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“But don’t you still have feelings for her?”

“Of course I do. But my emotions are all over the place right now. I can’t act on anything yet. Especially not here at school.”

“Well, what if we got you away from school?” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Jess, Owen, and Flynn are playing open-mic night at the Depot this weekend. It would be the perfect time for you and Jess to reconnect. Come with me!”

“I don’t know, Em,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because Jess and Owen are both going to be there. Can you say
awkward?
”

“Look, now that you and I are friends again, you’re going to be running into Jess and Owen a lot. I’m tired of having to keep all my friendships compartmentalized. It’s getting ridiculous. We’re all mature grown-ups, right? So come with me to the club. We’ll be far away from Lockwood, from all the prying eyes and gossip. Don’t you want to try and figure out what’s going on with you and Jess?”

She shook her head. “It’s too much pressure. I can’t deal with a relationship right now.”

“Who said anything about a relationship? You and Jess were friends first. Why not start there?”

She told me she’d think about it.

Which is why I felt like quite the matchmaker when she agreed to go with me on Friday night. Michelle seemed excited for the first time in months. She pulled her hair into a chic ponytail and put on a stretchy black dress with a twenties vibe. I wore the blue dress I’d bought at the thrift store with the Dorothy heels, and Michelle did my makeup—eyes lined in smoky plum, lips the color of wine.

I stood at the mirror examining myself. My hair had grown in a bit so it grazed my shoulders, and the blue stretchy fabric of my dress clung to me, giving the illusion of curves. My red streak had faded a little, but I liked the effect of that shock of red amplified by the ruby glimmer of my shoes.

When we arrived at the Depot, it looked so different than it had that afternoon in October when I’d first watched the band rehearse. Then it had simply been a warehouse with the smell of sawdust in the air. Now it smelled of perfume and cologne and sweat. A neo-punk band was playing onstage, and the lead singer—a tiny girl dressed all in black except for a rainbow-striped scarf—was screaming indecipherable lyrics into the microphone. The rest of the club was dimly lit with red track lights creating glowing pools of pink that gave the whole club a bordello vibe. Red velvet benches and glossy low tables lined the perimeter, and the rest of the space was devoted to the dance floor.

Owen, Jess, and Flynn must have been backstage getting ready for their set, so Michelle and I got some Cokes at the bar and watched throngs of kids dancing and grinding, their animal energy palpable. After a short break, Ice-9 came onstage and Flynn introduced the members of the band.

“And on drums, we have the incomparable Jess Barrister,” he said as Jess waved her drumsticks in the air.

Michelle leaned over to me, looking a little sick. “This was a mistake,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

But I couldn’t find out why because a second later, Jess was clicking her drumsticks together, and then the band launched into their first song. It was a new one, full of sweeping guitar chords and gorgeous harmonies. The song after that was faster and edgier, with Owen’s guitar solo providing a dynamic punch at the end. Michelle looked more nauseous with every chord.

As their finale, the band played the song they had played for me back in October. Although the performance had lost a little of its manic intensity, their sound was so much tighter and more polished. Owen’s pitch-perfect harmony brought the song sailing to its chorus, and I lost myself in Flynn’s voice, surprised once again by how heartbreakingly raw and beautiful it was. My brain latched onto those lyrics again: “In my dreams we are more than friends; the reason I never want my dreams to end. Broken and battered is my heart, but it cannot be ripped apart. It will beat on, like this song. Like a boat against the throng.”

When they finished their set to hoots and hollers and thunderous applause, Flynn bounded off the stage and headed straight for the bar. Michelle nearly toppled from her stool, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

Flynn quipped, “Was it me?” and proceeded to bend over and shake his shaggy black hair like a dog coming in from the rain. Sweat flew everywhere.

“Gross!” I shouted.

“This is the cleanest sweat you’re ever going to touch. Smell it!” he said, sticking his head toward my nose. I laughed in spite of myself because he was right. His head smelled of mint shampoo and cloves.

Owen and Jess appeared shortly thereafter. “You guys were great!” I said, hugging them both.

“Really?” Jess scrunched up her nose.

“Jess, you’ve improved so much. And Owen, the guitar solo? Gave me chills.” His face went two shades of pink. “Really, you guys have come a long way.”

