BY THE TIME Friday rolls around, I'm eager for a night off work, but I don't want to spend it at Shae Evans's party. Too bad for me—I told Val I'd go, and there's no way I'm ditching her. In the desk chair of her bedroom, I spin around and around and watch her posters fly by until they create a seamless blur of white against purple paint.

"I swear these things are magic," Val says.

I come to a full stop. Dizzy. Val stands in front of her full-body mirror and eyes herself up. Her (sister's) black jeans have gold hems and some sort of built-in superpower that makes her butt look like she squats five times a week.

"Uh-huh, Jacobi will never know what hit him." I keep spinning. Val's room is a wreck—clothes vomit out of the laundry basket and all over the hardwood, but this place has always been my home away from home. Her mom and dad are arguing in the kitchen, and the savory smell of ropa vieja leaks through the crack in the door.

I pick up a Beanie Baby and toss it at Val's ass. "Are you going to help me film or what?"

She groans and touches up her eyeliner. "Come on, we did a video last week."

"That was last month. And this is a whole new song. I barely have time to practice these days, let alone film." I hate begging, but my YouTube subscribers are asking for more content, and I've finalized the song I've been working on. Val faces me with her hands on her hips.

"Fine, but don't be a perfectionist. I'll do one take, got it?"

"Deal. I have a good feeling about this one."

Crawling onto Val's bed, I rest my back against the wall and prop my guitar on my lap. Stickers line the body of my acoustic: daisies, clothing brands, and one of Led Zeppelin from when it belonged to my dad. I try not to think of him when I play. Keyword: try. It's been hard considering today, March 22nd, is his forty-fifth birthday.

The years are piling up since he left us. I'd say I wonder what he looks like now, but I already know. Judas Cradle is on tour in Europe right now and their pictures are all over Google. Dad looks exactly the same, just a little greyer, a little wrinklier. No surprise there; not even time has the strength to change a man like him.

I can say all the bad things in the world about my dad, but if I had to thank Graham Grant for one thing, it would be this: he's a killer musician, and some of that passed down to me. Singing and playing guitar have always come as naturally to me as breathing.

Val gets on her knees in front of the bed and positions the camera on the tripod, angling it right. When the red recording dot appears, I close my eyes and allow the song to flow through me. I trickle my fingers along the strings and sing high and clear and sad and hopeful all at once. I'm known for stuff like this on my channel; melancholic and slow, acoustic and quiet. Some call it depressing, and maybe that's true—but it's honest. It all comes from the heart.

When I finish the outro, I set the guitar aside. "Well?"

"That was perfect," Val says.

I smile, all teeth, then grab the camera and slide into the desk chair. I plug it into the USB drive of her computer and start uploading. "Time for the world to see this," I say.

"How many subs are you at now, anyway?" Val asks. "Ten K? Fifteen?"

"Eleven now," I say and tap my fingers on the keyboard. No one on there knows I'm Graham Grant's daughter, and I want to keep it that way. On YouTube, I title the video "Every Piece of You" and press upload. I can't wait for people to hear it. I hope they like it as much as I do.

From the other room, Val's brother, Matias, shouts that dinner's ready. The upload bar on the screen is almost complete, so I press publish before Val and I leave her room.

A dim chandelier lights the dining room, and a rose-patterned cloth lines the table beneath bowls of hot food. Val and I take our seats at the end as Matias sets the plates. Maria, Val's sister, does the utensils. Val's the baby of the family; both Maria and Matias are in their late twenties, but they still live at home and help out with the family business. The Riveras own the antique shop downtown.

"There you two are." Val's mom, Camila, places a steaming tray of shredded beef in the center of the table next to the pot of roasted veggies. "I thought you'd already snuck off to that party."

"Not yet," Val says. "Jill was making me film her singing a hundred thousand times."

"It was one time," I mutter.

