Black over-the-knee boots, preferably, but maybe white. Halter top, no, this is cuter. Long sleeves - no. What will Astrid wear? Something bright, of course. What do I want people to think?

Irritation finds me eagerly, resting in my thumbs as I use them to pop the knuckles of my other fingers. Despite my pacing and jittery habits, my heart remains at a steady pace and I can only think of what kind of outfit would impress without overstepping.

The shatter of glass startles me, sudden and sharp. It rings in my ears and forces my grip loose from my boots and instead to the chest of my shirt. There's no fucking way.

"I make the money I call the shots!" My mother is yelling over my father's cries, so I assume the broken item is his. She then says something incoherent, and I groan at it, feeling my stomach twist into knots.

I have to pick an outfit now. I have to go. I have to leave and feel the fun and excitement of a party take over me. Yes, at Marcelo's party, I will have fun. It is inevitable, the fleeting fresh feeling of happiness like confetti showering me.

I choose black boots with a burgundy halter crop top and a black miniskirt, placing a gold necklace that falls in the valley of my chest, rings on my fingers, bracelets, and earrings.

All of the jewelry makes noise as I walk down the steps as quietly as possible, seeing as though they've taken their fight to the back patio. The screen door is ajar, I tune in one last time before leaving.

"You're still respected in the industry. Maybe...calm down on the-"

"On the what, Marcus?"

I close the door swiftly, loud enough for them to know I'm leaving. Fuck.

The sun was not quite setting as I stepped outside, the front yard beautifully green. Almost artificially perfect. I remember being interested in the garden - in the front and back yard. It used to be a refreshing hobby and far more rewarding than shopping, at the time.

Just ahead is my white Lexus. I sigh in the driver's seat, head dropping as my hair frames my face, tickling my cheeks. I readjust my clothes and check my phone for the time, a phone call from Aspen appearing timely.

"Frey, are you drinking tonight?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm driving." I look at her name on the screen. "You?"

"Fuck yeah." She laughs. "Free alcohol and you think I won't drink?"

I release a strained breath. It's my parents who've put me in such a somber, aggravated mood. The ability to pounce comes much quicker. "I didn't say that," I reply.

"Yeah, whatever." Clothes hangers shift in the background. "Are you entering with your boyfriend?"

"We should, shouldn't we?" I mutter, damn near hitting myself for failing to consider that. "Yes, I'm going to his house right now." It's a lie at first, but I've mentally changed my destination to Truth's and I internally thank Astrid for even saying that.

"What's he wearing?" I hear jewelry drop and hit the floor in a muffled thud. "Fuck me."

I turn closer to his neighborhood, wondering the same thing.

"Well, ideally, something nice."

"Like nothing?" She jokes, strained groans on her end. I wonder how much stuff she dropped.

I tighten my jaw. "What? No!" I force the smile on my face, the slick venom of kindness coating my words. "Astrid, please, I only want prom queen. Nothing more."

"Then why not Hudson, hm?"

"Hudson isn't easy." I pull into Truth's driveway. "I'll see you at the party."

A few things are making me frown and furrow brows. The heat, for one, even though the sun is setting. Astrid, for another, stressing her fantasy of me and Truth dating. Lastly, Truth opens the door with his head peeking out.

Water makes a soft plop on the tile floors and as I trace the fall I discover his hair is drenched. I'm left to assume that he's using the door as cover to hide his naked body, and I grimace at the thought.

"Freya, what are you doing here?" His cheeks erupt in a light pink as I begin to take a step inside. "Hey, wait."

"Hm?" I play coy, trying to ease my frustration with comedy. The party has already started and the only item of clothing he has on is a black towel.

"I'm...clearly naked, Frey," he pushes out through tight lips. I walk past him and head into the kitchen, ignoring his attire.

I'm rolling an apple in my hand, piercing it with my nail as the juice seeps my finger. "I know. Get dressed, babe."

"Babe?" He chuckles as the door locks. "Why are you here?" He asks again, voice lower, quieter, as if he knows something I don't. "Are you okay?"

