Page 5 of Fragile

I don’t have much experience with people crying, since my dad always told me that crying was for babies and I’mdefinitely not a baby. I’m starting first grade soon, but Queenie is only in kindergarten still. She’s not a baby, but I’m bigger than her, so maybe I can help make her feel better. June, Seb and Quinn’s mom, always said a hug will make anyone feel better. Her hugs are always really warm.

“I’m going to hug you.” Lifting my arm and wrapping it around her small shoulders, I ask, “Do you feel better?” I wonder if she thought my hugs were warm too. She feels cold, like a little icicle.

She sniffles and leans into me. “I think so.”

We sit for a little while until my arm aches and I pull it back, shaking it out. Queenie’s smile is still not like her normal ones. She usually has the brightest smile, like sunshine and rainbows and all that girly stuff. “I know what will make you feel better.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the packet with my last gummy worm inside. It’s red and blue. “Here.” I open it, offering her the worm. Her nose wrinkles when she sees it.

“What is that?”

“Gummy worm.”

“But that’s your last one.”

“I know. You can have it, though. I don’t mind.”

My phone buzzes again as I get back into my workout.

Quinn

You know the way to a girl’s heart, Miles Cooper. You’re forgiven, only because you know my weakness for gummy worms.

I smile, making a mental note to get her the sugary apology ready.

***

It’s late. My nap ended up being over five hours, but now it’s almost nine, the party is in full swing, and I’ve got excess energy to burn. The loud, thumping music coming from the speaker system in the common room at the media dorm pumps adrenaline into my veins, the same kind of buzzing feeling I get when I’m out on the field.

Walking over to the make-shift drinks area at the back of the room, my fingers drag over bottles lined up on the counter. Media dorm knows how to party; they have every liquor available. Vodka, rum, whiskey, sambuca, you name it. What will my poison be tonight? I linger over the vodka for a beat. Yeah, that’s the one. It usually is, to be honest. Opening the bottle, I find a red solo cup and fill it halfway, not bothering to add a mixer, and I take my first swig. The clear liquid burns, creating a fiery pathway down my throat as I swallow.

“Miles!” Someone calls my name, and as I turn, I realize it’s Hudson. He wanders over to me, his darkish hair flopping all over his face like he’s in a ninety’s boy band. As usual, he’s got a girl wrapped around him. This one is pretty, with dark hair and dark eyes, clearly as intoxicated as he is, judging by the way they shuffle over to me with dazed expressions.

“Hey, man,” I greet him, then nod to the girl I don’t know. “Hey, I’m Miles.”

“Oh, this is…” Hudson squints, trying to remember her name. Dude is worse than me. He screwed around a lot in his freshman year, and I guess he’s carrying on his streak for this school year too.

“Carrie,” the girl says flatly, her brow pinching like she’s pissed he can’t remember. She doesn’t know half of it with him.

He finger-gun clicks at her. “Right, Carrie. Like the prom queen horror chick. I know.”

The girl huffs, unimpressed, then pushes Hudson away. He stumbles, but manages to catch himself before he bumps thecounter. With a shrug of his broad shoulders, he turns to me, grabs my cup, and takes a big gulp before I can react.

“Ugh,” he spits, almost choking. “The fuck are you drinking neat vodka for, man?” He swipes over his mouth where drops of liquid cling to his skin.

“Well, it wasn’t meant for you,” I say dryly, snatching the empty cup from him and turning to refill it.

He slaps his hand on my shoulder as he leans against the kitchen countertop. “You didn’t hang with us this morning. You good?”

“Do I not look good?” Screwing the lid back onto the bottle, I decide to brush him off. “I’m good. Go party. Find yourself another girl to piss off.” In other words,leave me alone to drink my neat vodka in peace.

He laughs loudly as I walk away, only to bump into a guy whose name I can’t remember. “Miles, hey man. Big game coming up. You gonna get us the win this year?” he asks casually, while I feel anything but. My irritation prickles my mood because I came here to relax, but people always want to talk about the game.

I just smile politely and answer, “Damn straight we are.” Then I walk past him, back into the main party area, where I’m stopped by several other people all echoing choruses of “great game last week” and “think we can get a repeat of last year’s championship win?” or my personal favorite, “can you get your dad to sign something for me?” The answer is a resoundingfuck no—in my head, at least.

Suddenly, this party feels too busy, too loud, too hot, and I need some air. My feet thud against the floor with measured steps toward the door, but just as I reach it, it swings open. I step back, watching as Seb, Quinn, and Indie stride inside.

Quinn’s face lights up as she notices me, her green eyes twinkling with an innocence that is unmistakably her. “Hey, stranger.”

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