While Finn tried to chase the people out of the living room, I took a stroll to the back part of his house. To my surprise, there was a small group of people surrounding the bench on the left side of the pool, and at the center of them was Michael, who was singing and playing his acoustic guitar.

I'd never seen him look so peaceful with his eyes looking into the distance as if he was singing to a loved one or to a lost memory. The attention from the crowd around him didn't faze him at all. His voice was a rich baritone, a calm breeze on a summer day that curled around me and gave me goosebumps from head to toe.

When his eyes met mine, I lowered my head and walked to the other side of the pool where I met Claire, of all people. She was lying on one of the lounge chairs and holding a cup, her half-shut eyes watching him. I wanted to turn away and escape the pool area, but she talked to me before I could even take a step.

"You. You were that girl hangin' out in the band room," she garbled. "Clover's lil' sis. Aubrey, right?"

"It's Autumn."

She smiled. "So... what d'you think of him, Aubrey?"

I decided not to correct her. "Who?"

"Michael."

"Um..." I had no idea where this drunken talk was going, but it was hard for me to leave her in such a state all by herself. Plus, it seemed like she needed someone to talk to. Despite my hesitation, I sat on the other lounge chair and answered, "I-I think he's okay."

"Did you know that he was my best friend? He was my best friend in the whole wide world," she said, flailing her hands. "And I loved him. So much. He made me laugh a lot. When we were younger, I was afraid of us growing up because we might never feel that happy again."

I didn't know what to say, so I remained silent. Claire always carried an icy and proud air around her, but at that moment, she looked as vulnerable as a porcelain doll.

She pointed her index finger at him, who remained oblivious to what was happening. "That song he's singing right now... he used to sing it to me all the time."

"Maybe he still sings to you," I said.

"Nah. He's just being silly. He keeps playing that because he misses us. I told him to stop doing that. His worst enemy is his memory, and it's not my fault if he keeps fighting with himself every night."

Claire took a quick swig of her drink and coughed. I tried to take the cup from her, but she held up her hand and shook her head to stop me.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Super."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No. I don't know who you are, Aubrey, but stay right there. I need to tell you somethin'."

"Okay."

She opened her mouth but didn't produce any sound. It was as if her words had so much weight in them, she was having trouble dragging them out.

"I'm... quitting the band," she declared.

Thousands of questions exploded in my head at once, but I couldn't speak any of them. They were stuck in my throat. All I could do was look at her in shock.

"I love to sing but not with them anymore. I'm moving to Ryan's band."

"Why?" I whispered.

"I..." Claire swallowed hard. "I'm just not happy with my friends anymore. I love them—I always will—and I appreciate all the fun and stupid crap we did, but I need to walk away. I've begun treating them like shit, and they all know that. I don't want to trouble them anymore. Also, I... I need some space away from Michael. It just hurts me to see the kind of person he has become. He's... he's gone distant."

The crack in someone's voice is one of the worst sounds to hear. It's like a crack of thunder, a sign that a bad rainstorm is about to come. That was what happened with Claire. As soon the crack in her voice resounded, she cried. I wanted to console her, but I couldn't look at her. I was afraid that if I watched her crying, I might cry, too. I just stared at my fingers laced together on my lap and listened.

"You know, when you're at the peak of your teenage years, you have this delusion that you can handle everything... I tried fixing him, y'know? I was that naïve. I swore I would be there for him no matter what because I thought I could handle it. But I couldn't... He was always angry, and he always felt guilty about things that weren't even his fault. It was exhausting. I ended up sad and angry, too. That's why I broke up with him. It might've been selfish of me, but I didn't want to be trapped."

I was at a loss for words. It wasn't just a story that I read in books. It was real. Her words and heartbreak were real, and I could feel her pain in my chest, and it was a wave of emotion that was doing my best to hold back. I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded to let her know that I understood her. I let her cry and cry until she took a deep calming breath and wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm.

"I'm sorry to hear about what you went through," I whispered. "I'll make sure to tell everyone about your decision."

Through her tears, Claire smiled at me for the first time since we'd met. "Thanks, Autumn."

Soon after, Ryan rushed into the pool area and scolded her for drinking too much. As he helped her walk away, I remained sitting on the lounge chair and tried to process everything.

That night was the first time Claire and I ever talked. No matter how brief our conversation was, it profoundly impacted me because her story reminded me of that of my parents, which carried the same final message.

That sometimes, love isn't enough for people to stay.

