Page 76 of Falling Like Snow

Hannah scoffs. “Whatever. I’m about to make some popcorn for this show.”

“Five bucks says they’re banging by the end of the night,” Slug mutters to Cooper, who simply shakes his head at his friend.

“Excuse me, no one is banging or boning or boinking anyone tonight,” I say. “There will be no teenage pregnancies occurring the only night my mom has ever let me have a coed sleepover.”

“Oh my god, you sound just like her,” Ellis says, chuckling.

I pause. “Ew. I totally do. Fine. Teenage pregnancies for everyone!” I declare.

Jake’s face contorts. “No thanks.”

The room fills with laughter.

I unfold myself out of my chair. “I’ll work out sleeping arrangements while you guys finish studying.”

Asher pushes me back into my seat. “Absolutely not. This isn’t a Bramble Falls festival event. You don’t need to plan anything. We’ll figure it out later. Stop making excuses not to study.”

I frown at him. “I hate studying.”

“If Jake can study, you can study.”

“Fine,” I say, pouting.

Hannah taps her pen on her notebook. “You know, Preeti and Sterling are going to be so bummed they didn’t come over.”

“Devastated,” Parker agrees, not looking up from her iPad.

“Everyone shut up. Thirty minutes of silence unless it pertains to studying,” Ellis says. “After that, we can break for the night.”

A few people grumble, but we all reluctantly agree and bury our noses back in our notes.

At thirty minutes on the dot, Jake claps his hands, making everyone jump.

“Okay, well, that was fun. Party time?” he says.

“Yes!” Hannah exclaims.

“We are not partying,” I say.

“It’s a school night,” Ellis reminds them. “And we have finals.”

“There’s no way we’re having school tomorrow,” Slug argues.

“What exactly does ‘partying’ entail?” Asher asks.

“It doesn’t matter, Ash!” I exclaim. “No party. My mom would kill me.”

“All I’m saying is your mom rarely drinks, so it’s not like there’s alcohol in this house, right?” Asher says.

“Right…”

“And the weather is too bad to invite anyone else over. So,” Asher says, turning to Jake, “What do you have in mind for this party? Blasting Taylor Swift and eating fish sticks that have been in the freezer for three years? Because that’s really all you get at the Sullivan house.”

Jake deflates.

I scoff. “That’s not true. We have a bag of marshmallows, some cans of chicken noodle soup, some strawberries that are probably mushy but not moldy yet, and lots of sugary cereal. But I do think we ran out of milk. Oh, and we have hot chocolate packets.”

“Whipped cream?” Jake asks.