"Of course." I pull out a knife and begin cutting up the apple. "How come?" I toss my head up, my hair brushing over my arms.

His eyes follow mine to the edge of my waist, the island counter covering the rest of my body. "Why are you here?"

"I want us to enter together."

His brows raise for a brief second. "Come with me."

He's already heading upstairs before I register the demand, but this has already put an enormous strain on the already existing tension. He's naked, wet, and asking me to come upstairs. Before this partnership, he would have never asked something of this caliber. Even if I'd be turned around as he dressed.

I enter his room behind him, slowly taking in the decor once more. My heart races as he adjusts the towel around his waist. "Truth."

"Hm?" He turns to me with a full smile, thumb dangerously skimming the hem of his towel.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I take an angry bite out of my apple. "Get dressed."

"You don't want to dress me? I'm yours."

Is this a game to him? "Will you stop that?" I spit, tiredly. "Fuck, Truth, we are...we are not dating."

Truth looks me up and down with a new look in those dark blue eyes, something unidentifiable but still rendering me speechless. I can't be bothered with the thought of hurting his feelings. I scoff.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I know we're not dating." He takes the towel off and I instinctively look away. "I'm not naked."

I peel my eyes open to find him wearing gray boxers, my head dropping.

"I'm sorry." My voice is quick and soft, breathy and almost languid. There's no way I've been so tied up over nothing. Fuck. The night is going terribly. At this point, I'm better off giving up now.

I look away, eyes shutting once again. I glance at my phone, sigh, and drop myself into his desk chair. "I'll keep my head down, either way. Just...wear something nice."

He doesn't respond but instead silently shuffles around his room. There's a tussle of clothes, jewelry, hair. Everything. Quietly, as if not to disturb me. And I think about getting home, wondering if the fighting will stop by then.

"We are friends, Freya. And, as your friend, I'd like to know what's wrong."

Great! Wonderful! I'd love to dispel the details of my parents arguing about God knows what.

I sit up and turn, looking Truth over, stopping at his rosy cheeks. Loose brown pants and a white button-up. Silver bracelets, nicely groomed hair, a sharp smile. Perfect.

"Am I to your standards?" He tilts his head and extends a hand. He is, but I'm far more concerned about the thoughts weighing on my brain.

I look at his hand and frown again. I don't want you dating Truth. "It's...my parents." I take his hand, dismissing it with that action. As I stand and straighten my outfit, I take in a deep breath and smile. "It's okay. It'll be okay."

"Are you sure?" He leads me downstairs and excuses himself very quickly. He peeks in a room and whispers something, then he's back by my side in the same minute.

In a moment of raw vulnerability, I shrug.

"Does it matter?" I hope he can hear my defeat and not push for more. "Let's just get the party over with."

"Will do."

-

The discussion about driving was quick. He planned to drink; I didn't. I'm driving.

Hudson appears in something leather that shines underneath camera flashes and even though the sun has been down for hours, he's wearing a pair of sunglasses. He looks cool, but I can't help but wonder if he can see. He's also taken to flaunting his vocal abilities, a mini crowd forming around him as he sings and raps to the music playing.

Astrid is with a girl on the cheer team. I'm guessing they're friends, considering their shared sport, but Astrid has never spoken of this girl. Her eyes are big and I can't help but frown at her attire. So childish - a white, loose skirt with a pink, long-sleeved top with some weird design embedded. It's unclear with the shifting bodies obscuring my view, but her bright smile doesn't help. She can't be a senior.

Truth's hand wraps around my waist as we travel through Marcelo's house, eliciting inviting looks from some attendees.

"I'm gonna get a drink," Truth whispers, and just as fast as I process the sentence, his fingers leave my waist.

I wander around the house, noticing several rooms open with different activities lying inside. Karaoke, board games, drinking games, and down a hall I see a pool table. The sheer volume of the entire house is enough to lead people to a bedroom or bathroom, seeing as I've already begun feeling a headache creep its way to me.

"Freya!" It's Marcelo with a trail of smoke leaving him. "You look good."

