry. It's worked out well, but I'm very lazy when it comes to folding mine, so I haven't grabbed it from my basket that sits atop the dryer.

Equipped with a pair of clean pajamas, I head back to the living room. When I return, the lights are off and Alycia's lying on the blow-up mattress, our blanket tucked comfortably under her chin. Nick lays on the couch, eyes peering at the ceiling.

I slink in beside Alycia, attempting to keep my tossing and turning to a minimum as I get comfortable. Alycia lets out a soft snore, and I pause. "Seriously?!" I whisper.

Nick chuckles, whispering back, "I swear, she's inhuman."

"No way she fell asleep that fast."

"Alien, probably."

I huff. "Nah, I'm thinking a vampire. She sleeps like the dead."

"Also possible."

Once I shimmy into the perfect spot, I shut my eyes and say, "G'night, yank."

"Good night, T."