Page 17 of To Catch a Firefly

Except that’s not fair. I know that. And what would Lucky say if he knew? What would he think of these feelings I’ve been hiding?

Would he—could he—feel the same?

I suppose, in the end, it doesn’t matter when things started to change. Because Lucky’s path has been set from the moment he came into my life.“I’m gonna get out of this town one day, El.”He never was mine to keep. No matter how much I wish it.

“You okay?” Lucky asks, nudging the side of my arm. We’re walking up the steps to his dorm now.

I give him a nod.

“Would you rather it just be me and you?” he asks, coming to a stop. “I didn’t mean to invite so many people, but you know how it goes. You tell a couple friends, they tell a couple friends, and then all of a sudden, it’s a party.”

I don’t really know, no. But it’s fine.

I shake my head and give Lucky’s arm a tug to keep going. He follows me through the door, and this time, it’s me leading the way to Lucky’s room. It’s not the first time I’ve visited.

The party is already underway when we arrive. Lucky’s room and the one next door are opened up to one another, both packed like sardine cansand buzzing with noise. People mingle with cheap beer in hand while a bottle of Jägermeister makes the rounds. Lucky clears a path through it all, dragging me to the back of the room. I lean against his desk as he starts mixing his whiskey with Coke and chatting to one of his friends. I recognize a few of the partygoers, including Lucky’s roommate, who gives me an up-nod from across the room. Popping open one of my beers, I take a sip.

Guys and girls and one self-introduced nonbinary person come up to me throughout the evening. They give me drinks because Lucky tells them it’s my birthday, and they make small talk. Or, at least, they try. They never stick around long when they realize I’m not talking back. Lucky comes over at one point to apologize to me, but it’s not his fault. Still, he’s never far off, and his eyes find me often.

It’s somewhere around my fourth beer—I lost count of shots—when a guy shows up and attaches himself to Lucky’s side. Lucky welcomes it, smiling and laughing along as the guy dips his head to Lucky’s ear, saying something charming, it would seem. His palm slides low on Lucky’s back, his hold possessive. Familiar.

My hands clench into fists.

Lucky introduces us before long, his cheeks a little flushed from drinking. “El, this is Andrew.”

“Ah, the best friend,” Andrew says, his arm tucked around Lucky’s waist. He smiles at me, but his gaze isn’t friendly.

I tip my head in a nod.

“So Lucky tells me you’re a corn farmer,” the guy says, taking a swig of his beer. His thumb sneaks under Lucky’s shirt, and he grins a little wider when he sees me watching. “What’s that like?”

I shrug, and he narrows his eyes.

“It’s hard work,” Lucky fills in for me. “A lot of physical labor.”

“Is that why your friend is built like a brick house?” Andrew asks.

Lucky snorts a little. “No, that’s just El.”

Andrew’s eyes run over me, but it’s nothing like the way he looks at Lucky. “You play football?” he asks.

I grunt, and Lucky cracks a smile. He knows I couldn’t care less about sports. Andrew, though, bristles, looking between the two of us.

“What?” he asks. “Is that a no?”

“Ellis doesn’t play football,” Lucky answers for me.

“What, he can’t speak for himself?” Andrew tosses back.

Lucky stiffens. “Don’t be a dick.”

Andrew turns away from me, bending low to say something in Lucky’s ear. I can’t make out the words, but Lucky rolls his eyes. It mollifies me some, but when Andrew’s lips travel downward, pressing to Lucky’s neck and Lucky’s eyes slip closed, I have to step away.

My heart is pounding when I climb up the ladder to Lucky’s loft. His and his roommate’s beds are up on a platform built over the room, which allows for more standing space but makes for tight sleeping quarters. I stoop low, slipping onto Lucky’smattress and rolling until I’m tucked up beside the wall. I don’t think anyone saw me leave.

I stare up at the ceiling as the sounds of the party continue below. There’s a mark in the plaster over my head that looks almost like a windmill, and I trace the shape with the tip of my finger. My world spins just a little, and for a moment, I imagine I’m one of those stars Lucky captured with his camera.

He won’t be here much longer. He’s graduating next year, and then he’ll be gone. He stayed for college out of guilt. Obligation. A fact that never ceases to make my gut tighten. But soon, he won’t have an excuse. He’ll have his degree. He’ll be ready to chase his dreams. And me? I’ll still be here, tethered loosely to my friend no matter where he goes.

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