by Sara Saedi
As soon as the Daltons arrived, Micah retreated to a corner of the roof and scrolled through his phone. Some of their friends hung back, not entirely sure what form of greeting would be appropriate under such unhappy circumstances. But Joshua’s smile instantly put them at ease.
“I am gonna miss you all so much when I’m doing hard time,” he called out, “except for you, Evan. Three years of not having to look at that tragic mug is what I like to call a silver lining.”
Evan was Joshua’s friend and biggest rival. He was the sophomore class vice president and with Joshua going to juvie, he’d get to slide into his position as president.
“What do you say we ditch this party, Dalton, and get you a teardrop tattoo?” Evan replied.
“The night is young,” Joshua answered. “Anything could happen.”
Wylie was pulled in a million different directions as she moved her way into the party. She stopped to say hello to Kendra and Jess, who were in the middle of discussing a new Broadway show they’d just seen. They were always trying to get Wylie to audition for the school musical, but no one seemed to believe it when she said she couldn’t carry a tune unless she was doing karaoke.
“Catch!” One of Wylie’s friends from her art class tossed a piece of colored chalk at Wylie, and she caught it with one hand. A few of the artsy kids from Harper Academy were drawing a mural in her brother’s honor. Wylie added a quick sketch of their brownstone, then excused herself to say hello to Abigail, Joshua’s girlfriend, the Jackie to his JFK.
“How are you holding up?” Wylie asked.
“As well as could be expected,” Abigail answered, slurring her words slightly. Abigail hardly ever drank, but right now she smelled like she’d taken a bath in tequila.
“We’ll get through it,” Wylie said, trying to convince them both. Abigail left to occupy her usual spot by Joshua’s side, and Wylie moved off to find Vanessa and the rest of the girls from the basketball team.
“This party sucks,” Vanessa said as soon as she saw her.
“No, it doesn’t. Everyone’s having a blast,” Wylie replied.
“But no one’s dancing.”
Wylie shrugged. “Never fear, bestie. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s get a dance party started.”
Wylie grabbed a bottled water from the bar and confidently moved to the center of the rooftop. She started dancing by herself, half expecting Vanessa and the rest of the team to join in. When they didn’t budge, Wylie took Vanessa’s hand.
“Come on! Dance!” she urged.
“Everyone’s going to think we’re total weirdos, dancing by ourselves!” Vanessa said, trying to pull out of her grip.
“Who cares?” Wylie did a few ridiculous dance moves and Vanessa finally joined in.
“You’re crazy, Wylie.”
“That’s why you love me!”
Within a few minutes, the dance floor filled up. A few of Wylie’s friends abandoned their circle to dance with their boyfriends, but none of the guys from school approached her. A few of them lingered nearby, hoping she’d accidentally dance with them, but that tactic never worked on Wylie.
After at least an hour on the dance floor, Wylie felt a pair of eyes burn into the back of her neck. Someone was staring at her. Just keep dancing, she told herself. She never liked the way some people ogled her, like they were trying to decide if her glossy hair, enormous green eyes, and pronounced dimples meant she was a stuck-up bitch. Too many guys stared her down, then never even bothered to walk over to say hello.
“Don’t look, but there’s some guy checking you out,” Vanessa teased, confirming Wylie’s suspicion. She didn’t look.
“Do we know him? Does he go to our school?”
Vanessa glanced at the guy, then reported her findings.
“I don’t think so. He looks older and he’s ridiculously hot. He’s sitting with Micah.”
“My brother Micah?”
Vanessa nodded. “He has not taken his eyes off you.”
Maybe it was from all the dancing or the bizarre weather, but Wylie felt herself getting hot. Her entire body went still, suddenly too self-conscious to move to the music. No one had ever stared at her so intensely. She could feel her resolve slipping as the desire to turn around started to get the best of her.
“Oh my God. He’s coming over here!” Vanessa nearly shrieked.