──────

I needed to go home. I was exhausted. And it wasn't just because of listening to Claire's story. I had socialized too much for a day, and dealing with the noise and the crowd for another hour would irritate me. Once again, I met Finn at the gate of his house, this time to say goodbye.

"It's late. Let me walk you home," he offered.

"Oh, but you can't leave your party. Your parents may come home at any minute," I said, and he closed his mouth to consider it. "I can take care of myself, Finn. Besides, I have my bike, and my house is not that far." I gripped the handlebar of my bicycle that I had hidden in the bushes earlier.

"I still can't let you go alone, though. You need to have a friend with you." He wandered his eyes around and caught a familiar person approaching the gate. My stomach made somersaults when Finn called his attention and asked him if he was heading home, too.

"Oh yeah, this is Mike. He's my friend," Finn said, motioning to the guy with a sullen look.

I nodded slowly as a surge of awkwardness overtook me. "Yes... we are acquainted," I said, glancing at Michael, who glanced back at me. Before Finn could ask how we met, I added, "Because of... Clover and her band stuff."

"Oh, I see."

"Well, I have to get going now. Thanks for inviting me, and happy birthday," I said. Finn only made a boyish smile in response.

Neither Michael nor I spoke during the first two minutes of our walk. The only sounds we heard were our footsteps, the clinking of my bicycle gears, and the eerie rustle of the leaves. I could hear the muffled song coming from his headphones, and I wondered how his ears could endure such loud noise. It surprised me when he grabbed his phone from his pocket, clicked the music off, and put his headphones around his neck.

"Where do you live?" were the first four words he spoke to me that night.

"Just two blocks straight and turn left onto 6th Street. Look, you don't have to walk me home if this troubles you. I really don't have a problem going—"

"Finn asked me to take care of you. So I have to."

"He didn't say that."

"Yes, but I know that's what he meant. He's worried about you going home alone. I'm heading in the same direction, anyway."

"Okay," I relented. Before the silence could set in again, I asked, "So... what do you think of the party?"

"Not my thing. Too many people. I only went there because of Finn. That kid's like a little brother to me." Michael took out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. "Is this okay with you or would you lecture me again?"

The memory made me smile. "Whatever. Do your thing. But let me warn you that that stuff slowly kills your lungs."

He snorted a laugh, placed a stick between his lips, and lighted it. "How was the CD album?"

"CD? Oh, you mean the one I randomly picked up and rented? It was great," I answered with sudden enthusiasm, which I was sure was quite a surprise for him. "I listened to the whole thing. I find Vivaldi's Four Seasons the most entertaining. I like Summer the most."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! It has the most playful beat among the four."

"True. I like Winter. It sounds haunting. What else do you like?"

"Canon in D. It was stuck in my head for days. Ah, and Moonlight Sonata, Beethoven Symphony No. 5, and Hungarian Dance No. 5, too! And—okay, can I just say all?"

Michael chuckled. "Told you you'd like it," he said and blew a cloud of smoke up to the sky. The moon's silver light outlined his chiseled cheekbones and pointed nose. "Look up, Marmalade. Look how the stars shine for us tonight."

I raised my head. There were thousands of them scattered across. They were the same stars I'd seen since I was a child, and they were still fascinatingly beautiful.

"It's been so long since I watched the night sky like this," he said. I looked at him, and he was smiling at the stars as though they knew all of his secrets.

The light of the moon had replaced the darkness of his eyes, and I realized how I liked to see more of that light in him. Just like everyone else, Michael longed to see rare and beautiful things, too.

I could have reached my house within three minutes by bike, but our slow walk and quiet conversation about anything made the journey last for what seemed like an eternity. I didn't dare bring up the matter about Clover or the story I had heard from Claire, as I was afraid of scratching the scar and making it bleed even more. I decided to just soak in that peaceful moment.

When we reached my house, the magic stopped. I spun around to face Michael. He had stopped smoking, thankfully.

"Thanks for walking me home."

"Don't mention it."

He gave me a nod of goodbye, put on his headphones again, and continued his path. I put down my bicycle on the porch and craned my neck to see him from afar, trying to guess where he lived. Suddenly, he looked back at me. I almost tripped myself as I dashed inside the house.

My cell phone vibrated a minute later. I dug it from my sling bag and clicked on the message that made my heart soar out of my chest.

Thanks for tonight, Marmalade. Goodnight.

It was the first message I got from Michael Summer.