“Holy shit, Nyx, what’d you do to your face?” Darren was standing in the park across from the school, smoking in his usual spot, and he’d watched Nyx as she trundled across the grass, veering toward him when she caught his eye.

“Ran into a door. Never mind.”

“I thought you were suspended.”

“I am. I just missed your sparkling conversation. Gimme a smoke.”

He handed her his pack and his lighter and stared at her face. An ugly blue bruise had formed over her cheekbone, with purple tendrils reaching out toward an eyesocket that was itself darker than it ought to be. “You get in a fight or something?”

She dropped her duffle next to her and worked on her cigarette. “Something like that. Thanks.” She handed the cigs and lighter back.

“No sweat. What’s with the bag?”

“Can you do me a huge fucking favor, Darren?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll shut up–”

She shook her head, blew smoke. “No, I, uh. I need somewhere to crash.”

He looked at her, looked away, rocked back and forth absently in his ratty Chucks. “Man, I–”

“C’mon, Darren. Just for the night. A shower and some sleep is all.”

“Nyx, I can’t. There’s no way my parents would let a girl stay over.” He looked down at his shoes, studied them.

“I could sneak in. I could, I could climb in through your bedroom window or something.”

He looked at her, blushed, went back to his shoes.

“Please. Darren. C’mon.” She coughed and then spat.

He shook his head, took a drag on his cigarette. “I can’t. I–there’s just no way. Sorry.”

She flashed a dismissive snark of teeth at him and picked her duffel back up. “Great. Thanks a lot Darren. Thanks a whole fucking lot.” He watched his shoes, and then glanced up after her while she strode away across the grass.