American Spirit

Myles was on the balcony when she came out, asking for a cigarette. It was after two, the party thinning out, slipping into that final, private phase, the last stragglers passing around joints and half finished bottles, the low murmur of rap music and drugs. Myles wasn’t part of their inner circle. He knew exactly why he was there. He had the best ketamine in the city, sourced through an older friend of his brothers, and for every bag he sold, he took a cut. Unlike the others, he needed the cash. They were all private school kids, clean and well fed, while he was from the public school down the block, the one they crossed the street to avoid.

They liked Myles, or at least pretended like they did. Especially Jack. Jack was the house they were at: a sprawling townhouse on Sixty Fifth and Park, the kind of place with silk curtains and a grand piano nobody played. His parents were already out in the Hamptons for the summer. Every weekend, Jack threw a party and every weekend, around midnight, he sent Myles the same text, always when the drinks were running low, when the crowd was starting to thin.

come thru bro

having people at mine rn

bring the stuff

Charlotte was the girl Jack had taken to prom, the one always moving around the house like she already belonged to it: smoothing pillows, fixing the music, arranging empty beer cans into neat little piles. She was pretty in the way a lot of girls were pretty. Blonde, soft, forgettable. Myles knew Jack would forget her, too. Probably before he even finished unpacking at Dartmouth.

“You don’t look like someone who smokes,” Myles said, handing her an American Spirit from his pack.

“I’m not,” she said, fumbling with the lighter. She stared out over the street, the way people did when they wanted to look like they were thinking about something.

“Where are you going to college?”

“I’m taking a gap year,” Myles said. He didn’t bother explaining that there was no college. That he’d keep doing what he was doing: dealing, buying sneakers he couldn’t afford, living with his brother and his brother’s girlfriend until one of them gave up first. Maybe the cops would get there before that. It didn’t matter.

“I’m going to Middlebury,” Charlotte said brightly. “Which is ideal, because it’s not that far from Jack.”

Myles just nodded. He didn’t care. He didn’t bother telling her what she’d figure out soon enough, that Jack wouldn’t be making trips to see her. That Jack would forget her name in a month, maybe less.

Jack loved dangling promises that would never happen. He’d made them to Myles all summer: parties that never happened, invitations that evaporated the minute he got what he wanted. A weekend in the Hamptons, his father’s box seats at the game. Golf and lunch at his country club. None of it ever materialized.

“I hope it works out,” Charlotte said. “I mean, I think it will.” She took a puff, the smoke drifting sideways in the air. “We’re dating now. Like, officially. Boyfriend and girlfriend. And we’ve had such an amazing summer. I know he can be a lot sometimes, but he’s actually really sweet.”

She paused, gave a small, embarrassed laugh.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I’m, like, venting to you.”

“I’m sure everything will work out,” Myles said, not bothering to look at her. Inside, he could hear Jack’s voice rise above the music. That high, reckless laugh, already moving on to the next thing.

Myles had heard how Jack talked about Charlotte when she wasn’t around. How he made it sound like a joke: a way to kill time before fall. His friends, boys with the same pink shorts, the same haircuts and gleaming watches, laughed along like they understood exactly what he meant.

Just the other afternoon, when Myles had dropped off weed and Percocet, Jack had pulled out his phone, scrolling to a photo Charlotte had sent him. Red lace underwear, nothing else, posing in front of her pink bedroom mirror.

“I mean, she’s obviously hot,” Jack said, turning his phone toward Myles. “Her rack is legit.”

He laughed, handed it over. “Be honest,” he said. “Would you keep her around?”

Myles looked, then shrugged. “I don’t know. College’s full of girls. Doesn’t really make sense to tie yourself down.”

Jack nodded, satisfied, already looking past him.

Myles wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe because Jack expected him to. Maybe because it was easier than the truth.

He didn’t want them to end up together. He didn’t want Charlotte in that house all the time, curled up on the couch like she belonged there.

He hadn’t kissed anyone in months. Not since that girl, years ago now, who’d made him feel like he mattered, only to gut him in the end. Since then, love felt like a trick. Something other people fell for.

“Has he said anything about me?” Charlotte asked, snapping Myles out of his reverie. She coughed and ashed her cigarette on the railing, not looking at him.

Myles shrugged. She was the kind of girl he used to imagine dating—shiny blonde hair, glossed lips, always smelling faintly like something expensive.

“We don’t really talk about that stuff,” he said.

It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. But he wasn’t going to tell her the truth either—that Jack didn’t care. That he talked about Charlotte like she was an Airbnb rental. A girl to pass the time with until school started. Myles had heard the way he said her name, always flat like an afterthought. It was probably the same way Jack talked about him, if he talked about him at all.

