Cheska

Friday finally arrived. This week has been a slow, agonizing crawl, and I feel like I've aged a month in five days.

"Ms. Vega!"

I turn to find Mr. Serrano staring at me. He looks like he's been sucking on lemons all morning. "Did you read the book I assigned?"

Book? What book? I search my brain, but it's a total blank.

"Uh, no. I didn't know there was a reading assignment," I stammer.

The classroom goes dead silent. Every head turns in my direction. Kai slips in through the door right then, late as usual, but Serrano doesn't even blink in his direction. All his fire is aimed at me.

"Are you telling me," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous level, "that you didn't pick up the copy of Noli Me Tángere from the library on Wednesday?"

I shake my head. "I didn't know we needed it yet. I thought we were focusing on the other text first." I pull the wrong book from my bag to show him, hoping it proves I at least tried.

"So you thought I'd let you off easy?" he asks, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"No, Sir. I just meant-"

"Enough. Grab a pass from my desk, go to the library, and get that book. If you walk back into this room without it, it's an automatic F."

He points a finger toward his desk. I scramble to pack my things, my face hot with a mix of shame and rage. Kai starts to stand up to follow me, but Serrano cuts him off before he can even get vertical.

"Mr. Valencia, where do you think you're going?"

"I was just going to help her, Sir," Kai says, looking caught.

"Since when are you her bodyguard?" Serrano snaps. "Do you think she's incapable of walking to the library alone?"

Kai rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his desk. I feel the sting of his embarrassment for him. It's a cheap shot.

"Sit down. She can handle it."

"Yes, Sir. Sorry," Kai mutters. He catches my eye and mouths a quick apology.

"Ms. Vega, are you waiting for an invitation?"

I grab the pass and bolt out of the room before I say something that gets me expelled. I intentionally slow my pace as I hit the hallway, my heels clicking against the linoleum. That man is obsessed with making me miserable.

When I reach the library, the air is still and smells of old paper. The librarian looks up from her computer. "Pass, please."

I slide it over. "I need a copy of Noli Me Tángere."

"Only one left. Back wall, right corner. Good luck," she says without looking up.

I spend ten minutes weaving through the tall shelves. I finally find it tucked away on the fifth shelf. Of course. It's way above my head. I go up on my tiptoes, stretching my fingers until they just graze the spine. I give it one more desperate reach, my balance shifting.

Then, my foot slips.

I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the hard impact of the floor. But instead of cold tile, I hit something warm and solid. Two strong arms wrap around my waist, steadying me.

I open my eyes and find myself staring at a stranger. He has dark brown hair and eyes so soft they look like silk. He looks like he walked off a runway in London.

He is, without a doubt, more stunning than Damian.

"Thanks," I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. He helps me stand, but his hands linger on my waist for a second too long, sending a jolt of heat through my sweater.

"You almost had a nasty fall there," he says. His voice is deep and calm, but it's the accent that kills me. British. Crisp. Smooth.

"Yeah. Thanks again," I say, looking down to hide my blush. I notice a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. Since when were those allowed on campus?

"Be careful next time, love," he says, his lips pulling into a smirk as he hands me the book.

Love. My brain short-circuits. Before I can ask his name or if he's a transfer student, the bell rings, signaling the end of the period.

"Anyway, I'll go now. Catch you later," he says, turning on his heel.

I stand there like a statue, clutching the book to my chest. I stay frozen for a few seconds before I shake myself out of it. I walk back to the librarian to check out the book, my head spinning.

"Do you know who that was? The guy who just left?" I ask.

She frowns, thinking. "The tall one? No idea. Never seen him before. But he had a visitor pass on his jacket."

A visitor. Great. The best-looking man I've ever seen, and he doesn't even go here.

I realize I'm late for the next transition, so I take my time walking back to Serrano's room. If I'm already in trouble, there's no point in rushing.

When I walk back in, Serrano is already at the board. He doesn't even let me sit down. "Why are you always late, Ms. Vega?"

I sigh, leaning against the doorframe. "Only one copy left, Sir. It took a while to find."

"You always have an excuse."

I feel the heat rising in my neck. I'm about to snap back, but he waves me off. "Just go to your next class. You're late for that, too."

"Yes, Sir," I say, biting my tongue so hard it tastes like iron.