"Don't worry, Jill." Maria cocks an eyebrow at Val, dark curls falling over her black blouse. I swear, Val's sister could be a supermodel. "I'm sure it was mostly Valery spending forever on that raccoon look. Nice pants, by the way."

Val flips her off, and I laugh. I love their house. It's busy, but never overwhelming. Sometimes when I'm at this table, it's easy to pretend I have a normal family. It's easy to imagine what it'd be like if Mom and I had a real kitchen table and real family meals and ate more than leftover diner food every night.

"Are you going to see Danny tonight?" Maria asks. I guess Val hasn't told her family she got dumped again.

"We broke up," Val says.

Maria starts questioning Val in Spanish, and Val fires back at her. Being best friends with Val has taught me a bit of her native language, and I'm pretty sure she just said something along the lines of, "Screw you, Maria."

"Stop it, you two," Camila says. Val crosses her arms, a pissed-off frown taking over her face. I give her a reassuring nudge. Val's family loves Danny Jacobi, and every time him and Val break up, they blame her for it. I personally think the guy's an asshole.

"What's new with you, Jill?" Matias asks, obviously trying to diffuse the hostility. "How's your mom?" He leans over me and sets a plate down, lifting his scent of sandalwood cologne to my nostrils. Val's brother is incredibly good-looking: thick, dark eyebrows, the perfect amount of stubble. Val fires me a flirt with my brother and die glare.

"She's good," I say. As much as I'd love to hit on Matias, he's way too old for me. Val's the only one who knows I have a crush on him and she hates me for it.

"I heard your mother hired that Blue boy." Camila sits at the head of the table, and the bangles on her wrists clink together. "What's the story behind that?"

Val's dad, Jorge, shakes his head. "Trouble," is all he says.

A silence follows. I try to think of how to respond. "Carson's okay. My mom wanted to give him a chance, and he's been good so far. He's only worked a few shifts since we hired him, and he's always on time and ready to go. My mom's stress has already gone down lots."

Everyone is quiet again, and for some reason, I feel judged. The Riveras are only one of the many families in town who disapprove of the Blues.

"Just keep an eye on him," Jorge eventually says. "His father was a real bad seed. We banned him from our store long before he went to prison. Tried stealing from us right under our noses, so I said that's it. Never allowed back in."

"Kevin Blue was an awful man." Camila sips her red wine. "I only hope Dorothy won't take him back when he gets out of prison, but I think we all know she will."

I poke a roasted red pepper with my fork. Even though I've seen Carson, Garnett, and Lucas around town a million times, I can count how often I've seen their mom with my fingers. Dorothy Blue is so elusive, some people question if she's even still alive.

Matias's dark brown eyes meet mine over the lit candles. "I just hope he doesn't cause your mom any grief. She's already dealt with so much."

More silence. Forks cling on ceramic. We must all be thinking of the same thing: my dad. After all, Carson Blue isn't the only one with a bad seed for a parent.

***

"It's fuckin' loud in here," Val says as we wade through the cramped hallway of Shae Evans's house. Metal music pounds the walls, and the dimmed lights make it hard to see through the hoard of bodies. The smell of mildew, smoke, and beer surrounds me like a cloud of smog.

At the end of the hall, Shae leans against the wall with a can of Budweiser, a black Slipknot shirt on his thin frame and white-blond hair buzzed to his head. Val and I just got here—we haven't seen Carson yet, but I find myself looking for him, wondering if he closed up the diner okay.

Mandy Turner, one of the school's cheerleaders, stops and grabs us by the arms. Her eyes are red and drunk, her cheeks are flushed, and orange hair tumbles over her slim shoulders.

"Oh my God, yes, you guys are here! Come on, we're doing shots!"

Val looks at me, and I shake my head. "I'm good," I say over the music. "Taking it easy tonight."

As Val is being dragged away by Mandy, she shouts, "Be right back, okay? I'll get you a beer or something!"

Well, shit. Now I'm all alone.