Still, Myles saw it in her face, the flicker of hope, the tight smile, the way she inhaled like maybe she could steady herself with air. That kind of hunger. To be seen. To be wanted. And who wouldn’t want to be wanted by Jack? He had that thing, that pull, like when he looked at you, really looked at you, it felt like sunlight. Brief. Blinding. Warm enough to make you forget it wasn’t going to last.

“Yo,” Jack called out. Myles heard it through the glass: aggressive and impatient.

Charlotte tilted her head. “Think he’s calling for you.”

Myles didn’t move. Just kept looking out at the street, pretending not to hear him. A moment later, the door creaked open. Jack stepped out, eyes squinting against the city light. He saw them sitting there and hesitated, just for a second, but it was enough. Myles saw it: the flicker of something territorial in his expression.

“Dude,” Jack said. “I’ve been calling you.”

Myles turned, slow. “Sorry dude, what’s up?”

“We’re out,” Jack said. “Of Ket. Can you hit your guy?”

“Everyone’s dry tonight,” Myles said. “I already checked.”

Jack stared at him. “You’re always out,” he shouted. “Jesus!” Myles felt Charlotte shift beside him. Then he shrugged. “Not much I can do.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. He looked past them, into the dark street, then back at Myles like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t decide if it was worth it.

“Just try,” Jack muttered. “People are asking.”

“No one’s awake right now man,” Myles said, keeping his voice steady. “There’s nothing I can do. I gave you all the stuff I had.”

Jack stared at Myles with disgust, like the shortage of ketamine had been engineered just to spite him. From inside, laughter floated out. Someone said something Myles couldn’t hear, and the laughter got louder. Were they talking about him? About Charlotte? It was that hour before dawn when everything felt more dramatic, more sensitive, like your skin was thinner and every word could cut. Jack took a step closer.

“Then why don’t you get the fuck out of my house?”

He let it hang, then added, with emphasis. “And the fuck off my girlfriend.”

Charlotte flinched. She blinked fast, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

Myles froze. For a second, he thought he’d misheard too. That the words were meant for someone else.He’d seen Jack pissed before, but never like this. Never at him. Myles stood there, stunned, like the wind had been knocked out of him. The door creaked again. Jack was already back inside.

The sky was turning pink. The night had ended. And suddenly, Myles had no idea where to go.

“I’m so sorry,” Charlotte said. Her voice was quiet, like she was afraid of making it worse. “I’ll go inside and talk to him.”

Myles didn’t respond. He just looked at her, unable to move. His body felt heavy, like he’d been nailed to the chair. The beer in his hand was warm now, but he took a sip anyway. something to do. Something to hold.

He stayed there another second or two, then finally stood. His legs felt distant and shaky. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He didn’t look for Jack. He didn’t look for Charlotte. He didn’t even glance at the couch where the guys were slouched, whispering, smirking.

“I’m done,” he said, not looking at anyone in particular. That’s when the laughter started. From the couch, cruel effortless laughter, like it had been waiting for a cue.

Jack didn’t say anything, but Myles saw his face, how he leaned back on the couch, drink in hand, like a king surveying his court. Triumphant.

That, more than the yelling, more than the insults, was what made Myles want to punch something. Not the insult, but the smugness. The ease. One of Jack’s friends muttered, “Someone’s in their feelings.”

More laughter came. Louder now. One of them clapped. A slow, sarcastic clap.

Jack raised his glass. “To my guy,” he said, bloodshot eyes still on Myles. “Always delivering. Except when it counts, of course.”

Myles didn’t think. He didn’t plan. He reached for the first thing he saw: a blue glass vase on the side table, and hurled it across the room.

The vase hit Jack square across the cheekbone. A sound like glass and bone shattering at once. His drink spilled across his chest. He slumped forward, hand to his face, and when he pulled it back, it was red. Blood running down his face. His fingers.

“Oh my god,” someone said. “Holy shit” another voice called out.

Myles stood there, chest heaving, still holding the base of the vase like he wasn’t finished.

“What the fuck happened?” Charlotte said, running over to him.

Jack looked up.“Are you insane?” he choked out. “We were messing around.” His voice cracked, like he was about to cry. He stared down at the blood on his hands. “What the fuck, man. What the hell?”

Myles didn’t answer. His body was still buzzing, like it hadn’t caught up yet with what he’d done. Like maybe it wasn’t real, wasn’t happening.

They all just stared at Myles, like he’d finally made himself visible. Myles didn’t wait for anyone to say anything else. He walked to the front doo slowly, like he had all the time in the world. The floor sticky beneath his shoes, the bass still thudding from the speaker in the corner. No one followed. He stepped out into the early morning, the sky pale and bleeding. For the first time all summer, Jack wasn’t the one in control. Myles didn’t feel proud. Didn’t feel triumphant. He didn’t feel anything. Just slightly energized. Energized and a little scared of what might happen next.