Now Wylie couldn’t help herself. She looked over her shoulder and glanced back at her admirer. He wasn’t looking at her body, like most guys did; he was focused purely on her eyes. And he was irrefutably beautiful. Not in a movie-star way. More like a work of art, as though someone had drawn every feature and sculpted every limb. His hair looked brown, but as he came closer, she could see it was more auburn. In the fairy tales her dad used to tell her when she was little, all the princesses had auburn locks. She’d tried to put auburn streaks in her hair with henna once, but it just made her brown waves look even darker.
His eyes, still glued to hers, were nearly the same color as his hair. Or maybe they were more hazel—it was dark and he was still too far away to be certain. He had a small scar above his eyebrow and when he smiled at her, she could see that he needed a little dental work, though she barely noticed his teeth behind his full lips.
Vanessa was right, though. He seemed older, and Wylie had a rule about avoiding college guys. Men who couldn’t find someone to date their own age probably had something wrong with them. If he was coming over here to hit on her, she’d ask him where he went to school and once the answer was Columbia or NYU or Fordham, she’d tell him she and her friends were having a girls’ night and ignore him for the rest of the party.
After a series of slow, deliberate steps, he stopped right on the periphery of where Wylie and her friends were dancing. He gave her a small wave and she acknowledged the greeting with a polite smile. She expected him to come closer and say hello, but instead he simply nodded his head back, gesturing for her to leave with him. He’s definitely older, she thought. No guy her age had that kind of confidence. But she didn’t like being summoned.
Before she could contemplate her next move, a few of her girlfriends screamed in excitement as the DJ, a junior at Wylie’s high school, played what Wylie considered her theme song. She’d heard it a million times, but it was one of those few anthems she never got sick of, and all her friends knew it was her favorite. The DJ leaned into his microphone.
“This one goes out to Wylie Dalton from all your fans at Harper Academy. Happy seventeenth birthday, girl.”
Wylie’s friends and the rest of the partygoers drunkenly cheered. A few different male voices yelled, “We love you, Wylie!” She made a face at Vanessa and the rest of her friends. The shout-out was a sweet gesture and normally she would embrace it, but she didn’t want anyone making a fuss over her birthday. Tonight was supposed to be a last hurrah for her brother, not a party for her.
Once the cheers subsided, Wylie allowed herself to glance at the guy, but as soon as she looked at him, he took two steps back. It was his way of telling her she was running out of time. If she didn’t make a move soon, he would leave and she might kick herself for the rest of her life. She took a long gulp of her water, handed the bottle to Vanessa, and walked over to him. His gaze was still too intense for her, so she focused on his chin. It was perfectly chiseled with little bits of auburn stubble all over it. She figured it was the safest facial feature to keep her eyes fixed on while she steadied her nerves, but even his chin got the best of her. Wylie cleared her throat.
“Didn’t your parents teach you it’s rude to stare?” she asked him.
“No,” he said, smiling. “They never got the chance. They died when I was a little kid.”
Crap. Wylie felt her ears burn. She’d thought she was being brave and flirtatious, but she’d said a mere nine words to him and had already put her foot in her mouth. She looked down
at the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
Wylie quickly turned around to seek refuge back on the dance floor, but the guy reached for her arm and gently grasped it. His fingertips touched the inside of her wrist.
“Didn’t your parents teach you it’s rude to turn your back on people?” he asked.
Wylie laughed. She couldn’t help it.
“No. They turn their backs on everything.”
Vanessa and the rest of her friends called for her from the dance floor, but Wylie knew she wouldn’t be joining them any time soon. She gave them a small wave, then returned her attention to the boy with the auburn hair.
“Wylie. I’m famished.” He said it like they’d known each other all their lives. “What do you say we go get something to eat?”
He must have heard the DJ say her name. Wylie had always liked her name—it was tough and unique and seemed to suit her—but hearing him utter the two syllables made her like it even more. There was nothing but confidence in his voice. Most guys shuffled their feet and kept their hands in their pockets when they spoke to Wylie, but this one was an entirely different creature, and she wasn’t sure how to respond.
