The shrill ring of the landline cut through the Risling household like a blade, sharp and sudden. Kleo sighed and tossed his soccer ball to the corner of the room before grabbing the receiver.

“Hello?”

Static. Then—“Kleo!”

He didn’t even need to ask. “Lola,” he muttered, already regretting picking up.

Across the house, a soft click echoed. His younger brother had picked up the other line. Great. Now the whole house could eavesdrop.

“Don’t hang up on me again,” Lola whined through the line, her voice already sounding tipsy

“You called me six times.”

“Because you said maybe about tonight,” she slurred. “And maybe means yes, and yes means you're coming with me.”

He leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling the phone between his cheek and shoulder “Lola, it’s a school night.”

“God, you sound like my mom. Just come for a bit. You won’t regret it.”

He would. He always did.

The last party ended with someone spray-painting his jacket and another guy accusing him of stealing his girlfriend’s drink. The one before that had Lola passed out in the neighbor’s backyard while he wandered through sprinklers looking for her

“You always say that,” Kleo muttered.

“And you always show up.” Her voice was smug, like she already knew the answer.

From the hallway, his brother shouted into the line, “Don’t go, Kleo! She’s a trainwreck!”

“Shut up, Micah!” Kleo yelled back, pressing a hand over the receiver.

A pause. Then Lola laughed “Tell Micah I said hi!~ love that brat! Mwah”

He rolled his eyes. “You're going to ditch me again.”

“Nooo,” she drawled. “I swear on... my last bottle of Jack.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“I’ll be good. Promise.”

He hesitated. Every part of him knew he should say no. Coach already warned him about missing another morning practice, and his other friends—Nate, especially—told him she was dragging him down.

But he knew Lola. The girl who used to sneak into his backyard when her dad was shouting at home. The one who cried when his dog died and bought him a new soccer ball.. fine.