I BANG AGAINST THE flimsy aluminum door of Aunt Colleen's trailer, but judging by the coals still smoldering in the firepit, Nolan isn't here. He never goes to bed without putting the fire out, not since Grandpa died.

"Colleen? Nolan? You in there?"

No response.

Hugging myself, I glance around the lot. The lights in the trailer are dim, and a dreamcatcher hangs from the awning and sways with the wind. An ivory glow circles the moon while the fire reflects off the leaves like a flutter of burning butterflies. Dark clouds roll in; it'll rain later. I can feel it in my bones.

It's nights like this—when the air is crisp with spring—that I remember what it felt like to live in this park, so close to your neighbors you can hear every fight and fuck that happens. Thank God I'm out now, but my cousin? He still has to put up with it. His mom's probably passed out drunk or off with the next Tim. Who even knows anymore?

I knock again until grumbles sound from the other side of the door. After the lock unclicks, Aunt Colleen whips it open looking like something from The Walking Dead: straw-like hair, plaid boxer shorts, a Rolling Stones shirt tightened to expose her skinny belly.

"Dang, what time is it?" she mutters. "Shouldn't you be at work, Jillie?"

"I left early." I shove past her to get inside. The smell of mothballs and pot stings my nostrils, and the coffee table is cluttered with plates and trash from TV dinners. Damn it, Colleen. "Hey Nolan, you in here buddy?" I call out, but his door down the hallway is open and dark.

"Where'd he get off to now?" Colleen heaves a sigh. "That boy's growing up to be a runner, just like his father."

What Colleen should do is go look for her son. Instead, she opens the fridge, takes out a bottle of Bud Light, and pops off the tab. She leans against the counter of the kitchen and shoves an empty Kraft Mac n' Cheese box away with her elbow.

"You should be looking out for him," I say. "What the hell, Colleen?"

"What? He'll turn up, he always does."

"How can you say that after what happened last time?"

"He's fine, isn't he?" Colleen laughs and tilts the bottle to her lips. "Look, lay off. I don't need to take shit from some teenager who thinks she's better than everyone. He's my boy, and I know how to take care of him. He's only acting out 'cause he wants attention. You were the same way when your daddy took off."

My nails dig into my palms, but I don't have it in me to be mad at my aunt. She is what she is, and I'm already exhausted. But I won't be able to sleep tonight until I know Nolan's okay.

"Can you at least try to clean up a bit in here?" I ask. "This isn't healthy. For Nolan, or for you."

Colleen says something else, but I'm already out the door. Nolan can't be far. I hurry down the dirt road of the park, lined by maples and pines.

Last week, I found my cousin waist-deep in the lake, staring off at the moon like a hypnotized worshipper drawn to its light. I'd been terrified, because I'd sworn he was seconds away from drowning himself. I ran fully-clothed into the ice-cold water and pulled him out of his trance. All he told me was that he wanted to swim, to cleanse himself. It was clearly more than that. He's been like this since his dad took off with another woman a few months ago, all spaced out and sad. And I feel for Colleen too, I do, but her drinking started long before Tim left. Nolan is what's important now.

I make it three trailers down the path and pause at the intersection, next to a shoddy sign. Right: Shady Lane. Left: New Leaf Junction. Golden Dawn tries to sell itself as a luxury trailer park. Since it borders the forest, the trees separating each property create the illusion of privacy—which might work, if noise didn't travel so far.

I'm about to take off right toward the lake when strums from an acoustic guitar flow through the air. A low, gritty voice is singing—a voice I could never misplace. I cut through the trees to the Blues' trailers.

When I reach their property, I stop dead in my tracks.

Nolan is sitting around a bonfire with Carson Blue, and they both have guitars on their laps.

Flames crackle and pop into the night, reflecting off the bodies of their instruments. Carson strums slowly on his mahogany acoustic. It's nothing like my maple one. Across from him, Nolan's back faces me. He's gotten so big now that his shoulders fill out that Spider-Man T-shirt I bought him last year. I stand there like a ghost; invisible.

"Can play the whole song with only three chords," Carson says. He sings a few more lines, and an orange hue dances across his warm beige skin. For a moment, I'm stunned—the Blues have always lived here, and at least Carson isn't as bad as his brothers. But I had no idea he was teaching my cousin how to play guitar.