I spin around and find myself trapped between two groups of people with their backs facing me. I've known everyone in this house for as long as I can remember, so I just merge with one of them and say hey. Val is my only real friend, but we get along with pretty much everyone.

"I didn't think you'd be here," someone breathes against my ear, sickening my stomach. I'd recognize that snaky voice anywhere. Cocking an eyebrow, I turn to face Lenny Fitzgerald. He towers over me, wearing a dark green pullover, and makes a point to flash me his Rolex as he adjusts his thick-rimmed glasses. Lenny has been after me since I hit puberty; as the only guy in town with a Bentley, he has a hard time accepting 'no' as an answer. His dad owns some condos in Detroit, but the family lives here to have a 'quiet life.'

"Lenny," I say. "I'm a little surprised you're here too."

"Yeah, well my dad's friends get a little boring to hang out with. Sometimes I need to be around people my own age." He says it with an edge of judgement. The Fitzgeralds live in a three-story mansion on the outskirts of town, so I'm sure Shae's single-story house is like a broom closet to him. But in a town as small as Hull, we don't have distinct cliques. Our parties would be empty if only certain people were invited.

Lenny leans way too close to me. His breath smells like cough drops, and I back away until I knock into a console table. I don't want him to have the pleasure of smelling my hair or whatever creepy garbage he's trying to pull.

"Give any more thought to that prom invite?" he asks.

"No, and the answer's not going to change." He's pissing me off.

Lenny combs his fingers through his black hair. "Come on, Jillian. It doesn't have to be a date. We'll get some others and rent a limo. Bring Valery for all I care."

"I said no, Lenny. Please leave me alone."

Cheeks hot with anger, I storm away from him. He holds up his arms like I'm being an unreasonable bitch. I don't care. If being a bitch is what finally gets him to leave me alone, I'll take it.

The space opens up in the living room, where I can breathe again. Empty bottles are strewn over the coffee table and the chairs are crowded by dudes smoking pot. An unsettled feeling churns in my gut like a nasty storm, and that's when I see him: Carson on the couch with his arm around Clarissa Miller. She nudges his neck with her nose until he kisses her hard on the mouth, and she bites his lip as she pulls away, and he smiles against her—and oh my God, my tummy flutters. Feeling gross, I focus on anything other than Carson making out with Clarissa.

I need air.

As I'm crossing the living room to the kitchen, my vision zeroes in on Eric leaning over the coffee table. I do a double take. A mountain of white powder is piled on a CD case, being filed into neat lines with a razor blade. My blood runs cold. When Eric snorts a line, I'm sucked back to when I was five years old.

I'm walking through the door of our trailer. Daddy is on the couch with his friends and they're spreading powdered sugar all over the table. One of Daddy's friends has a big mustache. He leans over me. His eyes are so big and black, like they have no color at all.

"Hey, baby girl, what're you doin' here? Come here and sit on my lap."

I don't like him. He smells bad.

"Jill? Hey, you okay?"

Val's voice zaps me back to the present. My heart beats rapidly in my throat and the off-white walls close around me. She puts a beer bottle in my hand, and my fingers clasp around the neck, the cold condensation wetting my skin.

"You good?" Val's eyes flit to the kids doing drugs. "Hey, if it bothers you, we can go. Forget Jacobi. Screw him."

"No, no. It's okay. I'm just—I need a second."

Before Val can stop me, I rush through the party to the backdoor to outside. The cool nighttime air engulfs me and a lit citronella candle stings my nose. I take a big swig of Budweiser, and shame courses through me when it calms me down. Addiction is in my blood. I need to be careful.

Free from the chaos, I exhale a long breath. Insects trill in the vegetation surrounding the house. Through the leaves of the maple trees, the sky is a black, speckled pane of glass, vivid and clean like I'm looking through a telescope lens. I've heard you can barely see the stars in New York City. Dad brought me there once when I was three, and I've been dreaming of skyscrapers ever since. As much as I long to escape Hull—to escape Kentucky—it's hard to imagine looking up at night and not being able to see the constellations.