“I don’t even know you,” she finally replied.
“Which is exactly why I’d like to have dinner with you. So we can get to know each other.”
Wylie hesitated. She was supposed to spend tonight with her brothers. What kind of sister would she be if she ditched them for a hot, mysterious stranger?
“Tell me your name first.”
“Phinn,” he answered. He extended his hand to her. She took it. His palms felt a little dry and callused, but his handshake was firm and gentle at the same time.
“Okay, Phinn. Thanks for the invite, but I can’t leave my brothers.”
“That’s very considerate, but I’m sure they’ll be fine without you—take a look.”
Wylie looked around. Micah was sitting on the ledge of the roof, preoccupied by his phone. He was probably playing a video game, like he always did at parties. She spotted Joshua and Abigail hanging out near the bar, in the thick of an argument. Wylie could tell by the way her brother’s girlfriend was leaning against the bar that she was wasted.
“It seems like they need their alone time. Come with me, just for a little while. I promise it’ll be an adventure.”
“How old are you?” she asked him, suspicious.
“Seventeen. Same age as you.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him. She knew she was taking a risk by leaving with a stranger, but Brooklyn was still relatively busy at this hour. Wherever they went to eat, it would be well lit, and there would be plenty of people close enough to hear her scream. Plus, if he tried anything, she had a few self-defense moves in her back pocket, and pepper spray in her purse. Wylie wasn’t afraid to gouge someone’s eyes out if left with no other choice.
“You seem older.”
“So do you. What do you know? We already have something in common.”
“Hold that thought,” Wylie said.
She hurried over to Vanessa. “Hot guy and I are gonna get some food. Text me in two hours if I’m not back.”
“Nicely done,” Vanessa said. “Be safe.”
Wylie turned back toward Phinn, but he was waiting by the stairwell, as though he already knew she was coming with him.
SHE ASSUMED HE’D HAVE A FAVORITE THAI PLACE IN the area or a quaint little wine bar; this was the last spot in the world Wylie had expected him to take her. The lights were far too bright and the restaurant was nearly empty, apart from a few homeless people. She was probably five or six years old the last time she’d eaten here. These days, even when she was out late and starving, she opted to go home and whip up a grilled cheese sandwich instead of heading to their neighborhood McDonald’s. But apparently, the boy with the auburn hair who went by the name of Phinn had a weakness for fast food.
She sat at a booth, composing a text to her friends that the weirdo from the party had taken her on a hot date to Mickey D’s, but before she could hit Send, he returned with five happy meals and a goofy smile on his face. Wylie’s decision to quit drinking was turning out to be a big mistake tonight. She wasn’t sure how long she could sit across from him, completely sober, under the fluorescent lights of a fast-food franchise.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Phinn said, still grinning. He opened up each happy meal and carefully placed containers of Chicken McNuggets, sweet-and-sour sauce, and French fries and several cheeseburgers on the table. The smell of the food took Wylie back to simpler times, but she wouldn’t allow herself to give way to her hunger. They’d watched a documentary about the meat industry in science class a couple years before, and she was still traumatized by it. Phinn, on the other hand, had no qualms about indulging in greasy food and clearly wasn’t shy about eating in front of strangers. Sloppy eating would normally be a turn-off for Wylie, but on a guy this handsome, the loud chewing and the ketchup dripping from his mouth was oddly humanizing, and felt like a sign that he was comfortable around her.
“Are you nervous?” he asked, talking with his mouth full.
“No,” Wylie lied. “Why?”
“You’re fidgeting.”
Wylie quickly sat on her hands, hoping it would help her keep still.
“And you’re not eating.” He said it less like an accusation and more like an observation. Wylie tried to respond without sounding judgmental.
“I’m not really into fast food,” she answered.