"Thank you!" I yell over the music, feeling his hand wrap around my wrist. "Where're we going?"

"I need to talk to you."

It's a series of weaving and twisting through people before we enter a room that significantly muffles the noise of the living room. I only now realize the red solo cup in his hand and the joint between his fingers.

It's a bedroom. Seemingly his, considering how personalized it is and how his shoulders immediately slump, signaling his comfort. I lean against the wall, looking down at my boots, awaiting whatever he has to say.

"You can't tell anybody," he prefaces, placing his cup on the floor, "but I have a crush on Mira."

My heart is an abandoned ship at the bottom of the ocean. It's swimming with debris. I feel my fingers curl around my clutch, my jaw clenching as I display a harmless, welcoming smile. "What? Really?"

He nods. I know he's serious I didn't need to fucking ask again. Anybody other than me would respectfully have a crush on her. She's admittedly gorgeous. "Did you invite her?"

"I did."

Of course, he did. I can't help but feel myself wishing to be drunk, sloppy drunk. Wasted beyond comprehension.

He looks away. "She's here. I'm scared."

And she's already here? Even better.

"Of what?" I cross my arms. The only thing to fear is her aggression, but Marcelo has done nothing to her and vice versa. "You're handsome. Just ask her on a date."

"How did Truth ask you out?"

I chuckle lightly, trying to hide my nerves. How did we? Somehow, we never discussed the birth of our relationship, just planted it like the fake item we are. "We were kind of...alone together, and things just started..." I look away. "It was already an intimate night, you know?" I swallow and frown, realizing that even my fake story isn't assisting him. Fuck. "Get her alone."

"How?"

If I were a better person - an honest one, I'd tell him to back away. She's no good and not worth the amount of grief he will go through just to get her in his grasp. She's stubborn, frisky, independent, and annoying. So fucking annoying. Let's not forget her addiction to being a straight-up bitch. Couple that with her money, and you have the worst girlfriend in the world.

"Has she been here before?" He shakes his head. "Show her around."

"It's a party."

"Marcelo."

He stands and nods, grabbing his drink and smoking his blunt, looking away so the smoke goes to his left. "Thanks, Frey." He pulls me into a hug, the scent of his blunt engulfing me.

I nod against his chest. "Anytime." I sigh as quietly as possible as we both depart, relieved the conversation is over.

I'm back in the crowd of people, greeting random people and giving Astrid a quick hug before Truth swoops me into his side, a cup in his hand and his cheeks flushed. I can admire the way he looks here with music loud in my ears and an everlasting boyish smile gracing his features. I almost see what everybody else does, almost feel something when his lips brush against my ear.

"They love us," he says, his voice soft with alcohol running through his system. He then moves his head to look at me with glossy eyes. "Havin' fun?"

I nod, smiling at his eyes, how far he's already gotten. "You?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" I chuckle, taking his cup before it spills over his hand. "Great," I say, and I mean it genuinely. I give him his cup and watch as he takes a small sip, his entire body far more slack than I'm used to seeing.

He leans down to me again. "They're watching," he notices, his eyes gazing across the entire party. "They're waiting," he reiterates, those golden retriever eyes twinkling with something evil.

"Oh, please," I scoff. He's just tipsy, imagining things. Things that would excite him. I look around, though, and I do find a significant amount of attention on us, hidden through cups and whispers. Oh, fuck.

I laugh again, getting a little closer to him, his heat pulsing through his clothes. It isn't Freya that leads my hands to the back of his neck and allows that goofy smile to play on my lips. It's ambition, the fire burning from the eyes of watchers.

"You look so pretty," he whispers, almost low enough for me to miss it. He wants to throw me off.

I take his chin and narrow my eyes at him. "I need you to shut up." I match his volume and watch as excitement gleams in his already glossy eyes, one hand on the small of my back and the other holding his cup.

"Yes ma'am," he whispers, his lips against mine in a second. The kiss is far more passionate than the ones we had in his bedroom, slow because of the depressant and deeper for some reason. I almost pull away but instead do the opposite, bringing him closer as I tug his chin to me, bragging that Truth gets to kiss me.

