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even worse. I knew I had a tendency to self-destruct, and sitting out here was as close as I got to damage control.
    “Don’t be silly,” he said.
    He breathed heavily and lay down, his head near my lap, his eyes black circles looking up at the darkness of me. “So, I get one wish on my birthday, but I’m still not sure yet whether it’s going to come true.”
    Thomas’s expression was so open and relaxed, I began to suspect he was a little bit drunk. There may have been more substance to the pink lemonade than I’d suspected.
    “Maybe you should wish for something else, then,” I said. My voice was flat.
    I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me. I wasn’t sure if I could give it to him. I was a road to nowhere.
    Perhaps I was always going to feel confused when it came to boys I liked more than I wanted to. More than I should.
    Laughter from the party shivered in the air around us.
    After a minute Thomas sat up again. He looked around restlessly, as if he wanted to do something, say something, but he couldn’t quite get it out. His mood was contagious, and it was beginning to make me feel wound too tight.
    “Sometimes I don’t get you,” he said finally. “I thought….” He trailed off. His eyes were pleading with mine, so earnestly I could almost feel it.
    And yes, perhaps a part of me did know what he wanted. Perhaps that part of me wanted it too. But at the same time, I felt as though I’d been dumped in some unknown region without a map, without anything to guide me out at all. I turned my head away.
    I stared at the house all lit up bright, lights dancing, voices drifting around on the whispering wind, and the sane part of my mind wished so hard that someone would call Thomas back inside right now.
    “Please leave me alone.” I said it as kindly as I could. I wanted him to understand I didn’t mean for always, just for right now.
    “Sasha… talk to me.”
    It felt like he was pushing for something from me, something I didn’t understand, and more than that, I didn’t like being pushed. At all.
    “Please?” he carried on. “I invited you because I want to spend my birthday with you. I don’t care about the party, really. We can stay out here. It doesn’t matter.”
    Every word made me want to strike out. I didn’t want to strike out at him —I really, really didn’t—but he was the only person here.
    And I hated that there was a certain satisfaction in knowing I could hurt someone—like punching a mirror, the pain was a release. And I knew exactly how to hurt Thomas. I wished I didn’t.
    “I would have said yes if he’d asked to photograph me,” I said, Thomas would know I was talking about John Greene, of course. The words were bitter shards of glass drawn out from within me and thrown at him. Sharp as any blade. “I would have modeled for him.”
    Thomas flinched. He took a shuddery breath and turned away from me to face the dark garden behind us. I heard him swallow, and although I waited, he didn’t speak. It was funny, but hurting him didn’t make me feel satisfied at all, not even painfully. I just felt worse. A thousand, thousand times worse. And now I had no idea what to do about it. No idea how I could undo it. My chest ached with an unfamiliar sadness when I saw his shoulders were trembling.
    Unsteadily I got up. I couldn’t stand sitting there with him like that. I felt like the worst person. I wanted to walk away, but I couldn’t. I wanted to tell him I didn’t mean what I’d just said, but I couldn’t do that either.
    “He kept staring at you,” Thomas said in an anguished whisper, his back still to me. “I hate the way he kept staring.”
    “I wanted him to, and I fucking hated it too .”
    Thomas turned around. He brought his hand up and wiped across his eyes, but I watched another tear escape and slip down his cheek. I don’t think I’d ever hated myself more than at that moment.
    “So why? Why would you have said yes to him?”
    “Because I’m a