"I can't believe you guys got so drunk tonight," Ollie murmurs from the driver's seat, running a hand through his hair. I'm mesmerized by the way the moon bounces off each strand, flickering from shadow to spark so quickly. But Ollie keeps his eyes on the road, just shaking his head in our direction.
"We're not that bad," Bridge mumbles, and even in my slight haze, I hear the slur to her words. Well, and then she convulses into a fit of giggles, undermining her argument just a little.
Ollie looks to the side, rolling his eyes at his sister. I don't realize I'm staring at him in the rearview mirror until his gaze flicks toward mine, grinning, but then he looks back to the road. A thrill spikes down my chest, burning from how much I want him. From how much I've always wanted him. But the fire is made painful from his oblivion.
Tonight.
Tonight.
I've been telling myself for the past three hours, with every sip of beer, with every ounce of liquid courage—tonight. I have to tell Ollie how I feel. I have to. Because tomorrow I leave for college and who knows when I'll see him again. Desire coils in my stomach, a stiff bundle of nerves—one that's been there for way too long. And it consumes me. I can't think when he's home. I can't think when he's away at school. Every time I even talk to another boy, a sour taste taints my tongue, a little voice whispers, sure he's nice, but he's not Ollie.
I have to tell someone. And I can't tell Bridge. So it has to be him.
My head falls back, heavy from the alcohol, and I let my gaze slip out the window, tearing my eyes away from the reflection I've practically memorized—the face that stars in my dreams. My heart is pounding. But I have to. Tonight.
"You guys are going to be so miserable tomorrow," he teases, "arriving for your first day at school with a hangover. God, the car ride is going to suck."
"Ollie…" Bridge whines. "Turn on the music, I want to be loud for a little while longer."
He sighs. The sound makes me shiver. But then the music takes my attention away. Bridge leans forward, fumbling with the buttons, twisting the knob to an almost deafening level. She jumps in her seat, bopping with the beat, singing. But I keep staring at the darkness, watching shadowy shapes creep by. Pop music wraps around us, cocooning the car in notes and tones and crescendos vastly different from the silence beyond these doors.
And then it's gone.
Disappeared.
I blink my blurry eyes, realizing we've reached Bridget's house.
Ollie deftly hops out, circling to his sister's door. Ignoring him, Bridge slides out, wobbly on her high heels, teetering before Ollie grabs her around the waist, holding her upright.
"You coming, Skye?" he teases, glancing over his shoulder to where I'm still waiting in the car. He holds out his free arm, offering it to me. "Come on."
My breath hitches as I slip against his chest and the warmth of Ollie's body curls into my side. I'm hyperaware of the position his palm secures against my stomach, of the pressure he uses to help me walk, of the attention he gives. I trip over my own feet. He clutches me tighter, making my heart flutter even faster, a hummingbird alive in my chest. I can't focus on anything except for the fact that he's touching me, can't think beyond the sensation of his fingers grazing the bare skin just above my jeans.
"You know, I thought better of you, Skye."
I look up, struck dumb by the twinkle in his moonlit eyes. "Wh—what?"
"I knew Bridge would get bombed as soon as I saw you guys sneak out for the party. But you? I thought you were supposed to be her good influence."
I smile, biting my lip. It's the only response I can muster because my eyes sink down to his lips, stuck.
"I'm not that drunk!" Bridge cries, tearing out of Ollie's hands to race up the walk.
"Shh!" he hisses. "Do you want to wake up Mom and Dad?"
Bridge responds by throwing out her arms, twirling around, faster and faster.
"Stay," Ollie orders, pointing at me before turning. I obey, standing still, swaying just a little with the wind, or maybe, well, with the booze. A few steps later and he's there, catching his sister as she loses her balance, crashing to the ground. Bridge yelps and Ollie rushes to cover her mouth, holding the shout in, sighing heavily.
"How do you get away with this when I'm not around to shut you up?" he murmurs, shaking his head.
Me.
I want to tell him, but I can't find my voice. I'm always the sober one, the designated driver, the responsible one. But not tonight. Because tonight, I'm on a mission.
"Come on, Skye," he whispers, gesturing for me to walk over.
I take each step slower than the last, one foot in front of the other, holding my arms out for balance. When I close the gap, Ollie puts his arm around me again, carrying both Bridge and me to the door, easing us inside and plopping us down on the steps in the front hallway.
"Wait here." And then he disappears, only to return a few minutes later with two full glasses of water and two pieces of bread. "Drink and eat this now."
Bridge and I listen. Something about the quietness of the house calms her rebellious mood. I gulp down the water, throat dry from all the words I want to say. When we're done, he leans down, holding us by our waists again, taking each step one at a time as we climb achingly slow to the second floor of the house. A few minutes later, and Ollie releases us at the edge of Bridget's bedroom.
"If you think you're going to be sick, knock on my door, okay?"
I nod, biting my lip.
He walks away, disappearing into the dark hall.
"Ollie!" I whisper.
He stops, turns. "Yeah?"
Say it!
Say it!
But Bridge is by my side, hanging on my arm, dropping her head against my shoulder, already sleepy.
Say it!
I open my mouth, chest clamped by an invisible hand. I'm trembling.
"I—"
All the courage leaves my body in a whoosh, leaving my limbs heavy with failure. I'm not strong enough. Not brave enough. I'm…nothing. The invisible girl with invisible dreams and not enough nerve to reach out and grab them.
"Thanks," I mumble.
Ollie grins. "Any time. Now please help put my sister to sleep before she passes out on the carpet."
I nod.
He's gone.
Bridge is practically snoring into my ear, so I hold her, stumbling for the bed, tripping so we both collapse onto the mattress in a heap. Only half awake, Bridge crawls to her side of the bed, rolling under the covers. But I stay where I am, staring at the stars twinkling on the ceiling, stickers I've wished upon more times than I can count. The neon green mocks me, an illusion of everything I could have if I only tried.
"Skye," Bridge whispers beside me. "We're going to college tomorrow."
"I know," I tell her, finally turning away from the ceiling, joining her under the covers.
"College," she sighs, blissful.
College. But my heart sinks with the idea. College. Where I'll still be pining after Ollie. College. Where I'll be haunted by the what ifs of tonight. College. Where every boy will continue to fail to measure up to the crush I've glorified in my head.
I've run through what will happen if I tell him a thousand times. Shock and desperation, the gentle let down, the way he'll never look at me the same. But at least then I'll know there's no chance. I'll know he'll never see me that way. I'll know it's hopeless. I'll get over it. I'll be done. I want so much to be done. I want so much for the constant ache to disappear. For the pining to go away.
My eyes shoot open.