To the frat house

Emily was halfway through folding Chloe’s tiny laundry when her phone lit up with her eldest sister’s name. She considered letting it go to voicemail, but guilt tugged at her chest. With a sigh, she answered.

Her sister’s voice was sharp with panic. “He hasn’t answered a single call or email all week. Not one. His father’s going into surgery this weekend, and he doesn’t even know. Emily, please—can you drive over? You’re closer.”

Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll check on him. But you know how weird it feels being called his aunt when I’m barely five years older than him. We grew up practically like siblings.”

“I don’t care what you call yourself—just make sure he knows. Please.”

The call ended before Emily could argue further. She tossed the folded laundry aside. It was a lazy Saturday evening and she’d been wearing the same thing all day—soft, tight jeans and a fitted tanktop that clung to her without the buffer of a bra. Comfortable for hanging around the house, not for going out. Her hair was tied up loosely, no makeup, no preparation. But this was supposed to be a quick trip: knock on a door, pass along the message, and drive home before Chloe stirred.

Keys in hand, she stopped at the door. Jason was bent over his laptop at the kitchen counter, headphones slung around his neck.

“I’m running out for a bit!” she shouted over the hum of his typing. “Going to check on Mickey.”

Jason lifted his head, gave her a distracted nod, and turned back to the screen. Emily rolled her eyes. She still couldn’t believe her eldest sister had actually named her son Mickey. The kid had grown into it, sure, but it never stopped sounding odd to her ears.

With a sigh, she headed out.

But when she turned onto the frat’s street, she knew instantly she’d underestimated.

Even from the car she could hear the pounding bass. Windows throbbed with it, spilling strobe lights across the lawn. Dozens of voices shouted and sang off-key. She parked at the curb, staring at the scene. Red cups littered the yard, broken bottles glinted in the grass. Half-dressed students stumbled and laughed, some wrestling on the lawn, others grinding to music only they could hear.

Emily sat for a moment, gripping the wheel, before exhaling and stepping out.

The cool air did nothing to settle the heat already rising in her chest. Eyes turned toward her almost immediately—boys with caps backward, girls draped over shoulders, all of them wild with drink. She tugged at the hem of her tanktop, suddenly too aware of how thin it was, how braless she was, how this was not what anyone wore out to a party like this. She wished desperately she’d at least thrown on a bra, maybe a sweater.

But she had a job to do.

She swallowed hard, squared her shoulders, and **** herself toward the door. Each step was accompanied by whistles, laughter, and drunken greetings as if she were just another guest. When she crossed the threshold, the humid heat of bodies and booze wrapped around her. The bass shook through her bones, the smell of spilled beer and sweat heavy in the air.

If she wanted to find her nephew, she’d have to push through this chaos herself.

Emily inhaled once, deep and steady, then stepped into the house—her night about to spiral in directions she hadn’t imagined.