I walk out and slam the door a little harder than necessary. "Asshole," I mutter to the empty hallway.

But as I walk away, I'm not thinking about Serrano. I'm thinking about the way those arms felt around my waist and the sound of that British accent calling me love.

...

By the time my last class ended, my soul felt like it had been put through a paper shredder. I was hollow. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and let the world disappear.

But the universe wasn't done with me yet.

"Cheska!"

I turned to see Miss Reina, my art teacher, waving me over. I dragged my feet toward her.

"Mr. Delmar wants to see you. He's waiting in the teachers' office."

My heart did a traitorous little flip. I remembered the last time we were alone. I remembered the heat of his gaze and that smirk that made my blood boil. Maybe he missed me. Maybe he couldn't stop thinking about the way I tasted at the bar.

"Okay," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest.

I walked into the office, expecting a private moment, but the air turned to lead the second I stepped inside. Damian was there, but so was Mr. Serrano.

Great. As if this day couldn't get any worse.

"Sir? You asked for me?" I asked, my voice tight with irritation.

Damian nodded. He looked professional, cold, and utterly distant. "Yes. We need to discuss your recent assignments."

He slid a paper across the desk. I looked down at the red marks scarring the page. "You have too many errors, Cheska. If this keeps up, you're going to fail my class before the first month is over."

I felt the heat crawl up my neck. My cheeks burned with a shame so sharp it felt like a physical sting.

"And my concern," Mr. Serrano cut in, sliding an essay toward me, "is that this isn't getting better. This is your second time taking my class, and you're on track to fail again."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. I didn't know whether to scream or cry. I bit my lip hard, trying to keep the sob trapped in my throat, but a shaky breath escaped me anyway.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I tried to blink back the tears, but they were already blurring my vision. "I didn't realize it was this bad."

"We're worried about you, Cheska," Damian said. His voice was softer now, almost gentle, which somehow made it hurt more. "That's why I called you here."

The door opened behind me. I turned around and froze.

It was him. The guy from the library. The one with the British accent and the arms that felt like a sanctuary.

"This is Mr. Velasco," Mr. Serrano announced. "We've brought him in to be your tutor."

My brain short-circuited. "Tutor? You assigned a tutor for me?"

They both nodded, their faces grim and serious.

Something inside me snapped. I didn't cry. Instead, I started to laugh. It was a jagged, hysterical sound that echoed off the office walls. I dropped the failing papers onto the desk and shook my head, my eyes bright with a mix of fury and disbelief.

"No thanks," I said, my voice dripping with ice. I had tried tutors before. None of them could fix what was wrong with me.

"I don't need a tutor. It doesn't work for me. I'll study on my own. Thanks for the offer."

"Cheska, we're doing this to help you. We want you to-" Damian started, but I cut him off.

"No! You're doing this because you pity me," I snapped.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Rivera walk past the window and enter the office. Now all four of them were here. The Dean, the Professor, the Teacher, and the Tutor. It felt like a goddamn ambush.

Axel

I step into Damian's house, keeping my shoulders tight and my movements small. This place is like a museum of his control. Everything is perfectly aligned, sleek, and cold. If I so much as scuff a baseboard or leave a fingerprint on the glass, he'll notice. Damian doesn't just like order. He breathes it.

I find Oliver in the kitchen. He looks wrecked. He grips a beer bottle like it's the only thing keeping him upright and slides a cold one across the marble counter toward me.

"Rough week, bro," Oliver says. His smile is thin and doesn't reach his eyes. "San Elíseo is a disaster right now. I finally get why the last principal bailed."

I pop the cap on my beer and take a long swig. The liquid burns down my throat, cutting through the tension in the room. "That student, Cheska. She seems to have a personal vendetta against you guys," I say, a small smirk tugging at my mouth.

I can't stop thinking about her. The first time I saw her in the library, she was the picture of innocence. Soft, quiet, and so cute it hurt to look at her. She even stumbled over her words when I caught her from falling. But the next time I saw her with the guys, the switch flipped. She was all fire and sharp edges. A total brat.

"It's weird how fast she shut me down as a tutor," I mutter, leaning against the counter. My chest tightens just thinking about the way she looked at me like I was dirt under her shoe.

