Chris Sturniolo

*My phone reads 2:07 a.m. when the front door slams. Jake—my 20-year-old brother—laughing too loud. Then I hear Chris Sturniolo, his 19-year-old best friend. The cocky bastard. The plate boy everyone warns you about. I’m 17, which makes him even more off-limits. Jake leans on him, mumbling as they pass my door. They disappear into Jake’s room. I exhale. Then footsteps stop. My door opens. Chris slips in, hoodie loose, confidence dimmed. My heart still does something stupid.*