The bass rattled through Alex Carter's chest like a second heartbeat—irregular, anxious, wrong.
He shouldn't have come. He *shouldn't* have come. The thought looped in his head, keeping time with the pulsing music that made his ribs vibrate. Delta Sigma's house parties were legendary, the kind of chaos that spilled onto front lawns and into campus folklore. Two hundred people crammed into a space meant for fifty. The air was thick—body heat, cheap beer, something sweet and chemical from a vape cloud drifting past his face.
Alex stood against the kitchen wall, red Solo cup sweating in his hand, watching Vanessa Lee laugh at something Damon Richards said.
She threw her head back when she laughed. Really laughed. The kind that made her dark hair cascade over her shoulders, made her perfect teeth catch the colored lights someone had strung across the ceiling. She was wearing that black dress—the one that made his brain short-circuit every time he saw her in economics lecture. Now, under the purple and blue lights, she looked like something from a dream he didn't deserve to have.
*Just go talk to her. Just—*
"Bro."
Marcus Kim appeared at his shoulder like a magic trick, smelling like whiskey and cologne that cost more than Alex's textbooks. His best friend since sophomore year of high school. His roommate. His—
"You've been eye-fucking her for an hour," Marcus said, words slurring slightly at the edges. His smile was too wide, too bright. "Just GO."
"I'm not—" Alex started, but his voice cracked. Heat flooded his face. "I'm just... the moment's not right."
"The moment?" Marcus laughed, loud enough that a couple nearby turned to look. "Bro, there's no moment. You make the moment. That's how this works." He gripped Alex's shoulder, squeezed hard. "You've been obsessed with her for what, three months? You write her name in your fucking notebook like a middle schooler—"
"I don't—"
"I've SEEN it, man. Little hearts and shit." Marcus's grip tightened. There was something in his eyes—impatience? Annoyance? Something that made Alex's stomach turn. "You either talk to her tonight, or I swear to God, I'm doing it for you."
The threat hung in the air between them.
Alex's throat was dry. The beer in his cup was warm, flat. He'd been holding it so long his palm was sweaty against the plastic. Around them, the party continued—bodies grinding on the makeshift dance floor in the living room, couples making out in corners, someone doing a keg stand to cheers and phone cameras.
"What if she—"
"What if, what if, what if." Marcus's laugh had an edge now. "You know what your problem is? You think too much. You gotta just... act." He looked over at Vanessa, then back at Alex, and something shifted in his expression. "Tell you what. I'll even help."
Before Alex could process what that meant, Marcus's hand was on his back—not gentle, not encouraging. Pushing.
"Wait—"
But Marcus was propelling him forward, through the crowd, past the kitchen island sticky with spilled drinks, toward the group clustered near the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard. Vanessa stood in the center like a sun, and orbiting around her: Damon Richards, quarterback, six-foot-three of sculpted muscle and white teeth; Jessica Huang, her roommate; Tyler something, a guy from the lacrosse team.
Alex's legs moved because they had to, because Marcus was pushing and people were in the way behind him and there was nowhere to go but forward.
The music seemed to get louder. Or maybe it was just his heartbeat in his ears.
Ten feet away. Five.
Vanessa looked up.
Their eyes met, and for a fraction of a second, Alex saw something flicker across her face. Surprise? Recognition? Or was that just what he wanted to see?
"Hey, Vanessa," Marcus said, smooth, confident, like he hadn't just physically forced Alex into this moment. "My boy here wanted to talk to you about something."
The group turned. All of them. Jessica's eyebrows rose. Tyler smirked. Damon's eyes narrowed slightly, territorial.
"Oh?" Vanessa's voice was light, curious. "What's up, Alex?"
His mouth opened. Nothing came out.
The moment stretched. Someone nearby lowered their conversation. He could feel eyes turning toward them, drawn by the sudden tension, the way animals sense when something vulnerable has been cornered.
"I, uh—" Alex's voice cracked again. He swallowed, tried again. "I was wondering if we could... talk? Like, privately?"
Vanessa glanced at Damon, then back at Alex. A small smile played at her lips. "Privately?"
"Nah, bro," Damon said, stepping slightly closer to Vanessa. His arm brushed hers, casual, possessive. "We're all friends here. Say what you gotta say."
