Page 30 of As You Walk On

He steps down onto the landing. I’ve got a good three inches on him. I wonder how far I’d have to lean to kiss him. That’s a thing I should plan for, maybe? Hopefully better than I planned for this moment where I’m too busy staring into his crinkled eyes to ask what I’m supposed to.

My eyes search our surroundings. If I’m going to do this, I need one of my boys around. Relief washes over me when I find Jay seated among a group of athletes trading shot glasses and orange cups in the living room.

He’s keenly watching us.

“I never see you at these things,” comments Christian.

I turn back to him, rubbing the back of my neck. “I, uh, wasn’t sure you’d be here either.”

“I don’t make it a habit.” He snorts. “But tonight felt appropriate? Like we all needed it.”

“Facts.”

“Were you, um... looking for me?”

Yes!I want to scream.And I just need you to move about twenty paces to your left.

My gaze drifts back to Jay, who’s shaking a finger at me like,I can’t hear you all the way over there.

Shit. Okay, I don’t have the right words. No fancy poem to recite. No cheerleaders or a cappella group or even a good songplaying—seriously, whoever’s DJing is killing all my vibes withanotherPost Malone tune—but I have Wright genes in my blood.

“Hey, do you want to go over—”

“Holy fuck, what’sshedoing here?”

I’m startled by a voice that’s not Christian’s. He’s looking past me. I follow his stare. And there she is. My ex-friend standing in the foyer wearing an expression matching the acronym spelled out in gold letters on her black shirt:

IDGAF.

7

OPEN-DOOR POLICY

Aleah Bird isat Chloe’s party. Less than ten feet from me.

Thing is, since we started at Brook-Oak, Aleah and I have never shared a class. I’m in the HSU program. She’s in YPT, for singing, I’ve heard. I’ve never asked anyone. I didn’t even know she was attending BOHS until the second week of freshman year.

We’ve barely crossed paths in the hallways. Even then, I was probably too busy joking with Darren and Jay to acknowledge it. She was most likely with the Ballers. Between two campuses—a separate one for all the YPT studios and performance spaces—there are over a thousand students attending our school. It’s easy to become just a face in the crowd.

But part of me has always had a Spidey-sense about Aleah. I’ve trained myself not to look her way. Keep a distance only noticeable by me.

Until tonight, I guess.

Static clings to the air. Has someone lowered the music? Or maybe the whispers are louder. A handful of phones are not-so-discreetly pointed toward Aleah. I step closer to Christian like he’s a shield I can hide behind.

It’s unnecessary.

The awkwardness of Aleah’s arrival dies quickly when a tipsy freshman yells, “Mario Party downstairs!” He proceeds to crash into a tray of plastic shot glasses filled with various colored liquor. Soon, he’s just another victim of #BOHSFail as people encircle him with their phones recording.

The music returns to its previous ear-aching thud. Voices carry from all over the house. Everyone has moved on.

Except me.

I watch Aleah stand in the foyer for a second. She doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. Her teeth tug on her bottom lip. Long fingers toy with the thin chain of her silver necklace, an anxious move I remember from when we were kids.

But maybe she’s changed? Maybe she’s not nervous.

I don’t know...thisAleah.

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