Mateo rolls his eyes, using a keychain opener to crack his own drink. "She's been hating on me for a year. I don't even know what I did. She's stubborn as hell."

"Wait," I say, putting my bottle down. "How well do you guys actually know her? She treats you all like she wants to watch you crawl."

It's fascinating, really. A girl that age having three grown men wrapped around her finger without even trying.

"I met her a month ago," Damian says. He doesn't look at us. He just stares at the TV, flipping channels until he finds the basketball game.

"I've got a year on you," Mateo chimes in. He shakes his head at the memory. "We collided in the hallway while I was holding a hot coffee. It spilled all over me. Instead of apologizing, she blamed me for being in her way. Then she just walked off laughing with her friend."

I whistle, genuinely impressed. "Damn. I didn't see that coming."

"I just met her Monday," Oliver adds with a heavy sigh. "First day at San Elíseo. The way she talks back? You'd think she owned the damn school."

I stay quiet, but I'm thinking. She's only a nightmare when she's facing them. There's a reason for that friction. There's always a reason for that kind of heat. We've been friends for seventeen years. These guys are the best men I know, yet she treats them like villains.

"Anyway," Oliver says, trying to break the heavy mood. "Damian, how's the wife?"

The air in the room turns to ice. Damian goes rigid. His jaw sets so hard I think his teeth might crack.

"Isn't it obvious?" Damian asks. He doesn't move his eyes from the screen. Mateo and I exchange a look. The silence is deafening.

"Sorry," Oliver stammers. "I just thought you two were having a fight."

"Ex-wife," Damian corrects. He tilts his head back and drains his beer in one go. "We've been separated for six years."

He stands up without another word and walks out of the room. We watch him go, stunned.

"I had no idea they were divorced," Oliver whispers, looking at us for answers.

"Join the club," I reply, feeling a sudden restlessness. "He never said a word."

Mateo nods, staring into his drink. "I'm not surprised. He never loved Amara. You could see it in the way he looked past her."

He's right. Damian was never soft with her. But then again, Amara was a special kind of toxic. I still remember the night she got wasted and tried to bribe Mateo to sleep with her. His best friend. It was disgusting.

Ever since Mateo told us that, we all stopped talking to her. We never told Damian. We figured it wasn't our place to blow up his life if he was already checked out.

The room stays silent until a phone lights up on the coffee table.

Speaking of the devil. It's Amara.

"Damian, your phone's ringing," I call out, glancing at the screen. "It's Amara."

No answer from the hallway. Just the persistent, annoying buzz of the phone. We all sit there, watching it glow like a live grenade.

"Did you ever tell him?" I whisper to Mateo.

He just shakes his head and looks back at the TV, his face a mask of indifference.

The phone lights up again. Two new notifications.

"Anyone know his passcode?" I ask. They both shrug.

I take a gamble and punch in his birthday. The screen slides open instantly. "Same code since high school," I mutter. My heart is racing, a mix of guilt and pure curiosity driving me as I tap the messages.

"If he kills you for touching that, we're not helping you clean up the blood," Oliver warns.

"Cowards," I snap, but my eyes are glued to the screen.

Amara: Why is our son at a party again? Can't you actually discipline Kier for once?

My brow furrows. Our son? Kier isn't even Damian's biological kid. I never understood why he kept taking care of her child after the split.

Amara: Don't just sit there. Go pick up your son right now!

I feel a surge of anger for my friend. She's the mother, but she's acting like a demanding boss. It's her responsibility, yet she's still pulling Damian's strings.

The screen lit up again. I swiped it open, and a video started playing. My heart stuttered. It was Kier. He was pressed against a girl, their mouths locked in a messy, desperate kiss.

I leaned in closer, my stomach dropping as I caught a glimpse of her face. Dark, wavy hair. Those unmistakable hazel eyes.

"Fuck," I breathed. "Is this Cheska? The girl from the library?"

The nausea hit me instantly. I scanned the background of the video, trying to place the location.

"Mateo," I barked, shoving the phone toward him. "Look at this."

"Bro, I don't want to see whatever teenage drama is going on," Mateo said, pushing my hand away.

"No, look at the background. Look at the girl."

I forced the phone into his grip. Mateo's eyes went wide. The color drained from his face.

