I set Yam down and move into the living room, where her friend Blair is on the couch, wearing flannel PJ bottoms and oversized fuzzy slippers, an orange football jersey completing her outfit. Her ebony skin gleams in the halogen ceiling lights, and she waves a beer at me as I set my backpack down by the breakfast bar. I’ve met Blair before, and she’s laid-back and cool. Melody once told me that nothing ever fazes her, and I believe it. She’s six months younger than me but seems like she’s in her twenties, with a self-possession well beyond her years. “Hey, Blair,” I say, looking at the bag of Reese’s on the table next to a bulging sack of M&Ms. There are three empty Miller bottles sitting near the edge – Melody’s mom doesn’t mind her drinking as long as she doesn’t get behind the wheel. “Sage, how’s it going?” “All good.” Melody explodes into the room behind me, her energy preceding her like a sonic shockwave. “She’s only like with the hottest guy on the planet.”
