She was older, maybe fifteen, and her long brown hair swayed in time with her hips as she walked. Jack was thirteen, but he was tall and most people guessed his age a year or two too high.

She didn't even ask him to move, just giggled and brushed the swell of her small breast against his arm as she reached for a cup of punch.

Of course Jack was loitering around the snack table. Why not? Everyone here was at least in high school, most even older than that, and his brothers had already taken off to chat with friends or, in Bobby's case, a girl. He didn't know why they bothered to bring him, except that mom had probably insisted they include him, without knowing that it meant dragging Jack along to a party where the access to beer proved way too easy. Jack had already had two, his third slowly warming in his hand as he sipped and watched the world walk by, all the people he didn't know or only knew through his brothers mingle and dance and live their lives. All while he was abandoned at the snack table.

"I'm Cindy," she said, holding a clear plastic cup of bright red liquid loosely with both hands. She had clear green eyes, and they were unusually light and vibrant, not dark or kinda blue like green eyes usually were.

"Jack," he heard himself answering. It was unconscious, and before he knew it they were talking, flirting, and Jack had no idea what he was doing but he just tried to play it cool like he'd seen Angel and Bobby and sometimes even Jerry do a million times.

She was eating it up, laughing and batting her eyes and touching her hair. Jack heard somewhere that a girl always played with her hair when she was talking to a guy she liked, and that thought sent his brain into Holy Shit mode and he might have stopped talking mid sentence. Something about guitars.

She didn't seem to mind, though, draining the last gulp of her punch and leaving nothing but tiny droplets clinging to the ridges of the cup. She set it down on the fold out card table and brushed her hand over his shoulder, fingers pressing through the soft corduroy ridges of the jacket into his skin.

"You want to go somewhere quieter?" she asked and Jack didn't see why. It was a party and, sure, there was music and stuff, but it wasn't all that loud and-Ooh.

Quieter like that.

Jack felt his heart beating in his throat and his skin was warm and his fingertips were numb, like they're frozen or maybe fell off while he was looking at her eyes and the way her brows curved and a few stray hairs stood out at the very top of the arch.

"Sure," he said, and that was how he ended up in the laundry room of a stranger's house at a party, music pumping in the background while Cindy sucked on his lip and grabbed his hair with one hand and the ass of his jeans with the other. She tasted like sugary fruit punch and he tasted like Bud Light and it probably wasn't the best combination in the world, but at that time, that moment, it was like ambrosia and Jack felt immortal.

And she was so good at it, and he knew that he was clumsy because he'd never done this before. There were... things, but this was entirely different from things. She either didn't care about or didn't notice the awkward way he moved his lips and tongue, and let out what had to have been the most stereotypical porn moan when Jack's thumb brushed over-Jesus Christ, was that a nipple?

Her hand went to the fly of his jeans, popping the button open in a smooth motion, and he froze.

"Do you not have a condom? Because I can... you know," she said and it took Jack a minute to process the comment through his own fear, and damn, did she totally misinterpret his stopping.

"I... no, it's not that. I mean, I don't but... um," he stuttered around his words and paused, taking a deep breath, the sort Evelyn had taught him to calm himself down. He realized that his hand was still on her breast and he yelped, pulling it away and taking a step back, his back brushing a cabinet, contents rattling. "I just... I have to leave."

Jack rushed out of the tiny laundry room without taking another look at her and her pretty brown hair or green eyes or stupid, kiss reddened lips.

He twisted through the crowd in the living room, trying not to touch anyone. His skin crawled. He just wanted his brothers and to get the hell out of here and go home and bury himself under his blankets.

His heart was still pounding and he couldn't make it stop and when did it get so hot in here? Jack spotted the front door and went for it.

The winter air felt like heaven against his bare arms, and the shock was enough to help clear his mind a little.

They had been there for a while already, so maybe if he found one of his brothers and told them that he wanted to go home, they would and everything would be fine. He could always threaten to tell mom. Problem was he didn't know where any of them were, and he didn't want to go back inside because it was hot and crowded and full of Cindy and her nipples and wandering hands.

Maybe he would just find the car and sit next to it and wait and-there it was, but he guessed someone else stole his plan, except they were not waiting.

For anything.

Bobby had a girl, some blonde with giant tits and a miniskirt, pressed against the passenger door. His hands were roaming all over her, and they were locked at the mouth like two blood sucking leeches. God, was that how he looked with Cindy? Gross. Jack wanted to barf.