“Did you tell Emma about the tour?” Flynn asked. “Owen set up some gigs for next summer and fall while we’re backpacking through Europe.”

“Yeah, Jess told me,” I said, looking at Owen. “That’s great. Did your dad have a conniption?” Owen’s father was his complete opposite—conservative, cold, and relentlessly ambitious. I couldn’t imagine him letting Owen shirk college to go prowl around Europe.

“Well, he can’t really object seeing as I saved enough money to go on my own. Plus, how can I go to college when I have no idea what I want to do with my life?”

“I’m pissed at the whole lot of you,” Jess said. “You’re all leaving me behind, and I’m going to be—” She stopped in mid-sentence, staring at something behind me. I turned around and saw Michelle, who looked a little less green but still peaked.

No one spoke for several seconds until Flynn said, “Whoa, did someone just suck all the oxygen out of the room?”

Owen shoved him and said, “Flynn, why don’t you get us some drinks or something. Maybe hit on a freshman or two?”

“Whatever, man,” Flynn said, going off in search of his next conquest.

Owen and I stayed there feeling superfluous as Jess stood immobile, waiting for Michelle to say something. The next band started playing, slowing things down with a cover of a Snow Patrol song.

“Emma, do you want to dance?” Owen asked.

“Love to.” I blinked my eyes gratefully.

He took my hand and led me into the crowd, and we found a little corner to ourselves. I had only danced with Owen once before, last year at the Snow Ball. I was ashamed to admit that I’d spent the entire time looking over his shoulder for Gray. Owen had been tentative with me then, barely touching my body, but now he pulled me close, not timid at all. I could smell his cologne, a fresh green scent, like pine needles.

“So that was pretty intense, huh?” I said.

“Was this your idea?” he asked. “To try and get them back together?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “Well, maybe.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “I didn’t peg you as the matchmaker type.”

“Well, my name is Emma,” I said, making him smile. It was a welcome sight.

“So what’s been going on with you?” he said. “I haven’t heard from you lately.”

“I’ve been busy with school. But did I tell you? I got the scholarship to France! I’m going to Paris next year.”

His eyes lit up. “Emma, that’s amazing.” He squeezed my waist as we danced. “You know, Flynn and I will be coming to Paris in the fall. Picture it. You and me walking by the Seine, eating baguettes and Brie, visiting museums and cathedrals.”

“Going to the opera?” I added.

“You like opera?” he said.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to one.”

“Well, Emma,” he said, offering me his pinkie. “I promise to take you to your first opera. Deal?”

I laughed and wrapped my pinkie around his.

Owen nodded at something behind me. “Look.” I turned and saw Jess and Michelle sitting on one of those red velvet benches. Their heads were close, and the moment seemed intimate. “Maybe you’ve found a new calling,” he said. “Fairy godmother to alienated couples.”

I smiled and leaned into his shoulder. It felt nice to dance with Owen. Comforting. But as the song’s momentum built, Owen bent his head down lower, so I could feel the dampness of his neck on mine. A rush of heat spread through me at this unexpected contact.

And then the lyrics of the song registered. The singer was saying good-bye to the girl he loved, assuring her he’d stay by her side in spirit. His voice broke a little as he sang the chorus, which implored the girl to run away with him so they wouldn’t have to be separated. This painful and familiar circumstance jolted me out of my blissful fog. I pulled away from Owen, tears starting at the corners of my eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m just a little warm,” I said. “Do you mind if we take a break?” I stumbled off the dance floor, with Owen’s hand at the small of my back.

“I’ll get you some water,” he said when we reached the bar.

“I just need fresh air.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, thanks,” I said. I needed to be alone. “I’ll just be a second.”

I burst out the side door and onto the rooftop of the neighboring building that served as a makeshift balcony. No rails protected the sides, but someone had run chicken wire around the perimeter, I guess to remind people there was an edge. This didn’t seem like nearly enough protection for the drunken teenagers who were out there, plus there was an inch of snow covering the roof. I tottered on my heels, hugging the wall and wrapping my arms around myself against the cold.

Shivering, I watched some couples talking, smoking, making out. I wondered why it was so impossible for me to move on. That dance with Owen had been lovely. It should have felt right to be with Owen, my supremely loyal and patient friend, but it had felt all wrong. Like I was teasing Owen and being unfaithful to Gray. I knew this was ridiculous, but I also knew no one could come close to filling Gray’s shoes.

