Prologue
People in Willow Heights seemed to be divided in half.
Some—those who disappear every Friday into expensive clubs, dancing under neon lights and laughing so loudly, as if happiness could be bought with money.
And others—those who have to gather on the outskirts, in back alleys, in abandoned warehouses and quarries, where the music comes from old speakers, and the wine comes from plastic cups.
My friends are from the second half. From those whom no one invites to glossy parties. We don’t have rich parents, shiny cars, or famous last names.
Despite where I grew up and where I still live, I often managed to meet those who lived on the bright, noisy side of the city. I made acquaintances through websites—placing red hearts under the photos of guys and girls who could, even for a minute, pull me out of the gray reality of my neighborhood.
But the truth is, I didn’t really like any of it. Crowds of people, alcohol, dirt, weed, casual sex—this isn’t my life. Not my reality.
Though behind all this humiliating spectacle, one purpose hid.
Him.
Light blue, almost transparent eyes. Hair the color of shortbread. I could stare forever at his masculine face with that killer-cute, disarming smile.
But… I can’t.
