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I turn left, and he immediately turns right. I go into the backyard, and he suddenly volunteers to help refill ice. I go into the kitchen, and he’s magically announcing that everyone should help decorate skeletons to set out for trick-or-treating.

It’s the most fun I’ve had with a group of people in a long, long time.

He finally disappears into a bathroom, and I’m left staring at the closed, white door with my arms crossed. I’m not pouting, even if my face feels like it’s trying to.

All I want for him to do is finish his fucking sentence he started in the kitchen. It’s not fair to start something then leave me hanging.

That’s sabotage.

Earth-science-girl walks over, looks from me to the bathroom, then starts pounding her fist on the door.

“Beck! What did you do to our goddamn duckling?”

Wait.

When did I become a duckling?

I mean, I’ll take it—I like bread too.

“We had a misunderstanding, Maya,” he shouts from the other side.

She looks back at me. “Did he try to get in your pants?”

“Is that normal or…?”

“Yeah.” She motions to the door with one hand. “I mean… It’s Beck. We all love him, but he’s definitely got some—some vibes.”

What vibes?

The only vibe I’ve ever gotten from him is “bro would climb into a live pumpkin and put up curtains if he could.” I can appreciate the weird, even if I don’t get it myself. But he’s never come across as slutty.

Come to think of it, he’s never brought anyone back to our room.

I slide down against the wall next to the door and pull my knees to my chest. Earth-science-girl hands me another cup of punch and wanders out the back door to answer her cell.

The faucet turns on, running at full blast.

Five minutes pass.

Then ten.

I finish the third—fourth? fifth?—cup of punch and crush the red plastic cup in my hand, licking my lips. I can’t taste the alcohol anymore. It’s just citrusy red fruit, heavy on the “tropical.”

He’s not coming out anytime soon, and I’m so bored I could fall asleep.

I hold onto the wall as I stand, waiting for the room to stop spinning like a carousel. Someone turns up the music even louder. Pressing my ear against the door, I have half a sentence formed in my head—

Then I hear it.

Short, quiet gasps inside the bathroom. It sounds like panting. It’s so close that he must be right there, leaning against the other side of the door. After a second, it changes into a groan. Muffled. He put his hand over his mouth, I think. Trying to stay quiet.

Is that why he’s been sidestepping me? Did I make him so horny he had to go in the bathroom to jack off?

Wow.

I’m honored.

But he’s not out here where I can ask, and I’m not in there where I can help. Which circles back to the biggest issue: I’m still bored. “Crowd” Ira wouldn’t knock on the door and ask Beckett to unlock it—that’d probably horrify “him.”