The half-empty beer bottle in my hand makes me feel sick, so I leave it on a windowsill for someone else to have. With my anxiety contained, I walk around the side of the house as an excuse to breathe in more of this fresh air. When I pass by an open window, Shae's voice from inside stops me.

"Seriously, Blue? This can't be because of Clarissa."

I plant my feet in the damp grass. I shouldn't eavesdrop, but—

"Doesn't matter why, man," Carson says. "I'm just done. I don't wanna do this crap anymore."

"Come on, don't be a bitch. I have an eight-ball. You're really gonna make me do it alone?"

"I don't know, Shae. It's your party. Share with your friends."

"Blue, come on."

A door shuts, and my mind races. Did Carson just say no to drugs?

From the back of the house, I hear the sliding door slam, followed by the flicking of a lighter. "Fuck," Carson says."Fuck."

Even if he does work at Dee's now, his life is still none of my business. I don't want to be nosy, but I'm a little worried, because it sounds like he's freaking out. I sneak along the wall and peek around the corner. Carson leans against the railing of the deck, and the ember of his cigarette blazes against the night. He threads his fingers through his hair and mutters fuck over and over.

I step away from the wall. "Blue?"

His stare lands on me, and his tense posture relaxes. He's wearing that red plaid with his brown hair in untamed plumes. Despite his panicked eyes, he half-smiles.

"Jill. Hey."

I ascend the rickety wooden staircase until we're on the same level. "You okay?"

He takes a long, sizzling drag. "Yeah. Or, I don't know. Not really."

"What's wrong? I heard you and Shae talking. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but..."

"You heard that, eh?" He pauses. "I was thinking of just heading home after work, but then Clarissa asked me to come, and I don't know. I wasn't lying when I said I was trying to stay clean, but it's hard to say no when Shae's wagging it in my face."

"But you did say no."

"I didn't want to. I don't want to. I'm actually pretty sure I'm gonna end up high tonight, one way or another."

My chest twists, and I step toward him until I'm close enough to smell his smoke and Clarissa's perfume. "What? Blue, no. If you don't want to, then don't."

"I wish it was that simple."

I look away. I don't want him to do drugs tonight, but if my mom couldn't get my dad to stop using after a twelve-year relationship and a child, then I can't stop Carson Blue from doing anything just because I 'don't want him to.'

"Sorry," he says quietly, and his gaze focuses on anything but me. "You must think I'm a loser."

"No, I don't think that. I just don't like drugs. You remember my dad, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Yeah, well. Drugs and his band were all he ever cared about. I haven't exactly forgiven him."

"I know." Looking out into the trees, Carson leans his elbows over the railing. "And I know you want me to stay clean if I'm working at Dee's, Jill."

In the distance, the lake gently laps the shore. A shooting star slices through the sky. I focus on my feet and say, "I can't stop you from doing anything, Blue."

"I'm not gonna do it." His eyes, downcast and desperate, are on me now. "I'm not getting high," he goes on. "I just had a moment there. Actually, I think I'm just gonna go home."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Silence settles over us, and relief washes over me. Carson takes another drag, and I study his profile. Something about this is tense, heavy. But I want to connect with him on some level. Even if he doesn't like me because of the resume thing, I want to understand him, and for him to understand me.

"For what it's worth, I'm not feeling the party either." I laugh a little. "It's chaotic as hell in there."

"Yeah? Parties are overrated. Next time, let's do something else."

"Together? You haven't asked me to hang out since the playground days."

"Did I ask you to hang out back then?" He feigns a frown.

"Oh, piss off," I tease. "You were always asking Val and me to help with your snow forts. You remember."

He laughs. "Yeah, I do."

