Sigma Alpha Epsilon doesn't look like a fraternity house. It's a modern white home with near-invisible greek letters decorating the second story exterior. A thick path leads from the street to the front door, where two boys lean against the entrance. As I hand the taxi driver some cash, I crane my neck toward the house. It's oddly quiet, the music audible, but just barely.

I slide out of the cab and stand at the end of the walkway. One of the boys raises a hand in my direction, but I feel too awkward to return the gesture. I remain at the curb and silently check my phone. Rebecca hasn't answered any of my texts or calls. Most likely, that means her phone is on silent. A small part of me, however, fears that she has been ignoring me on purpose.

"You coming up?" asks the boy who waved. He flashes a smile and a matching pair of dimples. "We don't bite, I promise."

Again, I feel like I should respond, but I don't. Something about the greek system makes me uncomfortable, especially the frats. They seem sex-craved and heartless, too charming to be believed. I glance over my shoulder, longing for the taxi to reappear. When it doesn't, I take pseudo-confident strides to the front porch.

The waving boy asks a few questions, mostly about whether I'm already hammered, and then, he pops open the door.

"Have a good time," says the other boy. "You'll find everyone downstairs."

It seems odd to enter a house that belongs to people I've never met. The air is stagnant and smelly, about thirty times worse than my own dorm. A few people linger on the main floor, but a pulsing beat radiates from the downstairs. My heart winds up in my chest as I head down the steps, and when I reach the bottom door, it releases in a whirlwind of erratic pulses.

The music amplifies as I push into the basement, and my vision is stolen by a flashing strobe light. One moment, I am surrounded by nearly one hundred people. The next, I am alone in darkness and sound. People. Darkness. People. Darkness. I move forward like the undead, arms outstretched, legs stiff. My feet stick in puddles of beer or sweat or something undeniably gooey.

"Rebecca?" I call, but of course, she doesn't answer. Not even I hear my voice.

My fingers start to quiver as I mill my way through the crowd of grinding dancers. Every breath is a lump of clay, until soon, I'm barely breathing. I should've stayed home, should've watched the stupid movie with stupid Wesley. Sure, it would've been miserable, but it would've been better than this. Better than horny people rubbing against each other.

A hand closes over my shoulder. I scream, loud enough that a few people turn to give me cautious glances. The hand disappears from my shoulder, instead moving down to my elbow. I wriggle sideways and try to work my way back into the pulsing crowd, but the hand pulls me backward.

I finally turn, opposite arm raised in a clutched fist. But it isn't a perverted or aggressive guy, it's just Lex. He drops his hold of my arm, instantly putting both hands above his head. His mouth is moving, but it's too quiet to hear him.

"Lex," I say.

He shakes his head and points to his ear before bending down to my level.

"You scared me," I shout.

"Sorry," he says. His breath is warm on my neck, sending a tickle down the length of my spine.

"How'd you find me?" I ask.

"Your hair," he says, pointing at it. Then, he gestures toward the mob of dancers. "You wanna dance?"

I look out at the grinding girls and boys, trying to imagine myself among them. Even stranger, I try to imagine me dancing with Lex. His lean arms wrapped around my waist, my back pressed against his chest, his lips tickling my ear. It would be beautiful, even though we'd be surrounded by masses of drunken partiers. I almost say yes, almost dare to take his hand and lead him to the dance floor myself.

When I turn back to Lex, his large brown eyes are filled with intense desperation. What's worse, they flicker down to my lips.

"I think I need some air," I say. My knees shake as I move away from Lex and head back for the stairs.

I literally push through people, separating them as they rub against each other. My body tingles with anxiety—I should've said yes. I should've just forgotten about the past for thirty seconds.

My sandals stick to the wooden steps, slapping with the basement's residue. I jog up the stairs, breathing easier as the music trails behind me. A man passes me at the top of the stairs, but then, I am alone. I lean against the banister, doing a breathing exercise my therapist taught me.

"Addie?"

I jump, cringing my neck until a sharp pain runs through it. Lex stands beside me, his lips partially opened like they're ready to say something.

"Sorry, I just—"

"Parties aren't your thing," finishes Lex. He runs a hand over the top of his head. "I get it."

"Yeah. It was too loud, too many people," I say. And there was too good of a chance I'd lead you on.

"You wanna head outside?" asks Lex. "They've got a nice porch out back. You can see the stars and everything."

"You don't have to stay with me," I say quickly. "You can go back to the party, if you want."

"Oh," says Lex. He shifts from one foot to the other.

I fidget my fingers, feeling the anxiety drip into my stomach, creating a puddle of tension.

"Or you can show me," I say. "I'd feel like a weirdo by myself."

The left side of Lex's mouth tilts into a smile. He nods toward the house's kitchen, wordlessly leading the way. When we get to the backyard, he holds open the door for me. The warm night breeze surrounds my body, and I realize I'm sweating, the cool wind chilling my skin.

"Are you cold?" asks Lex. He plucks at his T-shirt. "I'd offer you my coat, but I'm not wearing one."

I laugh. "No, I'm fine. Thanks for the false offer anyway."

He smiles and sits on the porch's top step. I follow him, making sure to leave a couple of inches between us. Still, I can feel the heat radiating from his body, and a wave of desperation claws into my gut. I want to know how it would feel to lean against him, to lay my head on his chest.

"I love looking at the stars," says Lex. He tips back his head and smiles. "They're just so interesting and beautiful, you know?"

I drop my head, but honestly, stars have never held an endless fascination for me, not like words do. They're just dots of light—of course, I don't say that to Lex.

"Yeah, they're very pretty," I say.

"If I wasn't going to be a doctor, I'd want to be an astronomer," says Lex with a sharp nod. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him staring at me. "I think that's what I'd really want to do."

"I thought you would've studied English?"

"Nah—well, maybe." He pauses. "I don't know, I'm not really good at making up my mind."

"So you let others make up your mind for you," I say. "That makes sense."

Lex makes an awkward sound at the back of his throat, and suddenly, I realize how rude my comment was. I look at him, but he's looking away, back up at the stars.

"Sorry, that came out wrong," I say.

"No, that's right," says Lex. "But it'll be good. I'll like being a doctor, I think."

I rub my lips together and raise my chin once again. We sit in silence, letting the distant sound of music fill the discomfort between us. When the music pauses and there is only quiet laughter from downstairs, I clear my throat.

"What's your favorite thing about stars?" I ask. "Like, why do you like them so much?"

"That's easy," says Lex. His shoulders loosen as he speaks. "I mean, just looking at them, you can tell how much is out there. We're tiny in comparison to the rest of the galaxy, insignificant, really."

"And you like that?" I ask with a nervous laugh. I don't like thinking about my inconsequential existence—it makes my stomach quell with nerves.

"Yeah," says Lex, and he smiles at me. "There's so much pressure to be perfect, to make yourself stand out from the masses. But in the scheme of things, you'll never be perfect and you'll never stand out. Because at the end of the world, none of us will be remembered."

At first, I'm sure he's talking about me and my craving for perfection. I'm sure he must know about my darkest secrets, the ones that burrow even deeper than mental illness: the ones that caused the mental illness. But then, I see him crinkle his nose, like he's trying not to cry.

I realize maybe he's trying to convince himself he can be an astronomer instead of a doctor. It's my opportunity to tell him that he should do whatever he wants, be whomever he wants. If only I wasn't such a timid, anxious person, I would. Instead, I clasp my hands together and gaze up at the stars, wondering if we're truly as insignificant as he believes.