I had two things on my to-do list—homework and escaping this godforsaken house party. Between the bassline and laughter bleeding into my hiding spot in the living room, I could barely think, much less calculate shit. All these rich kids in Jeremy Wu’s kitchen were clearly indifferent to passing Chemistry or turning eventual high school diplomas into big-girl paychecks. And now my lab notes had straight-up vanished from my backpack as if they’d grown wings.

I paused the K-pop and tugged out an earbud. Ten-odd juniors orbited the kitchen, weed in the air. Arguello High’s best and brightest had taken a break from their afternoon study circle for heavy petting and light refreshments, like Covid had been a bad dream. I’d been playing the good girl, laboring away under this comically large window since before the impromptu house party, my backpack never leaving my sight. So where the hell were my notes? This lab was twenty percent of my grade.

Snagging my purse, I slid from the sectional and angled past the piano to a lofty entryway bigger than my bedroom.

Matt ducked from the kitchen wearing a So Say We All tee and a look of concern. He filled the doorway with his linebacker-turned-teddy-bear physique, prominent brow smeared with … Was that icing? “Hey, Ko. You good?”

“I can’t do this,” I said, kneeling on the tile to dig through a sea of shoes, graphing calculators, and puddled jackets. It was like an entire math club had been raptured.

“Do what?”

“This.” I motioned at the tiered living room, teens silhouetted against suburban sprawl stretching to the bay. No way I could enjoy a party with so much homework. It didn’t help that my idea of a good time was a library book haul and a polyester comforter. “I lost my notebook.”

He touched my arm. “So copy mine.”

I stomped into my thrift store boots, tucking back a lock of brown, shoulder-length split ends. “You’re sweet, but you’re also failing Chemistry.”

Matt gave me a mock scowl, his eyes twinkling. “Rude.”

Unless I found my lab notes, I was guaranteed to join him. Grades were the key to any college even reading my plucky application story about testing into California’s top public high school from the wrong side of the tracks. I saw how hard Mom toiled for scraps, her master’s degree wasted since she left that shady tech job for retail. It was the two of us against the world, so I’d have to support us—because she really couldn’t.

“Jeremy Wu found his dad’s scotch.” Matt gestured at the kitchen. “You need this. You’ve been hella stressed.”

Sometimes it felt like Matt was the only person in the world who cared besides my own mother. He’d probably dragged me here so I wouldn’t become a total hermit. Or maybe I was just his unwitting wingwoman for some boy he was crushing on. But ever since I’d woken up wearing someone else’s earrings at that warehouse party last summer, I’d laid off the substances and doubled down on studying. “Thanks, but I’d prefer to retain control of my bodily functions.”

“Your notes probably just fell outta your bag in that alley when you pulled out your hoodie. You know, on the alleged shortcut to school.”

That was totally it. “You think I could get a ride back there if you’re good to drive? It’s on your way home and everything.”

He threw his hands up, new signatures shimmering on his candy-red wrist cast. “Oh my God, Ko. I’m not a machine. Sometimes I need to let down my hair a little.” He flung imaginary locks over a shoulder, his actual auburn hair reaching his ears at best. “And for the record, officer, I haven’t had a drop. But I’d like to.”

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Matt thought he was the life of the party, the class clown everyone loved. As if their approval mattered. We couldn’t stay though if my notes were sitting in that alley.

I craned up at him beneath the chandelier. “Guess I’ll have to hitchhike. But if I end up in a shallow grave, do me a favor? Put more dirt on top. The raccoons here are bold.”

Another peal of laughter from the kitchen. That was the other thing. These were Chris Garza’s buddies, and they kind of took his side in the whole breakup. Like, was I the bad guy for taking an important fuse from Chris’ car after he’d threatened to leak fake AI nudes of me? Apparently half the high school thought so. Even if Matt, as per tradition, had my back.

“Fine. I’ll drive you. But you owe me a party. Like, a good one, with cupcakes and fire.”

“Thank you.” Matt really was the best. I shrugged on my backpack and led him out into the cul-de-sac, just mansions and Teslas to beat back the late afternoon sun. The neighborhood and its rolling yellow foothills looked down on our mid-sized city; I’m sure its residents did too. The bridge beyond faded into fog halfway across the bay, cars driving into nothing to escape scenic Las Yerbas. On a clear day, you could probably see all the way to San Francisco.

I felt out of place with my faded cutoffs and white girl chicken legs as we boarded Matt’s sister’s RV, grimy alabaster with an Outer Planets Alliance window decal. It was a complete mystery how he afforded the gas for this thing.

Two electro house tracks later, we were back in the alley behind Mission Pizza, the hum of traffic fading with each step. Just trash and lazy graffiti here, another alley intersecting this one. I didn’t need to worry about my safety with Matt around, and I low-key resented it. Like, at seventeen, why should I need someone else’s protection?

My stomach fell when I spotted a single page of my notes on the concrete. I scrabbled around behind a couple dumpsters for the rest, but there was only a fence backed against peeling houses. If someone had found my notebook and thrown it out … I dashed to one of the lidless dumpsters, its rim smeared with pizza sauce. That was pizza sauce, right? I got a noseful of something deeply rotten, my eyes watering, and stood on tiptoes to peer in.

Mostly sealed bags and misfiled wine bottles, maybe a whiff of death and wet dog. Just like the trash we scoured in upscale neighborhoods for all the perfectly pawnable stuff. A rectangular electronic device was perched in the middle—the size of a legal pad but thick as a fist, its corners rounded, an amber LED gleaming in the sun.

“I’m not seeing any notebooks with Property of Ko Scanlan written in glitter pen.” Matt stretched, his cast above his head. “Should I call in the forensics team? There are grades at risk here.”

I wrinkled my nose, showed him my tongue. “Keep talking and your face will be at risk.” I stowed Dad’s watch in my hoodie. Wouldn’t want to scratch it. Then I clambered up the rail and into the dumpster with an echoing thump, careful to avoid the pizza sauce.

The electronic device was cold and smooth under my fingertips, polished stone with a logo of interlocking hexagons, unlike any of Matt’s game systems. A wired controller was plugged into the back.

I buried my nose in my arm and tucked the console into my backpack. Maybe worth something. Mom could use the help with rent, especially since her hours got cut at the one place willing to hire someone without a social security number.

Hoping to unearth my notebook, I shoved aside a trash bag. But the garbage shifted, bags tumbling away—and a body slid into the afternoon sun.

I drew my hands to my chest, sucking in a sharp breath. Fuck me!

Her body was facedown in the trash, a sweep of lopsided hair across familiar slender shoulders. Loose clothes tapered at wrists and ankles like a uniform, charcoal with a faint sheen. Spattered with pizza sauce. She was so small lying there, her bare feet caked with dirt, pale fingers curled like dried-up spiders.

Shit, was she … someone I knew? My heart thundered as I leaned in. But the bag at my feet rolled, the body tumbling back, and her head lolled over, face slashed cheek to jowl.

I bit back the scream rising in my throat—until I saw her empty eyes.

And realized they were my own.