Last Train to Babylon by Charlee Fam

Jason and the mystery accusation sort of stole the show. Though, knowing Rachel, she’d be more shocked to know that I’d been walking to school every day with the Younger Sullivan than that his older brother was accused of some sort of assault.
    I didn’t expect to see Adam at the party. I felt like he didn’t even really exist outside of our walks. It had only been a week, but I still never saw him in school, in the halls, in any classes. It was like he’d escort me to the main doors and then dissolve, just dissolve until 6 A.M. the following day, where he would be waiting like a loyal puppy—blue hoodie, empty backpack slung over one shoulder, and a halfhearted wave.
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    It was only when I left the dock to refill my drink that I saw him. He was standing next to the keg, talking to a sophomore guy. The sophomore talked with his hands, and only after seeing this interaction did I notice something about Adam. He never spoke with his hands, and it seemed so bizarre to me. I hadn’t noticed when it had just been the two of us on our walk, but I saw it then, the way his hands hung limp at his sides, the way he spoke with an elegant grace. Adam had a calm energy about him, the kind that didn’t warrant unnecessary gestures. I squinted in his direction. He looked taller. He nodded at me. I waved and walked away, toward the inside of the house.
    I caught my reflection in the sliding glass doors while I shouldered my way back from the bathroom. My lips, teeth, and tongue were neon red. I stuck my tongue out to examine my reflection when I felt someone behind me.
    â€œNice mouth, Glass,” he said. I spun around, and Adam stood there, his hands in his jean pockets. His shoulders were broad, but he was still skinny, scrawny even, like he hadn’t grown into his limbs yet.
    â€œSo you do know my name?” We had walked together all week, but I couldn’t remember ever telling him my name, and I couldn’t remember him ever using it.
    â€œOf course I do,” he said. “You think I just walk random girls to school and don’t even know their names? What kind of guy do you take me for?”
    I opened my mouth to speak but let out a dumb laugh instead. I fidgeted with the cup in my hand.
    â€œSo you like that stuff?” he asked, nodding toward my newly refilled drink. He seemed ignited by the alcohol, in control, and handsome up close—something I hadn’t noticed about him until that moment.
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    â€œIt’s not terrible, but it would be better out of a mason jar.” I lifted the red cup toward him and immediately felt like an idiot for referencing mason jars.
    â€œMason jars, huh?” he said. “That could get expensive, especially with a bunch of clumsy freshmen who can’t hold their liquor.” He flexed his jaw and then let up with this crooked grin. “I mean can’t you just see shattered glass everywhere?” As he said it, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and flung them outward, knocking my plastic cup to the ground. The glowing red juice splattered up off the cement, leaving pink stains on the bottom of his jeans. He didn’t flinch, just kept on grinning, his arms still extended at his sides.
    â€œShit,” I said, leaning down to pick up my cup and assess the damage to his jeans. His one hand gesture of the night, and of course he spills my drink everywhere. Overcompensating much? I wanted to say, but instead I just stared at the ground and began to apologize for the mess he made.
    â€œWhy are you sorry?” he deadpanned. “I did it on purpose. You know, to prove a point.” I sucked in air through my nostrils, and a part of me wished I still had some of the drink left, so I could throw it in his face. I noticed then how white his teeth were. Maybe I only noticed against the contrast of his red-stained lips.
    â€œYour jeans, though,” I said. “They’re ruined.” No one else at the