Me, You, & The Party Rock Crew

“Tú ya no puedes volar conmigo, aunque mis sueños se irán contigo.” (You can no longer fly with me, but my dreams will go with you.)  – Hoja en Blanco, Monchy y Alexandra 1999 (originally released by Los Diablitos del Vallenato in 1997).

Christmas morning was quiet, like the snow that fell outside. It was a light dusting, but still enough to give the White Christmas hopefuls a chance. Izzie, on the other hand, was the opposite. Instead, she basked in the quiet. But then, pulling her out of the silence and into a heart-rate spiking moment was Quinn’s message. His message was sweet, heartfelt, and brought a silly smile to her face. It read: 

Quinn: Good morning. Merry Christmas! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas Eve with your family. Can’t wait for us to hang out. 

Before Izzie could have a moment to recover, another message came in. Maisie. 

Maisie: Merry Christmas, queen! 

Followed by the Rockefeller tree. Izzie nearly bolted out of her bed in joy, nearly startling Stelly awake. Maisie had been wanting to move back to New York for a while, and the picture solidified her response: she was finally going back. Maisie was a go-getter, after all. 

Izzie: Holy shit, Maze! 

Maisie: Surprise! 

Izzie: So is this your official two-week notice? 

Maisie: No, you do have me until May as promised. Trying to get rid of me so soon? 

Izzie: Hell no, but I do want you to live your dream. 

Maisie: Soon. 

Izzie: I’m gonna miss you, you know. 

Maisie: Ew, don’t get mushy on me. 

Maisie: Kidding ❤ I’ll miss you too. 

Izzie’s heart ached. Maisie, her neighbor, her very first friend in California, her colleague. She’d be gone just a week after her birthday, moving to the opposite side of the country. She’d miss her like crazy, but she was so incredibly proud of her. 

Maisie: Don’t get into too much trouble out there without me. 

Izzie: Too late. 

Maisie: Call me tomorrow? 

Izzie: Will do! 

Just like that, Izzie sat back in bed, letting reality slowly settle in. Izzie had the quietness of Christmas Day ahead of her; Liv and Dani would be gone, Eddie would be back at the airport working with Tia Victoria, leaving her and Abuela with a peaceful and quiet Christmas. However, with that, also loomed her hot girl walk with Quinn. 

Izzie: Merry Christmas, Quinn! I hope you also had a wonderful time and that you and your family get to enjoy the winter. Can’t wait to see you! 

Quinn reacted with a Christmas tree emoji, letting Izzie know that it was read, and she sighed softly to herself. All of a sudden, she heard the sound of laughter from outside her window. She peeked through the curtains to see her old neighbor, Hayley, now 16. Hayley was now the age that Izzie was when she made her first steps in that very backyard. Boy, did time fly. Now here she was with her friends, all laughing, making some sort of holiday TikTok with the hopes of going viral. Seeing the teens all together brought back a flood of memories of past pre-Christmases with the Party Rock Crew, and that brought a smile to Izzie’s face.

Finals Week. December 2009. 

December had always done this to her–pulled her back without asking. 

It was the last day of semester one finals, and it had been a rollercoaster from hell. Izzie stumbled out of her geometry exam, head spinning from complex equations that felt more like riddles designed by a sadistic Greek philosopher than math. Her eyes burned, her brain buzzed, and she was in desperate need of caffeine–or a lightning strike. 

When her phone buzzed with a text from Hala about meeting up at the local cafe with Noora, Sunwoo, Simon, and a few others, Izzie didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her coat from her locker down the hall and veered toward the cafeteria–their usual rendezvous spot–dragging her backpack behind her like dead weight. 

The halls were eerily quiet, the kind of silence that only existed during finals week. Every so often, she’d pass an upperclassman staring blankly into space or a wide-eyed freshman who looked like they were being marched to their execution. 

As she turned the corner and started down the stairs, she spotted Sunwoo yanking his coat from his locker. Normally, they would’ve shouted something obnoxious across the hall, but even they seemed to respect the sanctity of finals. Instead, they exchanged a silent wave, and Izzie slowed so he could catch up. 

“Sup, Fizzie?” he finally said. 

“Sup, bro?” she replied, giving him a small smile. 

“You think you survived geometry?” 

“Yeah…I think so? I dunno. It was, like, just ten kinds of complicated. If I pull a B, that’s a Christmas miracle.” 

“Man,” Sunwoo sighed. “That final definitely had some weird juju on it. By the way–where did Hala say we were going again?” 

