It didn't matter what god was yours or what belief or lack thereof said, death was no one's friend and came for your head no matter what. Death, an unlimited theory and yet it was the one sure thing in life. And somehow I evaded death's bony fingers as the sun crept behind my eyelids, sparking an avoidable bright light to start my day.

Because that's what a hangover felt like; death knocking on your head and brittle boned fingers prying your skull open to bare the heat of an endless fire.

My head pounded and my legs ached against the softest pillow I'd ever slept against. The scent of green apples invaded my system as my head smashed against the pillow to try and claw my way back to sleep where pain couldn't gain entry. Green apples.

Gasping more violently than I should've, my throat closed up and coughing knocked my body to sit up straight to garner breath. My bedroom didn't smell like apples. The first noise I'd hear in my bedroom in the morning was dad scraping the vacuum against the door for a split second warning before surging into the room, tackling the floor with its endless sucking noise.

Well shit. This room was familiar . . . more familiar in my dreams than reality as of the past couple of years but familiar all the same. Double shit. Throwing the bed covers to the side, fluffy pyjamas bottoms presented itself along with an overlarge black t-shirt fit for a grown-ass man to wear. Holy shit. What did I do last night? I spun around on the bed, so my feet landed on the floor and stood up. The last thing I remembered . . . What was my last memory? This was bad. I couldn't remember.

Wait. Sabrina. Prom queen. Prom committee. Yes. Yikes. But why was I in her bedroom? Being in the Jenkin's house, that made sense, but why was I had I been stretched out in Sabrina's bed instead of in Anna's bedroom?

So many thoughts inside the head that wanted nothing more than quiet, so I climbed back into Sabrina's bed, knowing full well that it was, in fact, hers and not her sister's. I sprawled under and beneath the covers, inhaling the green apple scent, hoping it would soothe my heavy eyelids and wreck of a brain back to sleep.

I could feel it, the pull of the black voiding splurged with random dream sequences, but my focus snapped to the creak of the floorboards outside of the bedroom, which slowly made its way inside.

How did I expect Sabrina wouldn't come inside her own bedroom? I was caught off guard, blearily peeking at the girl who rummaged through her chest of drawers, one hand clenching the towel that hung around her wet body and the other shifting through her drawer. Like how rain slid down a car window, I watched as droplets trailed down her back.

If I wasn't so hungover, the pounding of my heart would've been louder than the pounding of my brain.

"Oh, you're awake," she said quietly. "I thought you were dead for a while."

"A dead girl in your bed. Your dream come to life."

"You understand." She left the clothes on her chest of drawers and faced me, chin pointed briefly to my left. "Drink. Take two of those."

I reached for the tablets and gulped them back, sighing in relief as the cold water spread down my throat. "You're being way too kind to me. I wasn't even that drunk . . . right? How am I feeling this bad?"

"You weren't even that drunk," she repeated, sitting on the end of the bed. If I dared to look, I bet my pulse could be seen through my wrist. Nothing but a towel separated her and the bed. Jesus. "Sam, you don't have to believe another word I say to you ever, but trust me when I say, that's the biggest lie to ever come out of your mouth."

"Really? No . . . I wasn't that bad. Was I?"

"The fact that you have to ask . . . " she trailed off and ran her hand down the silky bed sheets. "You almost considered going straight for the likes of Jack Milton," she said casually, looking sideways at me with those bright eyes. "You were in the pool, in my sister's dress, thinking everyone was a character from Frozen."

I too concentrated on the bedsheets, trying not to watch the drops running down her skin anymore, feeling my heart drop inside my chest with her words. "Considered going straight? For Jack? No . . . if anything, drunk me would drool over pretty girls. You lie. You're a liar. I would never."

"Hmm. You did seem fixated on me, allowing Parker to be my date. Does that count as drooling over pretty girls?"

"Fixated is such a strong word," I said, especially considering that's what I did when I was stone-cold sober.

"What else would you call it? You were in my bed, nearly in tears because I said no." That might've been drunk me. Sober and drunk Sam were clearly two separate entities.

"Speaking of your bed . . . and my dry clothes . . . and your lack of clothes."

"Do those sentences tie together in some way?"

"I don't know? Do they?"

Did I just say that? What the fuck is wrong with me.

"Hate to break your heart, Sam, but no. Well . . ." she said, shaking her head. "Only the first two sentences. I was hardly going to leave my sister's best friend to herself in the pool with Jack of all people. My bedroom has a lock. Your clothes were saturated. You didn't have as much of an interesting night as you would've liked. But at least you ended up in my bed. That's a win for you, I suppose."

