My family had gone to Florida for spring break, which was a nice getaway. Alyssa and I hung out by the pool mostly, teaching me how to oogle at the guys there in lieu of trying to get new information out of me about Ryan.

She still prides herself on teaching me how to check out guys, and she won’t let it go, either.

On a less embarrassing note, my dad, while he had relaxed a little, continued to walk on eggshells around me.

When we had returned, the tension had diminished between me and my father, but was still there – it turned into something we just never talked about, like it was swept under the rug and we were pretending that it didn’t exist.

 “…the novel really touches on a lot of details that aren’t in the musical,” I explained, trying to make my stepmom understand that Les Misérables was an adaptation and not the original story.

It was a few days later, well after we had arrived back; school having just resumed and life was transitioning back into a sense of normalcy. “Adrian, how do you know this?” she asked curiously.

“I’ve read all five original volumes.” Am I supposed to be proud of this, or embarrassed for having too much time on my hands?

“When did this happen, bookworm?” asked Sam, who had stuffed a considerable amount of food in his face. Alyssa hit him and whispered to not call me names. My stepmom backed up Alyssa’s comment.

I’ll be embarrassed. I shook my head and answered, “It was the summer before Dad met your mom.”

My dad’s face lit up, and began retelling how he “first laid eyes on Patricia”. I hardly swooned at the story anymore: I could recite the story completely by heart. I feel like, I could probably read it in braille.

“So, kids, I have big news. My company has done business with another company, and we’re now in a partnership.”

Sam slurped his soup loudly. “What company?”

“FireBoxInc. They help assemble the Kindles, and are developing new software and touch screen technology with Apple.”

“Cool. Soooo, why are you telling us?” asked Alyssa.

“The company has invited its employees and their families and friends to a big weekend party for the partnership.”

“Cool. Where is it?” I asked.

“Just in the city, Adrian. It’ll be at one of the Marriott Hotels.” He turned to my stepmom and began explaining “the one with the rooftop garden”. I rolled my eyes at him; my dad had the amazing power of explaining anything in more than a hundred words.

“So it’s an all-expenses paid trip for the weekend?” asked Alyssa excitedly.

“No, Alyssa. It’s just a Saturday night,” Dad corrected.

Alyssa sank into her chair. I sneered at her, and she slouched in her chair far enough to kick me in the shins.

The hotel was situated near the city’s center. The building took up an entire block, and they had recently installed a rooftop garden for the guests.

Yeah, because who wouldn’t love trees over seventy stories above the ground?

I mean, it was pretty, though. If you squinted, and rubbed your eyes together, and completely forgot about the buildings in the background, it was pretty nice.

Most of the kids there were snotty asshole rich kids. There must’ve been a generation gap or a generation reverse or reversal or something, because the teens were acting like snotty kids, and the kids were acting like snotty adults.

I was snacking on pigs in blankets when I had the brilliant idea of deciding to go and look over the side of the building.

Then everything looked taller than it actually was. Then I got lightheaded, probably from not drinking enough.

The world spinning in my head, I staggered backwards far enough to bump into a table that had a lot of the glassware. The bar collapsed and the glasses broke, with me falling into the pile and breaking my fall with my right elbow. But that’s exactly what I needed – a lot of people I didn’t know staring at me and judging me.

“Oh, God, I am sorry,” I said to no one in particular.

“What happened?” asked the hotel employee who had been supplying drinks.

“I’m sorry, I’m just, a little dizzy.”

She looked herself over and then her attention was drawn to my bleeding elbow. “Oh, my God. Let me get you downstairs.”

“Wait, let me tell my parents, or, or my sister.”

“You can call them from downstairs,” she said, pulling me by my good arm to the elevators.

The elevators were dated, so the one we got in only descended about fifteen floors before reaching the bottom of its rope. The second set of elevators, down to the lobby, is down a hallway due to a recent renovation.

As the lady dragged me down the hall towards the elevators, the doors opened, and out stepped Ryan with a little girl wrapped around his arm, his little cousin, and a man following behind.

The thing that I noticed first about him was that he wasn’t wearing his coat or hat. He looked really weird. It was like hearing his voice for the first time. Apparently, seeing him in school without them wasn’t processed.

“Ryan?”

He caught sight of me and smiled broadly. “Adrian, hi.”

The man behind Ryan – his dad – stopped the employee, asking why she was dragging me around. Ryan saw the blood and gasped.

“He knocked into the bar upstairs and fell in broken glass,” the employee explained.

“Ma’am, let me take him downstairs,” he volunteered nervously, eyes darting from me to him. “He and I are friends, and I could tell them that something had happened upstairs when I get down.”

I scratched my cheek, smearing blood all over my face. “I cannot allow that,” she replied.

Ryan was strangely insistent. As he and the woman continued speaking, I glanced down at my hand and saw the blood running in the creases of my palms. In my anxious mind, it looked like there was more than what was probably there. “Someone take me downstairs, for the love of God,” I whispered, almost breathlessly.

The woman allowed him to take me down. She called ahead as Ryan pulled me into the elevator and the doors closed. I looked straight over to him. “What are you doing here?” I whispered.

He looked at me, surprised, and possibly hurt, by my response. “I thought you would’ve been happy to see me.”

“Long answer, no. Short answer, yes. But what are you doing here?”

Ryan swallowed hard, clenching his jaw, and said, “I’m here because my dad is friends with someone who works at FireBoxInc. Why are you here?”

“My dad works for the company that formed a partnership with FireBoxInc.”

We both looked away, both uncomfortable with the other’s response or presence. I rubbed my eye, unintentionally smearing more blood all over my face. “God, I think I’m going to pass out.”

I apparently was falling because Ryan put his arm around me, helping me move forward as the elevator doors to the lobby opened. “You haven’t lost that much blood, have you?”

“No, I’m just still dizzy.” We had just stepped off the elevator when we were led away by a concierge towards one of the vacant event rooms.