I wait for him to say something else, but he averts his stare and casually ashes his smoke. I'm a bit on-edge from Lenny, but I shouldn't read too far into Carson's request; it's not like he's asking me on a date or nothing. He's with Clarissa. Fidgeting with the sleeve of my denim jacket, I ask, "So what did you have in mind?"

"Don't know. Go down to the water. Play guitar."

"Really?" I'm smiling now. He is too. "I sort of thought you hated me."

"Come on, who could ever hate you?"

Oh, wow. Val's words from earlier this week replay in my head, singing, "You know he still loves you, right?" and my cheeks warm. Carson's not into me—there's no way. Maybe when we were kids, but definitely not now. Especially not after the resume thing. In fact, other than the random kiss in the sixth grade, he's never shown any sign of liking me like that at all.

Which is good. It means I don't need to worry.

My ponytail's too tight, so I loosen it. When it doesn't sit right, I tear it out and let my hair fall over my shoulders. His gaze is on me the entire time. "Thanks, I guess," I mumble.

Carson looks back out into the trees and takes a slow sip of beer. "I gotta admit, I am a bit nervous about this whole working with you thing though. Until my three-month probation is up, you can think of any reason you want to get rid of me." When he smiles jokingly, I laugh.

"I'm not going to get rid of you, Blue. My mom's really happy with you so far. You're a hard worker. As long as that doesn't change, you're good."

"Thanks. Pretty impressive that she went from living in a trailer to owning an actual business. That's the Hull dream, if you ask me."

"Yeah, well, my grandma left her a nice sum when she passed. She didn't leave anything to my aunt, just gave it all to my mom, so Mom tries to do well by that."

"Lucky. When my gram passed, all she left my mom was debt."

"Oh. Sorry, Blue..."

"Don't be." He shakes his head. "Sorry. Wasn't trying to be all depressing."

"It's okay. My mom thinks I'm going to take over the business and work there forever. I haven't told her I plan on moving to New York to pursue music as soon as Nolan is old enough to take care of himself. Or maybe I'd bring Nolan with me."

Carson's quiet for a moment. "Hull sucks sometimes, but I'll probably stay here forever. No one'll ever know you the same way your hometown does. Going to some other place where I know no one scares the shit out of me." He laughs half-heartedly, and I open my mouth to respond when the sliding door opens. Clarissa pokes her head out, and her eyes flick between us. She wears a pair of tight leggings and an oversized hoodie, her straight, dyed-black hair in a loose bun on top of her head.

Disappointment weighs on my shoulders. I liked talking to Carson, more than I've liked talking to anyone other than Val in a while. Which is weird considering how little we've spoken since we were kids.

"Blue?" Clarissa says. "Come on, we're taking shots."

Carson's stare lingers on mine before he looks at Clarissa. "I think I'm actually gonna head home."

"What? You are?"

"Yeah. You can come with if you want. Or don't."

With pink cheeks, she half-smiles. "I'll come. For sure."

"I'll meet you inside." Clarissa leaves, and Carson meets my eyes. With a small touch of my shoulder, he says, "See you around, Jill," and goes toward the back door.

There are more words on the tip of my tongue, like nice talking to you or have a good night or see you on Sunday. What comes out is: "Blue, wait."

"Yeah?"

"For what it's worth, I think you're making the right call. By leaving and not getting high, I mean. My dad never had that kind of strength."

He smiles and gently pounds his one fist to his open palm. "Thanks, Jill. See you Sunday."

Shutting the sliding door behind him, Carson disappears inside. The smile slowly drops off my face, and his voice hangs in my mind. "No one'll ever know you the same way your hometown does."

I never thought about it like that. Facing the trees, I take a deep breath and inhale the strong scent of evergreen and earth. A stick bug walks across the railing, and I let it crawl onto my hand.

"Hey, little guy," I say. "You're a cute one, aren't you?"

It taps its antennas together, and I can't help but smile. I guess, when I do get out of this place, there could be a few other things I'll miss.