But not as much as he wanted to leave. If there was one thing that beat out every other emotion or fear or desire or physical reaction in Jack, it was his flight response. He didn't feel anxious or scared or even embarrassed as he marched up to Bobby and the woman and made himself known.

"I want to go," he said, and Bobby and the girl separated with a wet pop. Bobby wheeled around to look at him, using each and every fraction of the three inches in height he still had on Jack. Mom always told his brothers to be nice because, before they knew it, Jack was going to be taller than them and they'd be the ones looking up.

"The hell, kid?" he said with a frown, his eyes scanning Jack from head to toe and back again. "Go back inside, it's freezing out."

Some part of Jack's brain registered the cold biting into his arms, but he pushed the feeling away. "I want to go home," he repeated, and felt pressure start to build behind his eyes. Why couldn't Bobby just listen for once?

"I'm kind of busy," Bobby said, jerking his head toward the woman he'd been previously occupied with. She looked bored and a little pissed off, glaring at Jack like he had ruined her plans. "Go back inside and hang out with Angel or something."

Jack bit his tongue to keep from screaming as Bobby turned away from him and continued kissing the girl. There wasn't a chance in hell he was going back into that house. Not for anything, and if Bobby wasn't going to help him, then Jack would just have to get home himself.

So he started walking down the sidewalk in the direction he hoped would get him home. Maybe Bobby was checking to make sure he went inside, because not five seconds passed before he heard his name called out.

He wasn't going to stop, though. He wasn't going back inside and that was that and Bobby couldn't make him. A hand pulled on his shoulder and he shoved it off. He only stopped when Bobby circled around him and blocked his path.

"The hell is your problem?" he demanded, and shit did he look pissed.

"Goin' home," Jack said, not looking up from Bobby's chest. His jacket had a rip in the pocket.

"The fuck you are, fairy," Bobby said. "It's freezing and dark. Where the hell is your coat?"

Jack's eyes snapped to Bobby's face then. So that was why he was cold. It had been so warm and Cindy's hands were on him, stroking his chest and pushing the jacket off of his shoulders to let it fall forgotten to the floor, her hands warm and soft and trailing along his arms, giving him goosebumps.

"Jack," Bobby said and there was enough urgency in the man's voice to make Jack's eyes focus again. He tried to brush the tear away, but the damage had been done and the anger melted from Bobby's face as quickly as it had blossomed. He put his hands on Jack's shoulders and just looked at him for a moment. His stare was intense, so much that Jack had to look away and focus on the torn pocket again, swallowing around the lump in his throat and forcing the tears to stay put.

"Get in the car," he said and twisted Jack around by the shoulders, half pushing him towards the vehicle. They stopped near the passenger door, which was still covered by the blonde. Bobby jerked his head at the house. "Beat it."

She scrunched up her face, clearly offended by the man's casual rejection of her.

"I said beat it," Bobby said when she didn't move quick enough. "Go find some other guy."

She left in a huff, but she left, and that was the important part. Bobby opened the passenger door and pushed Jack in.

The seats were cold, the leather-like material almost worse than the winter air. Bobby circled around the front and hopped in, shoved the keys in the ignition and the car roared to life, frigid air blasting out of the vents.

Jack winced and Bobby turned it off. They just sat there for a while, not speaking and waiting for the air to warm up. When it had, Bobby put it on full blast and Jack realized how cold he was before.

He didn't feel so much like crying anymore, but he still didn't want to look at Bobby. He was worse than Evelyn sometimes when it came to making Jack talk.

"I figure we can either go home, and I make you tell me what all this is about," Bobby said, hands gripping the steering wheel. For all his protests against Jack being girly or a fairy, he sure as hell liked to make his little brother talk about his feelings. "Or I can take you for a burger and you tell me then."

And he was good at it, too, the perfect combination of threats and bribery. Jack watched the fog form on the window.

"Either way," Bobby went on. "You're gonna tell me."

"Burger," Jack mumbled after a moment of thought. It had been a long time since dinner, and, as Evelyn mentioned every time she had to buy Jack new jeans because the ones she bought last month were too short, he was a growing boy.

"OK then," Bobby said, but made no move to drive. "One thing first. Is this some emotional-personal crap, or did somebody hurt you?"

"No," Jack said. "No one hurt me." It wasn't really a lie. Nobody had hurt him. Today. And that was what Bobby asked about, so it was okay.