“Cafe LeAmour.” 

“Bro,” Sunwoo groaned rather dramatically. “Do I look like some French guy named Pierre who likes oui-oui up the ass?” 

“Jesus, Sunwoo,” Izzie muttered, biting back a laugh. There were just some things he said that were one thousand percent unhinged. This was no different. 

“Am I wrong?” 

“Yes. You are deeply, profoundly wrong in the head.” 

“But I made a valid argument,” he insisted with a haughty smile. “Plus, milk makes my stomach sound like the first five seconds of Down With the Sickness.” 

“There are dairy-free options, bro.” 

“You better pray,” Sunwoo warned solemnly, “because one drop of dairy and I am airing out the whole cafe–” 

“Damn, that sounds like somethin’ serious,” a voice chimed in. 

It was Kareem Al-Jazeer, in all his tall, lanky, stoner glory. His hoodie sleeves swallowed his hands, his clearly flat-ironed hair peeking from beneath a beanie he probably hadn’t washed in weeks. 

“Oh, hey,” Izzie blinked. “I didn’t know you were coming along too.” 

“Yup,” Kareem nodded easily. “ Noora wouldn’t stop pulling my arm about it. Something about broadening my horizons or whatever.” 

“That’s exactly what Fizzie here was trying to convince me of!” Sunwoo called out dramatically. 

“All because I said there were dairy-free options, you idiot,” Izzie shot back. 

As the three of them made their way down the main hallway, their group slowly grew: Noora hustling to grab her coat, Hala joining with her usual confident stride, Simon jogging to catch up as if he’d almost missed the memo, and Ryan bringing up the rear, holding the door as they headed off campus. 

(Hattie, Callie, Carter, Daisy, and Caroline were still trapped in finals hell and would catch up later.) 

They walked, conversations overlapping and colliding–gripes about the history final, the English essay that left wrists burning, the geometry exam that made heads spin. The air outside was sharp, biting, but for a bunch of invincible 15 and 16-year-olds, it was nothing more than a mere chill. 

As they reached the narrow creek separating the school from the baseball field, they paused. 

“We’ve gotta jump it,” Simon said, pointing. “The ice looks thin.” 

Without waiting, he took a running leap and cleared it easily. Hala stopped short, arms crossing as she assessed the situation while the others hopped more cautiously. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “The ice looks pretty solid to me.” 

“Pretty sure that’s an illusion,” Izzie warned. 

“I’ll be fine,” Hala shrugged, stepping one boot onto the ice. 

Solid. 

“See,” Hala grinned, pride flashing across her face–

Crack. 

Her boot plunged straight into the ice. 

Hala shrieked as the guys lunged forward, grabbing her arms and hauling her back while her boot sat half-submerged, stubbornly lodged in the creek. She hopped to the other side on one foot as Izzie crouched down, fishing the soaked boot and handing it back to her. 

For a beat, Hala stared at it. 

Then she snorted. 

Then Izzie did. 

And just like that, they were laughing–full, breathless laughter that bent them over at the waist. The guys joined in a second later, howling like it was the funniest thing that had ever happened. 

Noora, meanwhile, stood on the other side of the creek, staring at them like they’d all lost their minds. 

“There is something seriously wrong with you guys,” she sighed. 

“Oh, lighten up, eighth wife!” Sunwoo laughed between breaths. “You can’t die in a shallow creek.” 

Their laughter echoed off the empty field, bright and careless, carried by the cold air. The sound lingered–and then, it was gone. 

“Yo, Iz?” Eddie’s head poked through the door. 

“Sup?” she muttered, turning back from the curtain. 

“Abuela wants to know if you want arepas y perico¹ for breakfast.” 

“Duh.” 

“Okay, cool,” he grinned. “Get your ass up, then.” 

Just like that, Izzie rolled out of her old bed and dug through Stelly’s bag for a can of her favorite Friskies wet food. Stelly–ever-food-motivated–was already stationed by her travel bowl, tail flicking, purring loud enough to qualify as a small engine at the sight of breakfast. 

“There you go, princess,” Izzie murmured, giving her a quick pat on the head once the food was down. 

She padded into the kitchen in socked feet, the air thick with the smell of arepas costeñas² and cafe de olla³, eggs sizzling with onion and tomatoes. Warm. Familiar. Comforting in a way that hit her square in the chest. 

If this were heaven, Izzie thought, she’d never want to leave. 

God, she missed this. 

