The band’s halfway through their set by the time I finally stop pretending I’m not listening.

I didn’t mean to get pulled in. Seriously.

It started with a joke—Mason yelling that his ears were gonna bleed, someone else laughing about the lead guy’s hair. I laughed too, mostly just to laugh. That’s what you do at these things.

But then the third song hit, and something shifted.

It wasn’t just loud anymore. It was good. Not perfect—but tight. Raw. Real.

And the lead singer—the guy from yesterday, the one who came up to the table looking like he couldn’t care less—he’s completely different on stage.

Not louder. Not bigger.

Just… there.

Like every word actually matters. Like the guitar’s an extension of him and not just something to look cool holding. His voice is rough in the right places, like he’s not trying to sound pretty. Just honest.

I’m standing near the back with Cole and a few others, drink in hand, but I haven’t taken a sip in a while.

Cole leans over. “Didn’t think they’d be this good, huh?”

I shake my head once, slow. “No.”

I don’t say more, because I don’t know what else to say.

The next song starts. Slower. Darker.

And I don’t know if it’s the way the crowd goes quiet, or the way the lyrics land harder than they should—but something in me tunes in all the way. Like I was only half-listening before and now I’m fully locked in.

And then, just for a second, he looks up.

Right past the lights. Past the bodies. Past the noise.

At me.

I don’t know how I know it’s at me. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I imagined it.

But I feel it.

Sharp. Sudden. Like getting called out without a word.

I hold his gaze for maybe a second before he looks away. Like it didn’t happen. Like I don’t matter.

And maybe I don’t.

But I’m not laughing anymore.

PART 2

When the set ends, the crowd erupts like they’ve been holding it in.

Some people are cheering, others already moving back toward the drinks, acting like they weren’t just frozen ten seconds ago. Someone yells for an encore. Someone else trips over a lawn chair.

I take a breath and finally sip the drink I’ve been holding. It’s warm now.

Cole claps once, loud, like he’s impressed. “Told you they could play.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “They’re solid.”

“Solid?” He scoffs. “That guy’s voice could set a house on fire.”

I laugh a little, but my stomach’s weird. Not bad weird. Just… different.

Across the yard, Jace—I finally remember his name—is unplugging his guitar, crouched by the amp, hair falling forward as he winds a cord into a loose loop. The rest of the band is already half-packed, Preston shaking hands with someone near the porch.

No one’s swarming them. No one’s treating them like rockstars. But there’s a little space around them now. Like everyone feels it—that shift in the air. That they did something.

I look away.

Focus on Hailey, who shows up twenty minutes late, apologizing with a kiss and a story about traffic. I don’t mind. I tell her she missed the band. She shrugs and says she’s sure they’ll play again.

The night rolls on like it always does—music through a speaker now, bass too high, too much cheap beer and not enough cold ones. People dancing, people shouting, a game of flip cup in the corner.

I settle back into it. Let the noise wash over me. Let the feeling from earlier drift off, like smoke in the air.

It was just a set. Just a moment.

Nothing big.

Nothing important.

Still—

I don’t stop thinking about it.

PART 3

By the time the band clears out, the party’s in full swing.

Someone switched to a playlist that’s three parts early 2000s throwbacks and one part stuff no one knows but pretends to. A few people are dancing—badly—but no one seems to care.

I’m on my second drink. Not enough to feel it, just enough to loosen up.

Hailey loops her arm around my waist and leans in. “Remind me why I let you talk me into coming to this?”

“Because you like me,” I say, tipping my cup toward her.

She grins. “Debatable.”

We end up near the fire pit, where Mason’s trying to cook a hot dog with a fork he found in someone’s car. He drops it twice and still tries to eat it. Cole’s dying laughing, recording the whole thing on his phone.

“Post that and I swear I’ll fight you,” Mason says, mouth full.

“You won’t. You’re weak,” Cole fires back.

The whole thing’s stupid in the best way.

The heat from the fire’s nice. The night’s finally cooled off, and someone passed around a bag of chips like it’s gourmet. I grab a handful and settle into the rhythm of it—dumb conversations, background music, the occasional shriek from someone playing some game I’m glad I wasn’t invited into.

Hailey’s on her phone for a bit, texting someone from her group project, and I space out. Just watching the flames crackle. Letting it all blur.

It’s easy.

Simple.

Nothing worth thinking twice about.

Just another night at just another party

PART 4

We move inside when the wind picks up.

The living room’s already full—people on couches, on the floor, music thumping low from a Bluetooth speaker someone shoved behind a plant. Preston’s little brother is trying to act like he’s not watching everything like it’s a movie. He’s maybe twelve. Nobody seems to mind.

I grab a spot on the arm of a chair, Hailey between my knees, her back leaning against me. She’s sipping something pink and definitely too sweet.

“This is gross,” she says after the second sip.

“Then why are you still drinking it?”

She shrugs. “Because it’s cold.”

Cole drops down on the couch across from us and tosses me a foam football. I catch it one-handed, easy.

“You coming to film tomorrow?” he asks. “Coach wants footage for Hudl.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I told him I’d cut it up by Sunday.”

“Good,” he says, leaning back. “He actually smiled today when you made that block.”

“I didn’t know he had facial muscles.”

“Same.”

Hailey laughs quietly, eyes half-closed like she’s already drifting. She’s got her legs tucked under her, nails tracing slow lines on my arm without thinking about it. It’s comfortable.

We stay like that a while—talking, laughing, not really doing anything. Just being here. Present.

Someone passes by and offers me another drink. I shake my head. One more would push it. I’m good.

Hailey shifts, leans her head against my chest. I feel her exhale.

It’s late, but not too late. The kind of late where you start thinking about how much longer you’ll stay, but not actually moving yet. Where you say “ten more minutes” but it turns into an hour.

Nothing’s weird. Nothing’s wrong.

Just a good night with good people.

That’s all it is.