I fanned my face and sunk further into the bed. "Yeah . . . ignoring most of that. What about Anna? Where is she? Why am I not in her bedroom?"

Sabrina shrugged. "She was easier to handle than you were."

"Handle?"

"She came to get me and then promptly passed out. I just had to lock her in her bedroom. You? You were awake and lively. Needy. You needed more attention."

"Well . . . " How embarrassing. "Thank you."

"You're in my debt now, Sam," she said after a moment, and crooked her finger into the sheets, smiling in that genuine way of hers that showed the dimple in her left cheek.

"Well . . . let me on the prom committee and you'll have a dreamy night, Sabrina. A night you won't soon forget."

"Nope."

Her instant response sparked me to whip the bed covers off me and onto her, to which she flicked off her shoulder quite quickly. She, in turn, whipped her hair forward, splatting water drops in my direction.

Wiping water from beneath my eye, I stood up and maintained eye contact with her as I prowled around the bed.

She was unfazed—smiling at me even. When I stood in front of her, she reached forward and rested her hand on top of my head, unmoving before she ruffled my hair rapidly. That's when I surged forward, and we tumbled onto the bed, and somehow she found herself above me and not below me like planned.

Sabrina held tightly onto her towel but other than that she didn't seem too concerned over the prospect of it falling off and waved her hair back and forth into my cheeks, whipping it back and forth like a flag on a windy day. Snatching the hair in one hand and holding her shoulder in the other, we were in a stare-off, neither of us budging, not one for a second.

For a moment, beneath the stare of the calculated girl, I forgot about the throbbing headache and the fact that I thought death had come for me that morning. Nothing mattered beyond her intense eyes, everything else blurring and blending into nothing. And suddenly her face was a lot closer.

"Sabrina," I breathed out.

"Sam," she whispered back.

A really large droplet smacked right into my pupil. "Fuckkkk."

Jerking back, she sat on the now wet bedsheets. "You're so sensitive, Sam." She left the bed, still clutching the towel, more tightly now than before. She reluctantly turned and gestured for me to get up. "Now look at what you've done."

"Whoops," I said, vigorously rubbing my eye and then saw Anna's dress in the washing basket in the corner of the room. "Speaking of what people have done. I'm not in Anna's dress anymore. Did I manage to change myself?"

"You . . . tried and knocked your head against the door," Sabrina said.

I blinked and looked down at myself. Fully changed. "Let me get this straight. You changed me. Saw me in the nude. Had me in your bed."

"And you can't remember," she said gleefully. "The closest you came to your wicked dreams about me."

"Lord," I said, looking up to the ceiling, feeling a rush of heat creep up my neck. "Help me."

"Don't worry, your pride is still intact. I didn't see a thing," she told me sincerely and nodded to the door, silently telling me to get the fuck out of her room. "I've done my civic duty. You can go now."

Opening the door, instantly, the smell of bacon hit me. "Ah, it looks like I'm sticking around for breakfast. You can hide out up here. I won't tell Anna."

I practically jumped down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing a fork and knife and waiting for Anna to finish frying the bacon. "Oh my God," I breathed out, the heat from the smoky bacon didn't help with the pulsating of my blood, pumping and pumping, a reaction to Sabrina and all her . . . mannerisms in that damn towel.

It was stupid, really. After all these years, she still had that effect on me, one that happens in response to a good old crush. To her, I was her sister's best friend. I was someone she could fluster so damn easily.

Anna slid a plate in front of me.

Stabbing the bacon with a fork, I glanced up. "Thank you, Anna."

"So I'm not Elsa anymore, huh?" she said.

I cracked a smile. "No. You're lovable Anna, running around, passing out."

She sat down across from me, pointing her fork in my direction, hesitating to respond because she couldn't come up with an excuse quick enough. "Sam, please, you had to have my sister of all people sort you out last night. There's no room for you to tease me."

"Whatever."

"You know, sometimes I think you have a crush on her."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Anna started cutting her bacon. "You'd tell me, though if you did?"

"Would I tell you if I had a crush on your sister?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's never going to happen so . . . it doesn't matter."

"Alright, if you say so," she said.

"I do."

"It would make sense if you did, though."

"A lot of things can make sense, doesn't mean it's true, though."

That was a big fat lie. If I told her the truth, that Sabrina was the crush to compare other crushes against, the one who was practically god-tier in my systematic chart of how I liked people, then I'd have to go ahead and explain that Sabrina already kind of knew. It was the driving force behind us no longer being friends.

A kiss ruined everything. A kiss meant everything. A kiss . . . well, I was a little delusional that Sabrina nearly kissed me in her bedroom a couple of minutes ago.

A kiss was a lie.