The night my life changed, I was tipsy on hard lemonade and dreaming about dancing beer bottles when my phone started ringing.

"Are you going to answer that?" Lucca asked, his voice gruff. He was lying on the couch adjacent to my bed, his face squished up against the brown leather, drool pooling under his cheek. Even from my bed, I could smell the party on him. "I feel like I just fell asleep."

Even half awake, that deserved a snort. I'd left Sarah Dublin's party around midnight, but Lucca had stumbled in much later, smelling like cigarettes, rain, and booze. It wasn't an unusual combination for him.

"Where's my phone?" I grumbled, shoving myself into a sitting position.

Lucca was stretched out, his huge feet dangling off the end of the couch. If he'd been in my bed, he would've hogged up all the space, forcing me to curl up against his side. But it had been a while since I'd allowed Lucca Davenport in my bed, and he barely even complained about it anymore.

"Here." He leaned up slightly, the muscles in his arm straining as he grabbed my phone, which had been trapped between his chest and the leather. I could see a long, rectangular print below his heart.

Lucca tossed me the phone, and I managed to answer on the last ring. "What?" I barked, rubbing my hand across my face to try and wake myself up.

"Hello..." A voice said uncertainly. "Is this Azalea Buchanan?"

It took me a second to place the familiar voice. "Mrs. Stinson?" Immediate flashbacks to my childhood—spent chasing a little red-haired girl as her mother laughed from the front porch—came to mind. I shook my head in surprise. "Yeah, it's me. What's wrong?"

Lucca sat up and swung his legs off the couch. I glanced at him briefly. The worried look on his face was confusing, but when he noticed me staring at him, his expression smoothed out.

"I'm really sorry to wake you so early," Mrs. Stinson said, her voice strained. "But...have you seen Macy?"

For a second, I was sure I'd heard her wrong.

I stared blankly at Lucca, even as he gazed back at me questioningly. Macy? Macy Stinson?

When I didn't reply right away, Mrs. Stinson started talking. "I've asked a couple of her friends and called some other kids that were at the party, but no one's seen her. I know you two haven't been very close these past few years..." what an understatement, I thought, but kept my mouth shut as she continued, "...but a few people I spoke to said they'd seen you talking to Macy before you left the party. I was just wondering, or maybe hoping, that she said something to you. Maybe told you where she was going?"

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't had a real conversation with Macy Stinson since we were fifteen.

Sometime during our freshmen year of high school, Macy had gone from being my best friend to someone that slept with my boyfriend just to hurt me.

That night, at Sarah's, was the first time we'd spoken since freshman year. I'd walked into the kitchen to find her clutching a bottle, her eyes glassy as she slumped over the table.

I'd worked hard to keep distance between us the past two years, so the second I saw her, I turned around to leave. She spoke before I could make my escape.

"The great and beautiful Azalea Buchanan," she'd slurred, raising her wine cooler to toast me. "What an honor it is to be gifted with your presence!"

We'd spent the rest of the time hurling insults at each other across the table before I finally stormed out of the party. Not exactly a great conversation.

"Oz?" Mrs. Stinson said.

"Oh." I jumped, realizing my thoughts had wandered pretty far off track. "Is she...missing?"

Lucca sat forward, the moonlight slanting over his face. I could see him raise a blond eyebrow at me curiously. I shrugged and held up a finger, signaling him to wait a moment.

Mrs. Stinson laughed nervously. "I wouldn't say missing. She just hasn't come home yet."

"I'm sorry," I said, and, truthfully, I was. "But I haven't seen her."

"It's alright. I'm sure she's fine." Mrs. Stinson's voice was weirdly high-pitched and cheerful. "One more thing. Do you think you could give me Lucca Davenport's number? I was hoping to talk to him and his father."

I scrunched my nose up. What could she possibly want with Lucca—or his father?

Staring at the boy in question, I said, "He's, um, with me right now. Do you want me to give him the phone?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. I knew what she was doing—looking at the time, knowing she'd woken me up, and wondering why Lucca was with me.

Most parents wouldn't have let a boy like Lucca Davenport sleep in their only daughter's room, but my parents had always been more lenient when it came to Lucca. We'd been best friends since we were babies and were practically family at this point.

Well, I thought of him like family. Lucca didn't always agree with me and I hadn't let him sleep in my bed since that superbly awkward night two months ago when things changed. Since then, things had been strained, to say the least, and Lucca had spent every night at my house on the couch.

"Oh," Mrs. Stinson murmured. "Sure."

I held out the phone. Lucca stood and sat near my feet, pressing my phone to his ear as he lay back, one arm bent behind his head. I looked him up and down.

Objectively, I knew he was beautiful: blonde, toned and tall, he was the kind of guy that made girls melt.

When Lucca drunkenly kissed me—and then professed his undying love for me—I tried to tell myself we could work. A relationship with Lucca would be good for me; he was my best friend. He was gorgeous and funny and brilliant. And yet...I felt nothing for him. Not like that, at least.

Realizing I was watching him, Lucca made a face at me. I let myself smile, despite the dread that was creeping through me.

"I promise we'll call if we hear anything. Do you want to talk to Oz again?" He looked at me as he said my name but I couldn't read his expression. "Okay...bye."

He hung up. The silence seemed to stretch on forever before he finally spoke. "So, I guess Macy's missing."

My smile disappeared. "Are you sure?"

"Well..." He dragged the word out as he sat up and tossed my phone back onto the couch. "Her mom is in denial. But can you imagine Macy ever not going home to her mother?"

I shook my head. When we were still friends, I'd been crazy jealous of their relationship. While my parents were pretty cool, I'd never call either of them my best friend. I was pretty sure Lucca felt the same way, given that his mom had run out on his family when he was just a little kid, and his dad knew the inside of his office better than he knew Lucca's face.

"So, what?" I fidgeted nervously. "She's just gone?"

"I don't know." Lucca stared at me thoughtfully and then held out a hand. "Come on. It's too early, and we went to bed too late. We should sleep." I frowned as he tried to tug me into his arms. He sighed loudly. "Oz, I'm not going to try and kiss you. You can relax. You don't have to be afraid of me."

My jaw tightened. "I'm not afraid of you."

Lucca raised his eyebrow while laying his hand on his chest. "Really? Because from where I'm sitting, it sure seems like it."

He was annoyingly right, as usual. I'd been terrified to touch Lucca since the drunken kiss we shared—but he was my best friend, and he hadn't tried anything since then. There was no reason for me to distrust him.

I gulped past the lump in my throat and slowly lowered myself against his side. He exhaled, his breath stirring my hair, but I didn't look up at him.

The silence between us lasted almost five minutes before I finally had to say something.

"Do you think she's okay?" When Lucca didn't immediately reply, I added, "Macy, I mean."

He was quiet for a little while longer before he answered. "I don't know, Oz. She's not stupid. I can't imagine that she'd get herself into a situation too bad."

"What if something happened to her?" Macy wasn't my friend anymore, but that didn't mean I wanted anything bad to happen to her.

Lucca gripped me harder. "It'll be okay, babe. Watch, Macy will be back at school on Monday, massively grounded, and everything will be all right."

I wanted to believe Lucca, but I remained tense in his arms.

Sensing my growing agitation, Lucca ran his hands through my hair gingerly, working out all the knots I'd gotten from sleeping. He hummed quietly under his breath, his words unintelligible.

Soon enough, I drifted off to sleep, dreaming about a drunken Macy running down the street while Lucca sang in the background.

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