A heart-sinking thought blooms: Why didn't Nolan ask me?

When Carson and I lock eyes, shock takes over his face before his shoulders relax, and a half-smile tugs at his lips. "Hey, Jill."

"Blue... hi."

Nolan glances at me, but says nothing. I hold my hands behind my back and feel like an intruder—not because of Carson, but because of Nolan. Because I was worrying when he was perfectly fine, and he can sense that kind of stuff. It gets on his nerves.

"Is it okay if I join you guys?" I ask.

"Yeah," Carson says, and I sit on a wobbly lawn chair. The cool wind cuts through my jacket, so I pull the sleeves over my palms and huddle closer to the warmth. "I was just teaching Nolan how to use his new guitar," Carson goes on. "The first song I ever learned. 'Something in the Way.'"

I nod. I can play it too.

Nolan got his guitar for his thirteenth birthday. I assumed he'd ask me to teach him—or literally anyone else. Seeing them together sends unease through my veins.

I've known Carson Blue all my life. When it comes to Hull District High's gossip train, he's a regular passenger—it's always he fucked this girl; he did this much blow; he's trying to get clean; he failed again. Our school is real tight-knit, so everyone can smell each other's shit. Some girls say he's the hottest guy in town: brown hair shaved shorter at the sides, full eyelashes, a strong jawline. But I'm immune. Drugs—and the people who do them—are off limits for me.

Whether I like it or not, Nolan's eyes are focused on Carson's fingers as he strums, and he's smiling. I haven't seen him smile much since Tim left, and I know that feeling all too well.

So I wait for Carson to stop playing, and I wait for Nolan to pluck a few off-key notes of his own before I say anything.

"I was worried about you, bud. You didn't answer my texts."

Tendrils of his dark hair whisk over his forehead as he runs his hand along the strings of his guitar. He looks so much like his dad in this light it hurts, but Nolan won't become a deadbeat. I won't let him.

"Came over a couple hours ago and we've been hanging out since," Carson says. "Nothing to worry about."

"Thanks, Blue..."

Carson nods and lights a cigarette with a white Bic. Smoke swallows his face until the wind clears it, and his brown eyes reluctantly land on me before we both look away.

He kissed me once.

It happened so long ago, I don't know if it even counts anymore. But back in the sixth grade, Carson and I had been discussing our project on the solar system next to the guys playing foursquare when boom. He kissed me right on the lips, then ran away without a word.

I totally froze up. I mean, I was eleven. And I didn't like Carson like that. At least, I couldn't tell if I did because most boys were gross and Carson was Carson. The other guys laughed at him as he ran off, and our dynamic changed forever. It created a lot of prepubescent confusion on my part, and even six years later, we share an unspoken rule to never bring it up.

In fact, we've barely talked at all since freshman year. But I always notice him. When he runs laps around the football field. When he smokes behind the school. When he snorts lines off the coffee table at Shae Evans's parties.

"Anyway," I say, standing, "I have to get back to work. Nolan, you should head home too. It's getting late."

"It's not even ten," he mutters.

"I know, but you have homework. It's important you stay on schedule, bud. Come on."

Nolan gets up and slings his guitar over his back like he's way too cool to be seen with me. "Thanks, Carson."

"No problem, little dude."

While I don't love any of this, I smile at Carson too, then pat Nolan's shoulder. "Go wait for me by the road, okay?"

He obeys and leaves us. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans while Carson sets his guitar aside. We walk until we're face-to-face, eye-to-eye in front of the flames.

"Thanks for hanging out with him," I say.

"It's all good. I was happy to."

"Right." The words are on the tip of my tongue: a polite request for him to stay away, because I don't want Nolan to ever think it's cool to do the things I've seen Carson do. It's really not personal. But apparently, I don't have the stones. Telling him to screw off after he was so nice to my cousin would be like kicking a puppy. So I just say, "I'll see you at school," and turn to leave.

Carson stops me. "Hey, are you and your mom still looking for new workers?"

Disarmed, I chew on my reply. "Yeah, why? Do you need a job?"

"Sort of. My family's been a little broke since my dad, you know..."

I run my finger along the cool metal of my locket necklace. Everyone knows Carson's dad is in the clink.

