"Nickerson, it's Saturday night!"

Ned looked up from his desk, to the figures in the doorway. Scott and Tony, their arms around the shoulders of matched bronzed blondes, were urging him to join the party. He had been trying to ignore the bass beat pounding through the walls since the speakers had been set up, but his headache had found it a useful metronome.

"Yeah, it's Saturday night," Ned retorted. "And my hardest exam is Monday morning, bright and early at 8am."

Tony made a dismissive gesture, and the blonde under his arm giggled. "Which means you have all day Sunday. And I'm sure if we go down in the basement and shuffle through the files for five minutes, we'll find something that can help you out."

Ned shook his head, the faintest smile on his face. "No thanks," he said. "I'll just have to wait, oh, three days for the next party."

Scott scowled, and the girl next to him began tugging on his arm, urging him back downstairs. "Just five minutes. Come on."

Ned sighed, looking down at his notes, a messy patchwork of overlapping highlighter stripes and asterisks. He hadn't moved for hours. At the back of his head he heard the voice gaging the number of hours he had left until he'd be sliding into an uncomfortable desk, pencil in hand, and nothing left to help him. He had to do it now, to study until he couldn't see straight.

His gaze caught the framed photograph on his desk, the smiling girl with the red-blonde hair falling over her shoulders, blue eyes laughing up into the camera. If she were here, she'd tell him he needed a study break. He hadn't seen her in weeks; only once the hellish exam was over and he was out of school, would they have a weekend before she spent two weeks in Central America, and then they'd have the summer together. But she wasn't here. Without her, it wasn't like he'd even enjoy himself; he could duck in and out, catch some air, and be back before his attention flagged.

He rubbed his eyes. "Five minutes," Ned agreed reluctantly.

The foot of the stairs was already clogged with couples, and Ned picked his way around them, sighing. The entire downstairs was a crush of swaying bodies, laughter, and flimsy red tumblers. A few voices rose in recognition and Ned smiled and nodded without seeing, maneuvering his way through the crowd. Tony and Scott had already disappeared into the melee.

He was on the porch, relaxing in the breeze, when he heard the sirens.

Emersonville was a quiet place, but sirens weren't so unusual. Not on Saturday nights. None of the chatting couples cluttering the porch and front stairs seemed concerned at all. Ned glanced at his watch. The party wasn't going to be over with anytime soon, and maybe getting away from the throbbing bass and the lure of a red plastic tumbler wouldn't be so bad. Might even give him a second wind.

Greek Row was awash in red light, once he rounded the corner. A group of firemen in heavy yellow jackets were clustered at the fire engine, mumbling through plastic shields, and girls clustered in twos and threes at the edge of the yard, blankets over their shoulders, their gleaming eyes reflecting back the fire.

Ned took it in in a second. A sorority house. He'd been here for a party his freshman year; he recognized a few of the girls staring with speechless grief at the upper stories. A few lone red tumblers were still on the front steps. Another party. The hose trailed away from the truck, the pavement was wet, but the flames would not be daunted.

Then he heard the screams.

One of the girls broke down then, sank to her knees. The firemen shuffled in their tight group and Ned glanced at them, his jaw dropping. A girl screaming for help. Two girls.

"Why can't you do something?"

He burst out with it, without thought, without meaning to say anything. One of the firemen turned toward him.

"There's no way in," he said quietly. "All the entrances are blocked. The smoke is too thick, son."

Ned shook his head. "So they're just going to die?"

They were trailing down the street. He could still hear the distant pulse of the music from the Omega Chi party, but the party attendees were coming in twos and threes, their faces alternately red and orange in the flames, their mouths open. Some of them overheard, and he heard them gasp as one, horrified. Another scream, and another girl dropped to her knees, sobbing, to the gleaming pavement.

"We can't—"

"We have to do something—"

The chief stepped forward. "You have to stay back," he said. "We don't want anyone else to get hurt tonight."

Ned's fists clenched at his sides, but he nodded anyway, losing himself in the crowd for a moment or two before he split off. He and Nancy had been in the woods a thousand times. He made his way quietly to the back of the house, and stood, his chest heaving. The windows were shattered, the back door had been broken down; flames and thick roiling smoke licked from every visible opening.

One of the girls screamed again.

Ned shook his head. He had to do something. He had to do something. He had to. He couldn't just let them die.