6

"Erin, Erin—wake up! Your boyfriend's at the door!"

The words hit me as soon as I blink my eyes open.

Lucas is hovering over me, grinning like a maniac.

"I don't have a boyfriend," I mutter, dragging the blanket up over my face. "Who is it?"

"Carl's brother," he says before bolting out of the room, his laughter echoing down the hallway.

I groan, roll over, and check my phone. 8:30 AM.

What the hell is he doing here this early?

I throw on a hoodie, pull my hair up, and make my way to the door barefoot. When I open it, Lip's leaning against the railing, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks like he hasn't slept—same gray hoodie, dark jeans, backpack slung over one shoulder.

He eyes me, his mouth twitching at the corners. "You always look this thrilled to see me in the morning?"

"You always show up at people's houses before nine?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

He shrugs. "You wanna skip town?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

He steps a little closer, voice low. "Not like really skip town. Just... blow off the day. I got my brother watching Carl for a few hours. Figured you might wanna ditch your life for a bit."

I hesitate, but then I hear Lucas screaming at the TV from inside and the sound of Conner banging something metal against the kitchen counter.

I grab my shoes. "Let me brush my teeth."

⸻

Fifteen minutes later, we're walking down the street with no real plan. Lip pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offers me one. I shake my head.

"What, too good for a little lung damage?" he teases.

"I just prefer my slow deaths to be emotional, not medical."

He laughs, and for a second, his smile softens. We end up at a busted fence behind an abandoned factory lot—one of those forgotten places kids use to get high or make bad decisions.

Lip glances around and then swings himself up and over the fence. He turns back, smirking. "You coming or are you gonna be boring today?"

I roll my eyes but follow. The metal bites into my palms, but once I'm over, the rush hits—small, but real.

We climb up to the roof of the building using an old fire escape. It's sketchy, but the view is decent—rows of rooftops, a water tower, and the morning haze settling over the South Side.

"This is your idea of fun?" I ask, breathless from the climb.

He shrugs, sitting on the edge and pulling something from his bag. A small bottle of shitty vodka.

"I didn't say it was healthy fun."

He takes a swig and holds it out. I hesitate, then take it. The burn makes my eyes water.

We sit in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth.

"You always show up at girls' doors with half a plan and a death wish?" I ask, teasing.

"Nah," he says, glancing at me. "Just the ones that seem like they need it."

There's something in the way he says it. Not flirtatious exactly, but something closer—like he sees me, maybe more than he should.

I turn away first, focusing on the skyline.

"Thanks for coming to get me," I say quietly.

He nods. "Anytime."

We don't talk much after that. But we don't need to. The silence is easy.

Dangerous, maybe. But easy.By the time we reach the bottom of the vodka bottle, we're both warm and a little too loud.

Lip's telling some story about a fight at the Alibi—arms waving, words slurring just slightly—and I'm doubled over laughing, sitting cross-legged on the rooftop like it's a fucking picnic.

"Okay," I say between giggles, "but you didn't even win the fight, right?"

"I technically didn't lose," he says, gesturing with one hand and nearly tipping over. He catches himself, barely. "Guy broke his hand punching me in the face. So who's the real loser?"

I throw a bottle cap at him. "Still sounds like it was you, dumbass."

He grins, eyes locked on mine a second too long. "You like dumbasses, though. Admit it."

I shake my head, but I don't say no.

The rooftop is spinning a little when I finally lie back against the tarred gravel. The summer heat's already burning through the clouds. Somewhere below us, a dog barks. A siren screams down the street.

"I don't wanna go home yet," I say.

"Then don't."

We're quiet again. Then Lip suddenly sits up.

"You ever stolen anything?"

I squint at him. "Like... what?"

"Like... I dunno. Something dumb. Something that makes no sense but feels right."

I blink at him. "Are you asking me if I want to commit a crime with you right now?"

"Absolutely."

My head lolls to the side. "What kind of crime?"

⸻

Twenty minutes later, we're sprinting out of a corner gas station with a bag of junk food, two off-brand Slurpees, and a stolen pack of scratch-off lottery tickets.

"Go! Go! Go!" Lip yells, laughing as he nearly faceplants trying to clear the curb.

"You said you were distracting the clerk!" I yell back.

"I did!" he shouts, panting. "I asked her about propane! You were supposed to be fast!"

We don't stop running until we're several blocks away, ducking behind a dumpster behind a liquor store.

Lip collapses to the ground, breathless and laughing, and I follow, collapsing next to him in a heap of wheezing and Slurpee foam.