"Was gonna come in and give this to your mom myself later, but since you're here..." He pulls a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his red hoodie. When he extends it to me, I reluctantly accept. A knot forms in my throat. "Been hard to find work 'cause of my family's reputation. I could really use the money. I get I might not be your first choice but—"

"It's not up to me, Blue," I cut him off, then bow my head because I didn't mean to be rude. But Carson's right: I don't want him working with me. People in town steer clear of the Blue family for a good reason, and I vowed I'd never let a drug-user close to me again.

"I know," he says, "but will you give it to your mom?"

"I—"

Glass shatters nearby, echoing over the park. Followed by laughter. Carson and I share a look before I stuff his resume in my pocket and dash toward the road.

Nolan is standing with two guys. And there's a bottle of beer in his hand.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I shout and charge toward them. As I get closer, I make out the faces of the assholes giving my thirteen-year-old cousin a beer. Garnett and Lucas Blue. Carson's brothers.

They're both laughing and swaying, the broken beer bottle scattered in the gravel beneath Lucas's boots. Carson appears beside me, muttering, "Guys, what the hell?"

But they're totally wasted, and focused on me now. They've always been rougher than Carson, older and more rugged, but not in a handsome way. This isn't the first time I've seen them messing around, but giving a beer to a kid? This is next-level. They're both in denim and plaid, Garnett with a rat tail, Lucas with a fauxhawk. I keep my posture strong, my gaze bold.

"Easy now," Garnett says, a gross smirk on his lips, "what's your issue?"

"My issue is"—I snatch the bottle of Bud from Nolan's hand—"you're giving beer to a kid. Aren't you like, thirty?"

Lucas tries to grab it from me, but I pour the whole drink out, beer-saturated mud splashing onto my jeans.

"You better replace that," Garnett warns.

"Or what?" I toss the empty at his feet.

Garnett and Lucas make a teasing woo at me. Carson tells them to cut it out, but the damage is done. If I didn't know it before, I know it now: I can't have guys like this around my cousin.

I shoot the brothers my deadliest glare. "If I catch you near him again, I'm calling the cops. Understand?"

They laugh at me. Anger hot on my cheeks, I drag Nolan through the trees and back to the main road. Garnett calls after me, "You better be careful who you run your mouth to, girl! One of these days, you're gonna piss off the wrong person!"

I ignore them, because those guys are all talk. All they do is steal and cause trouble. Garnett and Lucas are infamously worse than Carson, but right now I regret even accepting his resume. Keeping the Blue family far away from mine sounds like a better plan.

"Jill, wait up!" Carson says as his feet scuffle the gravel behind me. But I don't look.

"Just stay away from us, Blue," I say and keep moving.

Carson must stop following, because once we're far enough away, we find ourselves alone with the crickets.

"What'd those guys say to you?" I ask. "Did they pressure you to drink?"

"No." He yanks his arm away. "I barely drank anything. What the hell, Jill? You made me look so lame!"

"Those guys are losers, Nolan. They're well into their twenties and you're just a kid—try to think about that, okay?"

"They actually treat me like I'm a guy, not some little kid."

This is bad. It's not like Nolan doesn't have access to booze at his place—his mom is always stocked full. But he doesn't idolize her. Paranoid thoughts swim through my mind; Nolan drinking, then smoking, then doing coke, then—

No. I can't let that happen.

But I'm only seventeen. I don't know how to deal with this on my own. I don't know if I should try to play the strict card or try to see it from his perspective—he's a kid from a family full of girls, just lost his dad, and he's probably trying to connect. But looking up to guys like Garnett and Lucas—or Carson—is a recipe for disaster.

"You are a little kid." I gently nudge him, but the fact that he barely moves under my weight proves he really isn't little anymore. Boys grow like weeds, and Nolan's only an inch shorter than my five-foot-eight.

"Seriously, Jill." He kicks at the dirt. "It's not funny."

"Listen, just stay away from the Blues. You're way too young to be drinking—it's illegal. Don't you know their dad's in jail? You don't want to end up like that, right?"

Nolan doesn't reply. Instead, he shrugs me off and paces ahead, just as cold rain sprinkles down and bleeds through my denim jacket. We walk back to the trailer in silence. Once Nolan is safe inside, I start my drive home, fully aware I didn't reach him at all tonight.