There’s something about how loud parties are that I can never get used to experiencing. Ruby always loved the loudness – concerts, parties, music in the car. Our house used to be filled with her stereo most days, but I’ve always loved silence.

Ruby said I acted like an old lady, but at least I won’t lose my hearing by fifty from blasting speakers straight to my eardrums. Not that she has to worry about that now, though.

The house practically shakes with bass that can be felt down the street. And as if the music weren’t too loud, there’s also the people. There are people everywhere, spilling through windows and doors, literally, there’s a few kids sitting on windowsills. There are even a few people on the roof. Not sure how they got there.

And then there’s the body odor mixed with the smell of beer. Beer is all they ever have at parties like this. I hate that smell. I still don’t know how they manage to get the stuff.

Giant house parties aren’t a common thing here. I don’t know how it is with other places, but here it’s not like how the books and movies sometimes make it.

There’s one, maybe two, large parties like this a year, and because of that, anyone and everyone that hear about it, tries to come.

Usually the parties that Ruby and her friends frequented are smaller things. A group of around six to eight people sitting in someone’s backyard or basement when their parents aren’t home. Playing card games and drinking whatever they managed to get ahold of that day.

Walking into the house is as hot as walking into a sauna, I can already feel sweat prickling the back of my neck and underarms. But the beat of music thrums through my chest and drowns out everything else. It’s impossible to think… and for the first time, I welcome the volume.

Brie mouths something to me that I can’t understand and disappears in a crush of bodies. I don’t know whose house this is, and I’m not sure that I care.

Normally I’d wonder how they could get away with being so loud without getting the cops called on them, but this house sits on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by trees. The closest neighbor would probably be over a ten-minute walk, so that question seems irrelevant.

It’s two stories; a set of stairs is roped off, probably to deter people from going up there. That never works, though. It’s got an open floor plan and the living room is one massive pool of people dancing and moving.

I spot a crowded couch shoved against a side wall. People laughing and drinking on it.

For a moment, I feel lost. I never come to these parties alone. I know I have Brie… but it’s not the same.

Thirty-eight days.

She’s been gone for thirty-eight days.

I swallow the rest of my thoughts before they can fester. I let the milling bodies lead me closer to the edge of the dance floor.

A song comes on that I know—one of Ruby’s favorites. I bite my hand as my eyes burn.

One of the few things Ruby and I both shared in common was dancing. And even though I wasn’t a partier, I loved to dance. Ruby would always drag me out onto the floor with crazy moves until I’d finally give in.

Mom put us through classes for a few years until I decided that dance was a distraction from school and wanted to focus on my studies. For some reason, when I quit, Ruby did too.

Sorrow flows through me, so strong that I gasp for air.

I see the dirt falling into Ruby’s grave. I hear Jasper playing the piano at her funeral. I bite my hand again until I taste blood, but it’s not working.

So instead, I close my eyes, and I focus on the pulse of bass. I let the beat move me, hips and arms shifting, feet slowly heading to the center of the floor.

I haven’t danced in a long time. I feel my muscles relaxing and a blissful nothingness filling my mind.

Everything fades away.

It’s only me. Me and the music. I don’t smell the stench of too many people. I don’t notice the crush of bodies.

I don’t think of her.

Bodies move near me, some passing by, others dancing, too. I am air drifting around bodies that don’t care to know of my existence. I’m not sure how long I’m alone with my nothingness when a hand lands on my shoulder.

Briefly, everything seems to blare a little louder. Another hand shifts to one of my hips, and someone’s feet begin to move with mine.

I focus on their movements. The hand on my shoulder grounding me.

It’s not the bump and grind that often happens at these parties, but a sort of three step. I haven’t danced with a partner in a long time—well, if you don’t count Ruby and some of her friends. Kenneth and Samson were especially terrible dancers.

We move in circles, and when the music amps up, so does my partner. I keep my eyes closed, feeling body heat radiating out, the sweaty grasp of their hands.

When I open my eyes, the lights seem a little too bright. I don’t recognize the boy I’m dancing with. That’s not really surprising; I don’t pay attention to other people much.

My head is always in a book or another world, as Ruby would say.

He looks my age. He’s got beautiful eyes, the brown so light that it’s like gold, light brown skin, and dark hair.

And he looks… sad… no, more than sad. He looks as though he’s filled with sorrow, as if he’s seen more than I can ever understand.

I might only be seeing my own feelings reflected in his face.

Maybe I’m just wanting to see someone else that knows that the world isn’t fair, that knows how badly life can suck.

Those eyes aren’t even looking at me. Not really. There’s this tangible connection floating between us. I know it sounds cliché, but it’s as if he’s looking at my soul.

Like his pain is seeing my pain.

For the briefest of moments, I feel that if I start crying, he might cry with me.

I’m not sure what to say to him. I’m not sure I even care to say anything to this boy I don’t know. But then my mouth gets ahead of the rest of me.

Ruby always thought I was shy, but I’ve never been shy, only introverted. There’s a difference there that I could never get her to understand.

“Who are you?” I ask.

He blinks slowly, as if he’s coming out of deep thought. And I wonder if he was feeling that deep soul connection too, or if it was only me.

“Gage.”

I haven’t heard of him, but again, that’s not anything surprising. I haven’t heard of many people. I’m almost always alone.

“And you are?” he asks.

“Violet.”

I see the moment he recognizes my name. His tell is a slight widening of his eyes.

Even with how many people are at our school, there’s only one Violet, and there was only one Ruby.

And even if he wouldn’t have recognized my name before, well, everyone has heard of me now. The little sister of the dead girl. That’s how they know me.

Thirty-eight days. Thirty-eight days of being the center of attention. Of people avoiding her name around me. Of side glances and pitying looks. Of ‘are you okays’ and the never going to actually follow through choruses of ‘let me know if I can help you.’

I stop dancing.

It feels as if someone dumped cold water on me. I can feel a burn in my eyes, there’s a pain in my chest, as if a ball has crashed into me. I swallow cotton.

The boy, Gage, is staring at me. No pity, only that deep knowing sadness in his eyes. I’m not sure if he’s planning on giving condolences or not. I’m not sure how long he plans to continue looking at me. I have the urge to get out. I want… need to get out of here.

I’m going to suffocate from the amount of people. I can feel my lungs constricting; my fingers are too cold. I bite down on my bottom lip until I taste blood again.

Almost as if he realizes what’s going on, he starts pulling me to a set of sliding glass doors. I follow limply, staring up to stave off the tears that want to spill out. I refuse to cry. Not here. Not now. I refuse to cry, period.

Outside, there’s a few people lounging around a firepit, but he pulls me past that, off the patio and into the backyard where grass begins to descend to a pier overhanging a lake.

Ruby would’ve loved this view.

He pulls me all the way to the edge of the pier and then pushes me down. And… I deflate.

My limbs heavy and sluggish. I’m not sure I still want to run; I think… I just want to lay here now. I wish I could lay here forever.

“Sometimes, fresh air is needed,” he says casually. He doesn’t sound like he’s trying to start a conversation with me, and I don’t feel like talking to him, either.

I lay back on the wooden slats, breathe deeply, and stare at the sky. I can still feel that solid weight in my chest, that constricting lump that appeared the moment I heard of Ruby’s death.

Breathe in. Let the air try to dislodge it.

A shuffling sound beside me lets me know he’s sitting next to me.

“And sometimes… nothing can help,” he says.

I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but I think I get what he means.

The fresh air is nice, but it doesn’t change the reason I wanted to run. Or why I want to cry.

It doesn’t change anything.