"Holy shit," he muttered. "That's her. That's Cheska." He zoomed in, his thumb trembling slightly. "And this house. This is just on the next street over from Damian's."

I nodded. My pulse was a dull thud in my ears.

Oliver peered over his shoulder. "Are we actually going to tell him?"

"We have to," I said. "Amara just texted him to go pick up Kier. The kid is literally right next door."

The heavy click of boots on hardwood echoed through the hall. Damian walked back into the living room, his presence instantly soaking up all the oxygen. He stopped dead, his gaze landing on the phone in my hand.

"What the hell are you doing with my phone?" his voice was a low, dangerous blade.

He stepped forward and snatched it back. I watched his face as he read the messages and watched the video. His jaw tightened so hard I heard the bone pop. He didn't look away from the screen as he walked toward the window, staring out toward the back of the property.

"Based on the lights, the party is just a few houses down," Mateo said.

Damian let out a sharp, jagged breath.

"Stupid kid," he whispered. He tossed the phone onto the leather couch like it was trash. He pulled off his blazer, leaving him in a thin white shirt that stretched tight across his shoulders. "I don't know if I'm more pissed that you went through my phone or that Kier is over there making out with some girl."

"Wait up," I said, a dark grin spreading across my face. "The game is almost over, but this? This is way more interesting than basketball."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Bastard," he muttered, but he was already heading for the door. We followed him like a pack of wolves.

The air outside was cool, but the bass from the music two streets over was a physical vibration in the ground.

"Are they even going to let us in?" Oliver asked.

"It's a student party," Mateo growled, his voice thick with irritation. "And if I'm right, Cheska is the one hosting it."

We didn't have to fight our way in. We just walked through the side gate into the backyard. It was chaos. Sweat, cheap booze, and too many bodies. We spotted Kier almost immediately. He was back at it, his hands all over a girl, but it wasn't Cheska.

"Did she leave?" Oliver asked, looking at Damian.

Damian shook his head, his eyes scanning the crowd with lethal precision. "She can't leave. This is her father's house. She lives here."

The four of us fanned out, searching for a girl who was barely five foot three. Then, as if pulled by a magnet, we all turned toward the far corner of the yard.

My breath left me.

There she was. A guy with bright red hair was pressed against her. He was trailing his tongue down her chest, licking the skin right above the neckline of her top while holding a shot glass. He downed the drink, took the lime wedge from between Cheska's teeth with his own, and smashed his mouth against hers.

I gasped, the sound lost in the music.

This wasn't the girl from the library. This wasn't the shy, stuttering thing I caught in the stacks. She looked like a different person. She looked like a sin.

"Kier."

Damian's voice was a low growl that cut through the noise. Kier pulled away from his girl, looking annoyed until he saw Damian standing there like an omen of death.

"Not again," Kier groaned.

I looked at Oliver and Mateo. They were frozen, their eyes locked on Cheska, unable to process the girl in front of them. When I looked back at her, she was finally looking at us. Her face went bright red. For a second, I saw a flash of that library girl, the shame burning in her eyes as she looked away.

Before she could move, two guys behind her tipped a bucket of ice water over her head.

"SHIT! THAT'S COLD!" Cheska screamed, jumping back.

The words were raw and sharp, totally at odds with her innocent face.

"Cops are coming!" Oliver suddenly yelled, stumbling back toward us, out of breath.

The backyard turned into a stampede. People were sprinting in every direction, tripping over lawn chairs and each other.

"Are you serious?" the guy next to Cheska asked, looking at me. I stepped into his space, my face inches from his, giving him a look that made him stumble back. "Chill, bro. I'm going."

The redhead tried to grab Cheska for one last kiss, but another guy shoved him hard, stepping between them.

"Relax, Asher," the newcomer said, pulling Cheska behind his back to shield her.

"Fine, whatever," Asher spat, disappearing into the dark.

In seconds, the yard was a ghost town. It was just us. And Cheska. She stood there, drenched and shivering, her eyes pinned directly on Damian.

"Does your father know you're throwing a party here?" Damian asks.

His voice is low. Dangerously low. I can see the muscle jumping in his jaw as he fights to keep his temper in check. Damian doesn't do chaos, and this backyard is the definition of it.