"That was the dumbest thing I've ever done," I gasp, tearing open a bag of chips.

He rips open a scratch-off. "And yet... thrilling."

"Thrilling my ass," I mutter. "We're gonna be in jail before noon."

"You'd be a terrible cellmate," he says. "I'd have to trade my toothpaste for peace and quiet."

I elbow him, but I'm smiling.

He scratches off one of the tickets and pauses. "Holy shit."

"What?"

"I think we just won fifty bucks."

I grab it from him. "No way."

He grins, eyes still bleary but lit up with something wild. "Breakfast's on me, partner in crime."

I stare at the ticket, then at him. My stomach's still twisted from the vodka and nerves, but it feels good. Light. Like I haven't felt in years.

"God," I say, slumping back against the dumpster, "we're idiots."

"Yeah," he says, leaning back beside me. "But you're smiling."

I try to wipe the grin off my face.

It doesn't work.

We eventually end up in an abandoned parking lot.

We sit in silence for a while, the joint nearly gone, backs resting against the rusted hood of a dead car. The buzz is mellow now, slow and warm, but not enough to dull everything.

Lip takes the last drag and flicks the ash into the gravel. "You've been quiet."

I shrug, pulling my knees up to my chest. "I got some shitty news yesterday. Just... didn't know how to say it."

He waits. Doesn't push. Just leans back, arms resting loosely over his knees like he's got all day to wait.

"My scholarship's gone," I say finally, eyes fixed on the weeds pushing through a crack in the pavement. "Full ride. Poof. Gone."

He turns toward me. "What? Why?"

"Something about 'inconsistent financial records.'" I mimic the air quotes with a bitter laugh. "They flagged my FAFSA. Said the info didn't match—like utility bills or address stuff. I don't even know. I guess my dad forgot to list something or lied. Doesn't really matter now."

"Can't you fix it? Appeal?"

"They already gave my spot away. Waitlist now. So maybe next year. Maybe never." My voice breaks at the end, and I hate it. Hate how small I sound.

Lip doesn't say anything at first. Just sits there, staring out at the sky like he's trying to punch a hole through it.

"That's bullshit," he mutters eventually. "You worked for that."

"Yeah," I whisper. "I did."

We sit in it together—anger, disappointment, the kind of hopelessness that's too old for our age.

"I don't want to be stuck here," I say. "But it feels like every time I try to leave, the world just... drags me back."

Lip glances over at me, and for once there's no sarcasm, no smirk, no smartass comeback. Just honesty.

"Yeah," he says. "I get that."

His hand brushes against mine. Not grabbing, not holding—just there. Close. Barely touching.

But I don't pull away.

And neither does he.

His hand brushes mine, and for a second, everything stills.

The noise in my head quiets. The heat of the day fades. It's just us—two kids sitting in the ruins of a busted city, holding onto something small and fleeting and kind of real.

Then—

"LIP! LIP, YOU UP HERE?"

We both jump, the moment snapped clean in half by the sound of Carl's voice echoing through the lot.

Lip groans and leans his head back against the car. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Carl's voice gets closer. "LIP! I swear if you ditched me again—"

"I didn't ditch you!" Lip yells back, voice strained. "I said I'd be gone a couple hours!"

Carl appears a second later, pushing through a hole in the fence like a tiny, pissed-off gremlin. He stops when he sees me, eyebrows lifting. "Ohhh."

Lip rubs a hand down his face. "Don't."

Carl grins. "You guys makin' out or something?"

"No," I say quickly, standing and brushing off my jeans. My heart's still racing, but for a totally different reason now. "Definitely not."

Lip shoots Carl a look. "What's the emergency?"

"Liam tried to eat a battery. Fiona's losing her shit. She told me to find you and bring you back before she sets the whole house on fire."

Lip sighs. "Great. Just great."

Carl looks between us, smirking. "You gonna say goodbye to your not-girlfriend or what?"

"I will literally leave you in this field," Lip mutters.

Carl shrugs and starts back the way he came. "Whatever. Just hurry up."

When he's out of earshot, Lip looks at me. "Sorry. That's my life."

"It's fine," I say, trying not to sound disappointed. "Go. Family stuff."

He hesitates. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I lie. "I'm good."

He lingers a second too long, like he wants to say something else, but then just nods and takes off after Carl.

I stand there for a few moments after they're gone, the joint ash still on the ground, the warmth of his hand still ghosting across mine.

The moment's gone.

But it happened.

And that's something.