It started with a text.
UNKNOWN: Party @ 817 Wexler St. Midnight. Come ruin your life.
No one knew who sent it. But by ten, the whole school had it. By eleven-thirty, the house on Wexler Street was packed wall-to-wall with teenagers pretending they didn't care about anything. The kind of party that made you feel lonelier the longer you stayed.
Ava showed up with smudged eyeliner and the kind of outfit that said don't talk to me unless you want to get hurt. She didn't knock. She just walked in like she owned the place, like the night owed her something. Oliver showed up twenty minutes later, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the crowd like he'd lost something. He wasn't looking for anyone in particular. That's what he told himself, anyway.
Luke was already there. In the corner, leaning against a wall like part of the furniture. Watching. Avoiding. Hoping no one would talk to him and hating that no one did.
Landon was there, too. Laughing too loud. Flirting with someone new. Acting like his hands weren't still metaphorically stained.
Ava saw him. Her grip on the plastic cup tightened. She crossed the room before Oliver could stop her.
"You forget what you did?" she asked, voice low and sharp.
Landon raised an eyebrow. "You're still breathing, aren't you?"
That was it. She shoved him. He caught her wrist, too tight, too fast.
"Let go," she snapped.
He didn't. People watched, but no one moved. Ava grabbed the nearest beer bottle off the counter and aimed it at his face.
"Touch me again and I'll make sure you leave without teeth."
He let go. She walked away like she won, which she did.
In the kitchen, Oliver poured something that burned going down and made his chest feel like maybe he wasn't real. That's when Luke appeared beside him.
"Didn't think I'd see you here," Oliver said without looking up.
"I came to forget."
"Did it work?"
Luke didn't answer. Just stared into his cup like it held something he'd lost.
Oliver finally turned. "You can't just kiss someone and vanish. That's not how people work."
"I didn't plan it."
"Yeah, no one ever does."
Their eyes met. There was no romance in it. Just tiredness. A shared exhaustion that neither of them had words for.
"You ever feel like everyone's watching you drown but calling it swimming?" Luke asked.
Oliver snorted. "Welcome to teenage life. We all drown pretty."
Upstairs, someone broke a lamp. Downstairs, someone cried in the bathroom. In the backyard, Marley—who no one really knew—was teaching people how to shotgun beers while quoting Shakespeare.
Ava found a spot on the couch beside Marley and collapsed into it.
Marley handed her a cookie from the snack table. "You look like someone who needs to commit a felony."
"I already almost did."
Marley smiled. "You'll fit in fine."
Midnight passed. The house got louder, then quieter. People left. Others stayed too long. Somewhere between three and four a.m., the music stopped.
Luke sat on the porch steps, hoodie pulled over his head. Oliver sat beside him, arms crossed, staring out into nothing.
They didn't talk.
Sometimes the silence said enough.
But Oliver couldn't take the silence for long. Inside, the crowd had thinned. The air reeked of spilled vodka and sweat. That's when he saw Nico.
Nico stood near the sliding glass door, leaning against the frame like a villain in a teen drama. Dark eyes. Smirk sharp enough to slice skin. He was handing something to a guy in a varsity jacket, slick and casual. Like it was nothing.
Oliver walked over.
"Nico," he said.
Nico turned, grin widening. "Ollie. Been a while."
"Got anything strong?"
"You mean illegal, dangerous, and highly inadvisable?"
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Obviously."
Nico reached into his jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag. "Still playing sad boy?"
"You still texting me at 2AM?"
"Touché." Nico leaned in. "This one'll knock you sideways."
Oliver handed over a wad of crumpled bills. Nico tucked it away like a secret. Their fingers brushed. A beat too long.
"Careful, Ollie," Nico whispered. "You overdose and I might actually miss you."
Oliver popped five pills on the way to the backyard. By the time he reached the pool, his legs were jelly and the world felt like it was being filmed through a fisheye lens. He dropped his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and stumbled into the water.
He didn't come back up.
At first, people thought it was a joke. Then they started screaming. Phones came out. Lights flashed.
Luke saw the commotion. His heart stopped.
He was about to dive in—shirt half off—when Nico pushed past him and plunged into the pool.
Seconds later, Nico dragged Oliver out, coughing and limp, eyes fluttering.
Someone screamed. Someone else laughed. Marley threw her beer.
Nico tilted Oliver's face toward him, checking his breath, his pulse.
"You goddamn idiot," Nico muttered. "You can't die without telling me you still love me."
Oliver coughed up water and passed out.
Luke stormed forward, soaked to the knees, fists clenched. "Who the hell are you?" he barked.
Nico didn't even look up. "Why does that shit matter, bro? Leave me alone."
"You gave him that stuff, didn't you?" Luke's voice cracked like thunder.
Nico stood, slow and deliberate. "Back off."
Luke shoved him. "Say it. Say you gave it to him."
Nico didn't flinch. He shoved back, harder. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Oh, I know enough," Luke snapped. "I know you sell drugs. I know you act like you care but you gave him the damn fucking drugs."
"You think he came to me for fun?" Nico's voice was rising. "You think I shoved it down his throat?"
"You're a dealer. You don't care who breaks."
Nico swung first. A fist to Luke's jaw.
Luke stumbled but retaliated—slamming his shoulder into Nico's chest and knocking them both to the ground.
They rolled in the grass, throwing punches, surrounded by screams and phones recording like this was the highlight of the party.
Someone yelled for help. Someone else cheered them on.
Blood on Nico's lip. Bruise on Luke's cheek. Neither backed down.
It took two people to finally drag them apart—Marley and a guy with a cast on his arm.
Luke shouted, "If he dies, it's on you."
And Nico, panting, furious, shouted back, "He came to me because you all left him empty."
The sirens arrived. Blue and red slicing through the night.
Oliver was loaded into the ambulance.
And the party? It ended not with a song, but with the sound of two boys breathing heavy, staring each other down like enemies in a war that started long before this night.
And Ava?
She was still walking home. Completely unaware that the world was breaking while she wasn't looking.
January 24 2008