The house feels too quiet when the others are gone. Usually, there’s music, shouting, the sound of someone laughing too loud or burning something in the kitchen. Now, it’s just me, the TV, and the dull ache in my leg.

I should be out there tonight — the cheerleaders are throwing another one of their weekend parties. If I weren’t stuck with this injury, I’d be at the center of it, drink in hand, pretending I didn’t care about the game I’m missing tomorrow.

Instead, I’m stuck here, flipping through channels I don’t even watch.

Then I hear soft footsteps from upstairs.

She comes down quietly, like she’s trying not to disturb the air around her. My best friend’s girlfriend’s friend — the one who’s been staying here for a few days. She always moves like she’s apologizing for existing. Keeps her head down, books in her arms, never talks unless someone talks first.

She looks surprised to see me still awake. The kitchen light spills over her face — tired, but still kind of beautiful in that quiet way.

I tilt my head toward her. “You’re not going to the party?” I asked her, she was just wearing oversized clothes and her messy hair.