"Yeah, dude," Tyler added, grinning. "Don't be shy."
Alex looked at Marcus—looked at his best friend for help, for an escape route, for anything. But Marcus just nodded, encouraging, that weird smile still fixed on his face.
The circle around them had grown. He could see it in his peripheral vision. More people. Phones coming out.
*No. No, not like this.*
But there was no way out that didn't make it worse. No way to leave that wouldn't make him look even more pathetic.
"I just..." His hands were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets. "I wanted to tell you that I... I like you. Like, a lot. And I was wondering if maybe you wanted to—"
He didn't get to finish.
Vanessa's laugh cut through the music, through the ambient noise of the party, sharp and clear and genuine. Not a polite laugh. Not an uncomfortable laugh. The kind of laugh that came from real surprise, real amusement.
"Wait, are you serious?" She looked at Jessica, eyes wide, then back at Alex. "Did you actually think I was into you?"
The words hit like a physical blow.
"I mean—" Alex's voice was barely a whisper now. "We talk sometimes. In class. You always—"
"We talk about *homework*, Alex." Vanessa's smile was still there, but it had changed. Sharper. "You're like..." She paused, searching for the word, and the pause was somehow worse than anything she could say. "You're like furniture. Useful sometimes, but not something you *notice*."
Laughter erupted around them.
Not just from the immediate circle. From the people who'd gathered. From the ones recording on their phones.
Alex felt something crack inside his chest.
"Damn," Damon said, laughing. "That's cold, Van."
"I'm just being honest," Vanessa said, shrugging. She wasn't being cruel, exactly. That was the worst part. She was just... stating a fact. The way you'd tell someone their shoe was untied. "I thought we were friends. I didn't know you thought it was something else."
"Probably still a virgin too," Damon added, and more laughter.
"Oh, he definitely is."
The voice came from behind Alex.
Marcus.
Alex turned, slow, hoping he'd misheard. Hoping the music had distorted the words.
But Marcus was there, grinning, playing to the crowd that had grown to twenty, thirty people. Phones everywhere now. Recording. Posting. Going live.
"Dude, I'm his roommate," Marcus said, louder now, feeding off the attention. "Trust me. Definitely still a virgin. Man doesn't even watch porn. He's saving himself." He said the last part in a mocking falsetto.
The chant started small—maybe Tyler, maybe someone else—but it spread like fire.
"Virgin! Virgin! Virgin!"
Alex looked at Marcus—really looked at him. At his best friend since they were fifteen. The guy who'd slept on his couch when his parents were fighting. Who he'd driven to the hospital at two in the morning when Marcus had food poisoning. Who knew everything about him.
Marcus wouldn't meet his eyes.
Alex's vision blurred. Tears? Rage? Both? He couldn't tell anymore.
The chant was getting louder. The phones were multiplying. Somewhere in the background, he heard the distinctive sound of an Instagram Live starting.
He had to get out.
Alex pushed through the circle, shoulder checking someone who didn't move fast enough. The crowd parted like he was diseased. More laughter followed him. Someone called out something—he couldn't make out the words over the ringing in his ears.
The front door. Find the front door.
Bodies everywhere. The house had gotten more crowded, or maybe it just felt that way. Everything was too close, too loud, too bright. His hand found the doorknob. Cold metal. Real. He yanked it open and stumbled onto the porch.
The November air hit him like a slap—cold, sharp, real. His breath came out in visible clouds. Behind him, the bass still pounded. Someone wolf-whistled. More laughter.
His phone started buzzing in his pocket.
Once. Twice. Five times. Ten.
He pulled it out with shaking hands. Notifications flooded the screen faster than he could read them.
Instagram tags. Snapchat mentions. Text messages.
*"Dude wtf happened"*
*"omg is that you??"*
*"💀💀💀"*
Someone had already posted the video. Multiple someones. He watched his own face, pixelated and slightly shaky, mouth opening and closing. Heard his voice, tinny through phone speakers: *"I like you. Like, a lot."*
Heard Vanessa's laugh.
Heard Marcus: *"Definitely still a virgin."*
The video had forty-seven views already. As he watched, it jumped to sixty-three.
Alex put his phone back in his pocket and started walking...