Cheska shakes her head, her wet hair sticking to her neck. "N-no, but I wasn't-"

"Save the excuses, Cheska," Mateo interrupts. He steps toward her, his shadow looming over her smaller frame. "You think your little lies are going to save you every time? None of your reasons ever make sense."

I just shake my head. Mateo is fed up, and it shows in the way he stares her down.

"You have no right to talk to my sister like that," a voice snaps from behind us.

We all turn at once. A guy is standing there, eyes narrowed, looking ready for a fight.

"How did you even get in here?" he demands.

"You're her brother?" Damian steps up, his presence suffocating. "Then why the hell are you letting Cheska host parties and make out with random guys?"

"I'm her brother, yeah. But this isn't her party. It's Calix's. My twin," he says, gesturing toward another guy who looks exactly like him.

"Does it matter?" Damian's voice is pure irritation. "I just texted your dad. He'll be here in an hour. Good luck cleaning this shit up before he walks through the door."

I glance at Kier. He's staying quiet, looking at his shoes, trying to fade into the background so he doesn't get hit with Damian's wrath next.

"An hour?!" Cheska shrieks. She turns and hits the guy standing next to her. "Kai! You said Dad wouldn't be back until 2:00 AM!"

"Caleb said that! Don't blame me!" Kai shoots back, pointing at his other brother. "I'm just following the plan!"

"God, you guys are a mess," Oliver mutters, rubbing his temples. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. I clear my throat, trying to stay serious while the siblings start bickering, passing the blame around like a hot potato.

None of them want to take the fall. It's a classic disaster.

"Move it, before Dad rips me a new one again," Cheska says, her voice trembling with panic. She pulls her damp hair into a messy tie and bolts toward the house.

"I'll get Kier home. He can barely stand," Damian says, glancing at Oliver and then at us. "Stay here. Help her."

He points toward the house where Cheska disappeared. For some reason, Mateo and I both just nod, dropping our heads like we don't have a choice. Damian has that effect on people.

Damian hauls Kier away. A few minutes later, Cheska reappears with a stack of heavy-duty trash bags. She hands them out to her brothers and Oliver, but she stops when she gets to Mateo and me.

"You don't have to help. This is our problem-"

Mateo doesn't let her finish. He snatches a bag right out of her hand.

"You talk too much," he grunts, already turning away to start grabbing empty cans.

"Uh..." Cheska watches him go, looking completely confused. "Never mind." She turns to me and hands me the last bag. "Thanks for the help. Sorry for the trouble," she whispers.

As she walks away, I catch the tiniest slip of a smile on her lips.

It takes forty-five minutes of pure, grueling labor to get the place back to normal. It's unbelievable.

Kai and Calix are already passed out on the couch. Damian and Mateo actually had to carry them up to a bedroom. Caleb got a text from his girlfriend and vanished like a ghost. That leaves the five of us standing in a kitchen that finally smells like lemon cleaner instead of stale beer.

"Thank you," Cheska says softly.

"Go to sleep," Damian tells her. "Your dad is going to be here any second."

She shakes her head. "I'm not tired yet. You guys want something to drink?"

"Water is fine," Oliver says. We all nod.

When she comes back, she's carrying five glasses of ice water. The clinking of the ice is the only sound in the room. She clears her throat, her eyes flickering toward me.

"I'm sorry. About last time," she says, her voice barely a whisper.

"It's fine," I say, taking a long drink. "You said you didn't need me. No hard feelings."

"About that..." Her face flushes a deep, pretty pink. She starts tugging at the hem of her denim shorts, her fingers restless. "I wanted to talk to all of you."

I lean back against the counter. So, the bratty little library girl needs me after all.

"I changed my mind. Is the offer still open? For the tutoring?" she asks.

Damian raises an eyebrow and points at me. "Why are you asking me? Ask him."

"Please," she breathes.

I look her up and down, letting the silence stretch until she squirms. "Didn't you say we were useless?"

She looks down at her feet. "I didn't mean it like that. I just-"

"You didn't want it because you were embarrassed, right?" Oliver cuts in, letting out a short, dry laugh. "Cheska, you're repeating your senior year. For crying out loud, shouldn't you be more embarrassed about failing everything?"

