It takes me too long to notice that Finn hasn't come back. Getting another drink should have been a quick errand, but I don't know how long I've been talking nor how long he's been gone. After that realization, I'm too distracted to focus on the conversation, my gaze searching the crowd for Finn's white hair. It's like he's vanished into thin air.

"Sean?" One of the guys snaps his fingers before my face to get my attention. I think his name is Jacob, or perhaps it's James. Names are difficult for me to keep track of.

"Sorry," I mutter, setting my drink aside. The hot-pink cocktail tasted like fruity gasoline. I hadn't had much of it. "I'm gonna go look for Finn."

I step away from the conversation and start searching the house, hoping to see Finn's familiar grey-eyed gaze or silver hair. He's not at the drinks table and he's not at the front door. He isn't in the living room, which is full of people dancing to pounding, electronic music while multicolored lights swirl around them. I push past the dancers to check in the hallway, wondering if he's gone to the bathroom, but the bathroom door is open and inside is a couple making out. Neither of the two girls are Finn, so I backtrack to double-check the main entrance. No luck.

"Are you looking for Finn?" Beth's voice cuts through the noise. I hadn't noticed her standing beside me and the surprise on my face must be evident because she rolls her eyes and pulls me towards the back door. "He went outside, toward the lake. Now go," she says, giving me one final push. I trip over the threshold and turn around to thank her, but Beth has vanished into the crowd. My breath mists in the air when I sigh.

The night air is chill against my throat as I follow the path towards the lake. Garden lamps cast a dim, yellow light across the blue slate stones that connect to a dirt path. The moonlight cuts through the thinned underbrush and gives me enough light to follow the path as it slopes down to the lake. The sounds of drunken laughter and splashing water grows louder as I approach. At the lakefront is a large wooden dock and beside it are three figures in the water, outlined by moonlit ripples.

The dock's thick slats creak under my shoes and the sky opens up above me, no longer hidden behind towering trees. A full, silver moon hangs in a sky unmarred by clouds and constellations glimmer like pearls on a string. The lake is a mirror of the night above, save for where it is disturbed by the three swimming figures. 

"Hey there," one of them says. Her long hair floats behind her in slow, weaving motions. "Wanna join us? The water's fine."

"No thanks," I say, shaking my head. "I'm looking for Finn." Realizing that they probably don't know who Finn is, I raise a hand to my hair. "White hair, wearing deer antlers and a green jacket?"

"I don't know about antlers," she replies, treading water, "But a cute boy with white hair went that way." She points to a trail at my right. The path disappears into the trees, darkness swallowing it whole.

"Thanks." My shoes squeak against the slick wood of the dock as I turn and head down the trail. I pull my phone out of my pocket and tap on the flashlight, letting the pale blue-white light wash across the path. The only sounds are the faint lapping of water on the shore and the fading laughter of the group behind me. I walk until I can no longer hear them.

My flashlight blinks out.

Darkness plunges into the space around me, as sharp and sudden as a dive into a frigid lake. I shiver as I tap at the power button, willing my phone to wake up, but the low battery sign flashes on the screen in a clear, stubborn refusal. Sighing, I tuck my phone into my pocket and breathe on my hands to warm them up.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark and when they do, I use the pattern of shadows to trace my way through the woods. After walking for a few more minutes, nervousness starts to creep into me with each step forward. There are still no signs of Finn and I start to wonder if the girl in the lake was playing a prank on me, or if Finn is lost in the woods, and if so, whether I should continue forward to search for him or head back to get help. My mind races towards a hundred different scenarios when an outstretched root snags my foot and sends me careening towards the forest floor.

My palms and knees scrape against the dirt with a painful jolt, saving me from hitting the ground face-first. I let out a frustrated groan as I get back to my feet and dust myself off, straining my eyes to see if my hands are scraped. It doesn't seem like they are, but I can't tell if the shadows on my palms are from dirt or blood. I rub my hands against my jeans in frustration and look down the path.

Tiny, luminous white flowers glitter along the path like a constellation fallen to earth, their petals bright as diamonds. Apprehension twists my gut as I recall the last time this happened, but same as before, there is something about them that is too alluring to ignore. After a moment of hesitation, I follow their path, nearly blind in the dark as I do. Each time I step closer to a flower, its light fades until the flower shrivels and winks out like a dying star.

Ahead of me, the darkness recedes as the undergrowth thins. The chain of flowers ends where the trail opens up to reveal a small, rocky beach. Seated on a thick log at the top of the shore is Finn, his hair aglow in the moonlight. He holds the deer antler headband and his phone in in a loose grip, wires trailing from his earbuds, his gaze fixed on the expanse of water before him. The stillness and quiet stretch around us for eternity. 

I recall a story we studied in class, the tale of a beautiful youth who spent his days gazing at the water, and the nymph who fell in love with him and watched as he wasted away. How strangely apt that this place is called Echo Lake. But Finn, of course, holds none of the vanity nor conceit of Narcissus, and he isn't staring because he's enamored by his own reflection.