Yes, I want people to know that I'm the catch, I'm the prize. I'm the star in a beautiful gown. I pull away, something wild coursing through me as I look around. A smile reveals itself as deeper and darker than I've ever felt grace my lips before.

"Wow, get a fucking room," Astrid says as she joins us.

"Wanna join?" Truth asks, a laugh immediately following to dilute the suggestion.

"What the fuck?" It's Hudson with his glasses still atop his nose.

I'm shocked to see Hudson approach us at all, knowing how he's currently upset with me, but this falls under the category of keeping up appearances. Nobody needs to know.

"You need a chain." Astrid gestures to Truth with her cup, but I can tell by the way she moves that it's empty.

"Do I need to drive you home?" I ask her.

She shakes her head. "Thea's taking me."

"Thea?" Me, Truth, and Hudson ask.

Her grin stretches from ear to ear almost eerily. "She's from cheer."

The childish girl.

I'm about to respond when the back of my left shoulder is shoved so hard that I bump into Truth. I bite my lip and turn, already trying to prepare myself to remain as nice as possible, except Astrid has already taken to dealing with whoever has pushed me.

"Hey!" Astrid reaches forward and grabs an arm, lurching forward when the person keeps walking. "Mira!"

Mira? I follow Astrid's arm and there she is. Marcelo's wonderful crush with wavy curls falling down her back, a green crop top and a brown skirt now hugging her body. I can't help what happens next.

Astrid pulls her to our circle and I get a whiff of her perfume as I find myself curling into Truth's side. He pulls me in and tightens his jaw.

"What's up, Mira?" Hudson asks. There's something about Hudson that allows him to get away with otherwise aggressive language. His tone is nothing short of confrontational, his brows furrowed just barely above his glasses.

"I didn't mean to bump her." She doesn't even look at me. I can't help but feel genuinely offended. I'd like an apology. Truth almost spilled his drink on me.

"Oh, for real?" Astrid crosses her arms, her blue hair brushing her shoulders. "Fuck that."

"Fuck that?"

"Yeah, fuck that."

"It was a fucking accident."

"Then say sorry." Truth takes a step forward, Mira cowering under his height. For a second, I imagine real fear prancing through her eyes.

Her silence is deafening and even with the music playing, nobody's dancing. Everybody is awaiting her apology, and everybody can see that she's uncomfortable. Interesting. Is her biggest fear merely confrontation? Oddly enough, I figured as much, but for other reasons.

Then I see Marcelo coming downstairs, wondering what happened to all of the noise, finding us in the near center of the room.

My attention lands on him and I noticeably look at Mira. Hopefully, he'll take this opportunity.

"Mira, I've been looking for you," Marcelo says, gently taking her by the waist. Yes. "Let me show you around."

As the two disappear and the party resumes, our friends leave Truth and me alone. I can't help but feel overwhelmingly bored. I glance up at Truth, wondering if I should kiss him out of pure fun, but I decide against it. No real reason, no tension, no onlookers. Instead, I take a peek at the cup he's been holding, noticing he hasn't had any additional sips.

Knowingly, he lifts his cup to eye level. "I don't want to drink anymore."

"How...come?" I follow him to the kitchen, where he disposes of the cup.

He shrugs, and I take it he really doesn't know but he also doesn't care to wonder. There's something quite effortless about the way he moves through the party that signals that the alcohol is still there, though.

I find my interest lying in the pool table room and drag Truth with me. He obliges easily, and when we enter we see nobody is there.

I chuckle at its vacancy. This room is empty every time Marcelo has a party, which I find odd since the music is at a volume I'd label bearable. I don't have to strain my throat to tell Truth to hand me a pool cue and the chalk.

"Do you know how to hold it?"

I shrug and lean over the table, lining up the cue to the white ball. "You just hit balls." I feel too much skin showing in the back, my mini skirt not faring well against my choice of sport.

His laugh is breathy and creeps up on my neck as he takes a new position behind me. "There's value in having the right technique."