“I know it’s not healthy. But you have to admit, it tastes pretty damn good.”
Phinn picked up a chicken nugget, dipped it into the sweet-and-sour sauce, and waved it an inch from her face.
“Come on, take a little bite. You know you want to,” he said flirtatiously.
“Really, I’m okay.”
“You’re totally grossed out right now, aren’t you? I don’t eat this way all the time. They don’t have McDonald’s where I’m from, so I try to get it every time I’m in the city. It’s kind of a tradition.”
Wylie stared at him, confused.
“Where could you possibly live that doesn’t have a McDonald’s? They’re everywhere.”
“I’m from a very small town.” Phinn brought the chicken nugget even closer to her lips. “Come on, one bite. Please. It would mean a lot to me,” he teased.
Wylie opened her mouth and let him feed her. He was right: it tasted delicious. The bite reminded her brain and her belly that the only drawback to skipping dinner with her parents was that there was no food in her system. So Wylie helped Phinn polish off every last bite of the feast he’d laid out on the table—the fries, the burgers, even the signature apple pies.
As soon as Phinn had eaten his last pie, he wiped his hands on his pants and leaned close to her.
“Wylie.” He spoke her name with such gravity, like he was about to tell her he was dying, and this was his last night on earth.
“Yes?”
“I want to know everything about you.”
It was easily the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to her, even if it was some line he’d used on countless girls before tonight.
“Where do you want me to start?” she asked.
“Tell me about your family.”
Before she could say a word, the fluorescent lights in the restaurant began to flicker, and one of the homeless guys yelled that he wanted a free refill on his soda.
“You want to get out of here? The present company’s not exactly conducive to sharing your life story,” Phinn said.
Wylie nodded. Phinn put a hand on the small of her back as they walked through the exit and onto a now-peaceful street in Williamsburg. The cold draft and absence of bright lighting felt like a huge relief once their feet hit the sidewalk.
“All right, start at the beginning,” Phinn said. And so she began by
telling him about her parents.
“When my parents were young, my dad was this fancy investment banker and my mom was this crazy artist. They kind of met by accident. He was tagging along with a friend to her going-away party. She was supposed to leave New York to study art in California, but they fell in love and she changed all her plans.”
“She stayed in New York for him?”
“Yup. They had this whirlwind romance and got married after a few months. And instead of having kids, they decided they would travel the world. My mom got knocked up with me in Paris. It was their first trip together. They’ve never said it outright, but I’m pretty sure I was an accident,” Wylie said, sticking closely to the truth for now.
“A happy accident,” Phinn was quick to add.
“Depends on the day. Anyway, my dad always said my brothers owe their lives to me. I was such a sweet and easy baby, they decided to have more kids. So my mom never went to art school and stayed at home with us instead. My whole life, I’ve never even seen her pick up a paintbrush.”
“Does she miss it?” Phinn asked.
“I wouldn’t know.”
From there, the conversation turned to her brothers.
“They’re my best friends,” Wylie explained. “I would do anything for them. Joshua’s the smart one. It’s actually a little annoying. He’s a year younger, but people always think he’s the oldest, just because he’s the most responsible. He actually wants to be president someday.”
Phinn let out a small laugh.
“I know it sounds ridiculous coming from most people,” Wylie told him, “but not from Joshua. When he tells people who know him that he’s going to run for office, they don’t pat him on the head and tell him he’s adorable, they say they’ll vote for him. He’s like a young JFK. And you should meet his girlfriend, Abigail. They’ve been together since their freshman year in high school and I swear, she’ll probably be First Lady someday.”
Wylie was tempted to leave out the entire story about the hit-and-run and the fact that her brother was going to be sentenced tomorrow, but it felt like too big of an omission. And she was glad she’d given Phinn the bullet points, because he admitted to reading something about it online. But when he made more inquiries about what had caused the accident, she didn’t tell him that the whole thing was her fault. The only other people who knew that part of the story were her brothers.
