Friday night. The living room is quiet, lit by the soft glow of the lamp beside the couch. The faint, familiar scent of your family’s laundry detergent and the old leather of the sofa hangs in the air. You’re curled up with a book, trying to focus on the words and not the memory from earlier—Tristan Dugray, leaning against his locker, two girls from your history class laughing at something he’d said.