His fingers ghost my waist and I freeze. "What are you doing?"

"Teaching you," he kicks a leg between mine, spreading them just barely apart, "how to play."

"Oh really?" I chuckle and turn to look at him. "Seems like your motives are muddled."

"Are they?" He laughs again but he doesn't move.

I hear my heart in my ears and straighten up, discarding the pool cue and turning around. Is this the perfect couple Truth wants people to see? The one that isolates themselves from the party and plays a rather deluded game of pool?

Do I want people to see that?

"Truth, you know how to play?" I tilt my head and look up at him. From where I stand, people can turn their heads and see us together, his rosy cheeks and playful smile.

"Of course." He furrows as if that's a given. "I used to play with my family."

"Of course, the Wilders play pool." I smile at his lazy lips but I notice he's sobering up. "It seems like a rather lascivious process to teach me."

I reach forward and tap his lip, smiling at him to ask for permission. He hovers over me, the small of my back against the table, one of his hands on my waist. His fingers graze the sliver of skin exposed between my crop top and miniskirt, and I wonder if this contract will be harder to maintain.

I feel a thousand eyes on us as we kiss and I instinctively pull him in deeper. He releases a small gasp and I can't help but laugh against him, but it doesn't stop his momentum. I don't want to make a show out of us, though, so I push him away by his chest.

"Well, we're dating, aren't we?" He continues, but there's real hesitation now. He steps back as if only now realizing how close we are, his hair wisping my forehead. "Just say the word and-"

"No." I turn and grab the cue again, returning to my position and leaning over the table. "Guide me." How could he be shy after a kiss like that?

My voice is smooth but my heart races as his hands move near my waist, as he kicks my feet apart again, his hand pushing down my back to lower me to eye-level with the table. I'm still excited about the kiss.

There's too much touching all at once, and no matter how much I remind myself that Truth is my friend, I know the alcohol that remains reminds him that he is nothing more than a boy.

And me? I'm in a miniskirt that makes my bare thigh graze the material of his loose pants. I'm the one using a low voice, asking for clarification, looking up at him through lashes and darkly salacious eyes. I am no better than him. It's all a game to me, now. Who will say it first?

"Hit it," he says in my ear, and I force my right hand forward and almost miss my anticipated shot.

He laughs and pats my shoulder, loud and boisterous.

"What?" I ask, turning to look up at him. I know he's making fun of me with his continuous laugh, but I can't help but feel partially lost. I was fine with playing with the wrong form. He insisted on teaching me.

He soothes me by running his hands on my hair, his other hand on his chest. "Nothing, nothing," he reassures but as he gets another look at me, he nearly completely sobers up. "No, it was cute. So cute."

"Cute?" I look over to the party. People are watching, per usual, but they can't hear. All of these compliments almost feel unnecessary.

"...No? Yes?" He takes half a step back and I can tell by his tone that he's sober. "Too much?" He whispers.

Interesting. "Let's go back to the party."

"What party?" It's Hudson somehow sneaking up on us. "People are going home. It's 1 AM."

"What?" I pull out my phone and see a text from my mother. I don't even bother to open it, I just groan and place my head in my hand. "Fuck."

"What's wrong?" There's nothing worse than a concerned Truth. He's relentless, endlessly worried, but not pushy enough to invade your boundaries.

"Do you need a ride, Hudson?" I ask, ignoring Truth.

He shakes his head. "I'm with Thea. She's cool."

I sigh. Whatever. This 'Thea' girl will come and go just like all of Astrid's girls. "Okay, be safe. Let's go." I turn to Truth who's...thoughtfully looking at me, eyes filled with so much warmth my heart swells.

Marcelo walks us out and hopes we drive safely, but I dread leaving the party. I'm too close to home, too close to returning to my arguing parents.

My mother rather aggressively asked where I was. A valid concern, considering the time, but I can't stop the irritation in me.

It doesn't matter though, because when we enter the world of starlit darkness and a brisk breeze against my nose, I find some sort of relief within that. It's quiet, dark, and encapsulating. There's no need to hide in the dark.