After a hearty breakfast and a quiet afternoon of reading while abuela worked on her next crocheting project, Izzie finally retreated back to her room to get ready. 

She dolled herself up in the most casual way possible, though she knew better than to pretend that it wasn’t intentional. Her braids were pulled into a high ponytail, her lips glossed just enough to catch the light, her cheeks softly rouged, and her eyelids dusted with glitter that felt festive without trying too hard. Effortless, but deliberate. The kind of look that said: I didn’t overthink this, while absolutely having overthought it. 

He wouldn’t see the Stranger Things ugly sweater she’d thrown on, something they’d once bonded over during a late-night watch, but she smiled to herself at the matching holiday leggings. It felt like a small secret, something just for her. 

Perfume dabbed carefully at her pulse points, a quick check in the mirror, and a bendición from Abuela later, she was out the door and into her rental car. 

Lilacia Park. 

The drive should’ve taken twenty minutes, but the roads were eerily kind: no traffic, every light green, as if the city itself had been nudging her forward. When she pulled in, the park was glowing, wrapped in its annual display of Christmas lights that transformed the winter-dark paths into something almost enchanted. 

For a moment, she just sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, Paul McCartney on the radio, breathing it in. 

She texted Quinn to let him know she’d arrived. 

Almost immediately, headlights swept across her peripheral vision. She looked up just in time to see his car pull into the space right beside hers. 

Of course. 

“I see you,” she laughed, hopping out of the car. 

But it wasn’t really laughter, it was recognition. The kind that caught in her chest before it ever reached her mouth. 

Quinn was there, standing beside his door, looking at her like she was something familiar and newly discovered all at once. For a second, neither of them moved. The space between them felt suspended, like the moment right before a picture’s taken. 

Then he smiled. 

It was soft and unmistakably his, the kind that reached his eyes and made something in her loosen. 

“Hey,” he said, almost reverently, before extending a small purple bag toward her. 

“Merry Christmas, Izzie.” 

She blinked, momentarily thrown. “Hey, no fair,” she pouted. “I didn’t have time to get you anything.” 

“It’s homemade,” he said quickly, a little bashful now. “I remembered how much you loved my mom’s brookies. She made extra.” His smile tilted. “She insisted.” 

Izzie laughed, but it wavered. “Quinn…seriously? Thank you.” 

She held the bag like it mattered, because it did. 

“One sec.” 

She turned to place the brookies carefully on the driver’s seat, deliberately slow, as if giving herself time to steady whatever had shifted when she first saw him. She relocked the car, exhaled, and rejoined him. 

From there, they started their walk. 

The sky was kinder than it had been the day before–clouds pulled apart just enough to reveal soft washes of blue and peach, gold and pink bleeding into the horizon. The park glowed quietly beneath the Christmas lights, like it was holding its breath. 

At first, they walked in a comfortable silence. 

Not awkward, not empty. Just…full. 

When Quinn asked questions, they were gentle ones, about the park, about what it had been like growing up here. And when Izzie answered, she found herself remembering things she hadn’t meant to. 

She pointed out the hill she, Sunwoo, and Daisy once rolled down, laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. The spot where the Crew took their infamous prom pictures. The place where they all stood in a tight circle and swore–hands stacked, voices shaking–that their friendship would last the test of time. 

Quinn listened to every story as if it mattered. 

Like she mattered. 

Like he wasn’t just walking beside her but learning the shape of where she came from. 

The thought made her smile to herself, and Quinn noticed. 

Without a word, he reached for her gloved hand, his fingers fitting into hers like it was something they’d done before. She looked up at him, amber meeting chestnut, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to just that. Warmth, breath, the hush of winter air. It was just them. The silence no longer felt stolen. It felt earned. 

Then came footsteps. 

Rhythmic, too close. 

Instinctively, Quinn guided her a step to the side to make room for the approaching joggers, his hand still firm around hers–until she saw them. 

Sea-green eyes. 

Familiar in a way that made her chest seize, and her blood go cold. 

“Izzie?” 

1. Huevos Pericos or “Parakeet eggs” are eggs mixed with onions, tomatoes, or peppers, commonly found in Colombia and Venezuela. The name is due to its coloring similar to parakeets. ↩︎
2.  Arepas costeñas: Fried arepas made with corn meal that puff up. You could have them with egg or stuff them with cheese. More commonly found on the coast of Colombia such as Barranquilla, Santa Marta, & Cartagena. 
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3.  Cafe de olla: Coffee from a pot, commonly made in Latin American countries. ↩︎