The words are harsh. I feel the sting of them even though they weren't aimed at me. Cheska flinches like he slapped her.

"Back off. I wasn't even talking to you," Cheska snaps, her eyes burning as she glares at Oliver. Damian lets out a short breath, shaking his head to hide a smirk.

Damn. I'm actually impressed. Most students tremble when we're in the room, but she talks to us like we're just guys she met at a bar.

"You know, for a girl who looks this sweet, you sure as hell aren't," I say, a slow grin spreading across my face. I let my eyes linger on her for a second longer than necessary. "But fine. I'll tutor you."

"Really? Thank you," she mumbles, her voice dropping an octave.

The heavy thud of the front door echoing through the house cuts the moment short.

"That's my dad," she whispers, her eyes going wide. She stands up fast, her wet clothes clinging to every curve. "You guys need to go. There's a back exit through the kitchen. Go before he sees you here."

"Why? You scared of what he'll think?" Mateo asks, his voice like flint. He doesn't move an inch. "We're your professors, Cheska. Not some random guys sneaking into your bedroom for an easy fuck."

Cheska flinches. The air in the room turns jagged. It's a low blow, and we all know it.

"Too far, man," Damian mutters under his breath, but the damage is done.

"Cheska?" her father's voice booms from the hallway. "We need to talk. Your professor called me and-" Mr. Vega stops dead in his tracks as he rounds the corner. His eyes travel from his shivering daughter to the four of us standing in his living room. "What is going on here?"

"Good evening, Rowan," Damian says. He steps forward with a calm, effortless authority and extends his hand.

"Damian..." Mr. Vega says, shaking it. They look like old friends, which only makes the tension in my chest tighter.

"This is Oliver Rivera, the new principal of San Elíseo," Damian continues, gesturing to Oliver. They shake hands.

"And this is Mateo Serrano, a professor at the university."

"I know him. He's the one who called me earlier," Mr. Vega says. Cheska's head whips toward Mateo, her gaze sharp enough to kill.

"And I'm Axel Velasco," I say, stepping up to take my turn. I grip Mr. Vega's hand firmly. "I'm Cheska's new tutor."

Mr. Vega looks confused, his eyes darting between all of us.

"We want to help her get back on track," Damian explains, his voice smooth and convincing. "So we've assigned a personal tutor to make sure she finishes the year strong."

Mr. Vega nods, looking relieved. "I appreciate that. Truly. Thank you for looking out for her." He turns to Cheska, finally noticing her state. "Why are you soaking wet?"

The silence stretches. If she doesn't find a lie in the next three seconds, we're all dead.

"Kai and Calix," she says, her voice suddenly small and trembling. She looks at her dad with big, pathetic eyes. "They pushed me into the pool earlier."

Before he can dig deeper, Mr. Vega's phone starts vibrating in his pocket. "Hold on, honey," he says, pulling it out. "Yeah? Now? Fine, stay on the line."

He looks back at us, already halfway out of the room. "I have an urgent call. Cheska, go change before you catch a cold. Gentlemen, excuse me."

He disappears up the stairs before we can even say goodbye.

"Thank God he's busy," Cheska sighs, pulling the elastic from her hair and letting the dark waves fall over her shoulders.

"Like I said," Mateo growls, heading for the door. "We don't have bad intentions. We aren't your fuck buddies, Cheska. Don't forget that."

Cheska rolls her eyes and mutters a string of curses under her breath.

"Ignore him," Damian says, tilting his head toward the door. "He's in a mood."

"He's not wrong, though," Oliver adds as he follows Mateo out into the night.

"See you tomorrow, Cheska. Get some rest," Damian says before leaving me alone with her.

I take a slow breath, letting my gaze drift over her. The house is quiet now, the air still thick with the scent of the rain and her perfume.

"Well," I start, my voice low. "I didn't expect you to be so wild, library girl."

Her face turns a delicious shade of red. She looks away, biting her lip. "I was just drunk. I don't even remember half of what happened. And as for Mr. Serrano, I don't know what his problem is. He's always heated, so I give it right back to him."

She clearly has no idea why Mateo is so bothered by her. She doesn't see the way he looks at her when she isn't watching.

"Sleep well, library girl," I say.

I turn and walk out, leaving her standing there in the middle of the empty, quiet house.