I was standing with my hands cupped around my mouth, trying to warm myself, when someone sidled up next to me. Flynn. I laughed and threw my head back against the wall.

“Watch it, girl. You’ll give yourself a concussion,” he said. “Here, take this. It’ll make you feel better.” He pushed his flask at me.

“No, thanks.”

He frowned and slumped a little against the wall. “So what did you think of our set?”

“I told you, I loved it.”

“Yeah, you told Jess she had improved so much and that Owen’s solo gave you chills”—he rolled his eyes—“but what about me?”

I looked at him in surprise. It was kind of cute to see Flynn seeking my approval. “You know I love your voice.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I thought I told you.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“Well, I do.” I blushed a little. He took another long sip from his flask and handed it to me again. “Why is it so important that I drink with you?” I said.

“Nobody likes to drink alone. Makes us feel like alcoholics.”

“If the shoe fits . . .”

He rolled his eyes, and for a second, he looked about ten years old. Behind the goth makeup and the shaggy bangs was this too-pretty boy with eyelashes so long they caught the snowflakes. “Speaking of shoes,” he said, “those red sequined heels are hot. You’re like Dorothy to my heartless Tin Man. In fact, the shoes, the dress, the hair, the whole ensemble’s hot.” I arched an eyebrow at him. “What, I’m not allowed to give you a compliment?”

“It’s a little alarming, actually. Well, that and the fact that you used the word
ensemble
.”

“Why is it alarming that I gave you a compliment?”

“I’m just suspicious,” I said. “You hate me.”

He pulled his head back, like a dog who’s just been scolded. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh, really?”

Flynn paused to flick a damp streak of hair off his forehead and take another swig of rum. “I just can’t get too close, or your ex-boyfriend might have me pulverized.” I grinned. “Where is Captain America these days?”

“Clearwater, Florida,” I said, “learning how to drop out of a helicopter from fifty feet, or something like that.”

He whistled. “Man, I can’t compete with that.”

“Are you trying?”

“Maybe.”

“Boy, you must be
really
drunk.”

He smiled, and I smiled back, surprised by this unlikely truce we’d formed. I shivered again, and Flynn took off his jacket and drew it over my shoulders. “Here, take this,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said.

As he was pulling away, I noticed the tattoo on the inside of his right arm. “What is that?” I asked, examining the design, which looked like a series of letters or numbers.

“Oh, it’s Sanskrit for
fearlessness
.”

“When did you get it?”

“About a year ago when all this shit started going down at my house,” he said. “I thought it might make me feel a little less powerless.”

“And did it work?”

“Not really. But it did prompt a fight with my dad that ended with him leaving the house. So that was a win.” He laughed bitterly.

“I wish I could be more fearless,” I said. And for some reason, I leaned over and traced his tattoo with my finger. “It kind of looks like pi.”

“What?” he said.

“You know, 3.14—”

And then he was leaning in. I didn’t know what was happening until his lips were on mine. Dazed, I didn’t retreat right away. His mouth tasted earthy and sweet, like smoke and sage. And then I surrendered to the kiss, allowing him to draw me in, one hand on the back of my neck, the other making its way down to my waist. Even then, I clung on, allowing the warm and dreamy haze of his kiss to creep from my flushed cheeks to my shoulders and into my gut, the only part of me that knew this was wrong.

His exit, like his approach, was abrupt, and I drew back, feeling dizzy.

“What the hell?” A familiar voice managed to infiltrate the static of my brain.

“Owen?” I said, backing away from Flynn and watching Owen, whose eyes were full of hurt.

Flynn was gripping his head tightly like he was afraid it was going to start coming apart in his hands.

“What the hell, man?” Owen said. But he was looking at me. I glanced down, unable to meet the accusation in his eyes. “Am I too nice, Emma? Is that it?” he said, his voice gruff and resonant. “You want me to treat you like shit? You want me to act all doomed and tortured like Flynn here? Or Gray? ‘Cause I can do that. You’re not the only one hurting, you know. I’ve got problems of my own, and if you have some twisted desire for me to take them out on you, I can do that.”