I take a step forward, stones crunching beneath my feet. Finn's head jerks up and he pops the earbuds out of his ear as he turns. The alarm on his face fades when he recognizes me.

"You could've told me," I say, coming to a stop beside him, "If you wanted to leave."

"I didn't want to disturb you."

"You should've told me anyway." The words come out harsher than I mean them to. 

Finn looks away. "Sorry."

I don't know why I'm being so insistent. Maybe I'm frustrated that he left without a word, or maybe I'm upset that he didn't tell me anything, and frustrated because I'm upset. It could be that I'm worried he'll disappear into thin air again, or perhaps I'm simply relieved that he isn't injured or lost in the woods. Whatever this emotion is, it's not worth the argument; he's here, and he's safe, and that's what matters. 

I peel off the fox ears — they poke — and snatch up a flat stone from among the hundreds of stones littered along the shore. I wind up, shoes twisting in the sand, and with a flick of my wrist, the pebble skips across the mirrored surface. Moonlight flashes on the water as the stone dribbles to a stop, then sinks. Finn is silent behind me as I skip a second rock, then a third. 

"Do you not like parties?" I ask. Maybe he didn't want to go to this party, and I had pushed him to come with me. I didn't want to go as Beth and Hugh's third wheel.

There is quiet between us before Finn replies, "I suppose not." I look at him for clarification. Finn stares at the ground. "I haven't been to a party like this before," he confesses in muted tones. "The last one I went to was prom, but there were chaperones, and no alcohol. This is —" 

Finn takes a scattered breath. He looks up at me then, and catches my gaze. "My mother thinks parties are a waste of time. She always told me I should spend the time practicing piano, or doing homework, or learning something useful instead." Finn shifts, his hair falling in his face as he picks up the soda can at his feet and takes a sip. "I wanted to experience it for myself. It's —" Finn breathes out a laugh, "— a little too much for me."

I stare at him. This is the most open thing he's told me. He's mentioned his parents briefly before, but nothing beyond occupation and small facts. It's rare for him to discuss his troubles like this, and I know it's because he prefers to rationalize his way through them. Over the past month, I've learned that Finn has laid barriers around parts of himself, and I'm happy to follow the boundaries he's set, but this sudden and easy revelation of his has taken me by surprise. 

"You play piano?" I say dumbly. 

Finn chuckles. "Yes, I play piano." He sets down his soda and stands, swiping a rock from the beach. He steps up to the shore and flings it, copying my motions, and the rock skips once — which is to say, it doesn't skip at all. I snicker a little and ignore the black look he shoots me.

"Here," I say, pressing a flat stone in his palm. "Pretend you're flicking a frisbee. It's all in the wrist." It's difficult to explain with words, so I find another pebble and go through the motions before tossing it to the lake. It hops three times before it sinks.

Finn picks it up surprisingly quickly, and we keep skipping stones until he manages to get his rock to skip three times. I let out a whoop of celebration that echoes across the lake and he laughs, a cool breeze playing with his wispy silver hair, his grin white in the moonlight. 

The temperature drops as the night thickens and we both decide it's too cold to stay out any longer. A glance at Finn's phone shows that it's nearing midnight, which is far later than I thought. We step away from the water's edge and gather our things. I watch as Finn turns up the collar of his jacket to keep away the chill air.

"You know," I say, looking down as I pick up the fox-eared headband, "I wouldn't have minded if you told me no." Finn tilts his head in a way that indicates he's confused, but also listening, and I'm amazed at how he manages to do so with just one gesture. It always takes me fifty words to say what can be said in five, but Finn can accomplish it with none.

"When I asked if you wanted to go to the party," I murmur, fingers rubbing absently at the felt of the fox ears, "I was curious if a university party was different from other parties, and I just . . . wanted to see. Like — I find parties okay, but I don't really enjoy it when the music is so loud that it shakes the walls. And alcohol tastes awful to me." 

 Around us, the night is stark, the wilderness stripped down to its essentials, raw and untamed. This, I think, is what Thoreau sought when he went to the woods: a moment when the truth of all things is tangible; when the soul is laid bare. 

I lift my eyes to find Finn's. We gaze at each other and for a moment, the rest of the world fades out of focus. 

"I enjoyed this," I say, gesturing to the scenery around me, "A lot more than the party."

A corner of Finn's lip lifts. "I did, too," he replies. 

The moment ends and world snaps back into focus. Finn taps his phone screen and its flashlight illuminates the dark. 

"Let's head back," he says. He turns toward the trail and, grinning, I follow after him.

~*~

Hey there! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Now I'm wondering — can you skip rocks? Do you like parties? Any further thoughts?

For those of you who want to know more, Sean is thinking of the tale of Echo and Narcissus. Later on, he recalls a quote by Henry David Thoreau: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately." I highly suggest you look up and read the whole thing.

And a little extra: I included the video to the piece Finn was listening to before Sean interrupted him. It's also something that greatly inspired this chapter.

Stay tuned for the next installment!