I drove to the New Year’s party straight from the Stork meeting. Surprised by the number of cars, I parked on the street a few houses down from Matthew’s. I had thought it was supposed to be a small group. As I walked down the sidewalk, I spied a lone figure huddled against a beat-up truck.

“Jack? Are you waiting for me?”

“Yes.”

“It’s freezing out here.” Even I couldn’t quite grasp his absolute immunity to the cold.

“How was your meeting?”

I tucked my arms under his and clasped my hands behind his back. “You know I can’t talk about it.” As much as it was a small comfort to have at least one person outside council who knew about this crazy responsibility of mine, the secrecy surrounding our Stork duties was often overwhelming.

“Fine.” He rested his chin on my head. “How about telling me if you’re in the mood for a party.”

“I’m in the mood to be with you. Anywhere.”

“Good answer.” He took my hand and led me toward Matthew’s house.

The party was in the basement, more aptly described as the entertainment level. There was a pool table, Ping-Pong table, long granite-topped bar, and huge U-shaped sectional front-and-center to a theater-worthy plasma HDTV. And there were kids everywhere. Way more than I expected.

Jack stopped to chat with Matthew. I spotted Penny and Tina sitting at the bar with Cokes in front of them.

“Happy New Year, girls,” I said, giving them both hugs. I pulled up a stool on the other side of Penny. “Big crowd.”

They exchanged looks.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Penny motioned with a dip of her head toward the TV area, where a big group, guys mainly, were watching a football game. They were loud and already rowdy. I noticed Pedro among them.

“Most of them weren’t invited,” Penny said.

“Matthew’s a nervous wreck,” Tina cut in. “He promised his parents he’d keep it small and that there wouldn’t be any drinking. If they come home early, he’s dead.”

I looked again at the group. I noticed they were mostly football players from our school and that many of them were drinking beer.

“Can’t Pedro talk to them?” I asked. “About the beers, anyway.”

“Pedro’s the one who brought them all,” Penny said with a roll of her eyes. “Without even checking with Matthew. Plus, he’s had a Coors in his hand since he got here.”

“Oh,” I said. “Is Matthew going to ask them to leave?”

“No,” Tina said. “Not yet, anyway. Only if they get out of control. But it’s just ruining the entire night for him. He’s all stressed out.”

Jack joined us at the bar. I raised my eyes warningly as he presumably summed up the mood of my two friends. “Do you want me to talk to Pedro?” he asked Penny.

“Good luck getting his attention,” she said. “He’s ignored me all night.”

Overhearing Jack and Penny’s conversation, Matthew stepped behind the bar. “Forget it,” he said to Jack. “I just don’t want any trouble. As long as they stay cool and take their empties with them.”

More kids arrived, gathering at the bar. Matthew and a buddy of his handed out sodas from the fridge. Jack and I got talked into a game of pool. We lost, but didn’t let it stop us from challenging Tina and Matthew to a game.

Around eleven, the Ping-Pong table was folded up, some Top 40s cranked through the cable-music channels, and a small dance floor got going.

Jack and I took seats at the bar. Matthew asked if we wanted anything, and I asked for a Coke. I spun my stool to watch the dancers when I heard Matthew behind me say, “What the hell?”

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

I turned back around.

“There was a bottle of vodka here earlier; it’s gone.” He held up an empty bottle of Jack Daniels. “And this was full.”

The three of us looked at the dancers, as if expecting to see a bottle being passed around brazenly, or a big back-pocket bulge on one of the linebackers stomping to the music.

The song changed to a slow one, and couples, one of which was Pedro and Penny, paired off.

“I can’t believe this,” Matthew said.

Tina joined Matthew behind the bar, swinging her hips to the music and trying to tempt him into a dance. He wouldn’t budge; he wasn’t going to leave the rest of his parents’ liquor unattended. Tina, Jack, and I kept Matthew company in his vigil. He was concocting schemes to refill the bottle, at least temporarily: iced tea, watered-down coffee, and even flat root beer were thrown around as possibilities.

A few minutes before midnight, Jack slipped his hand into mine and pulled me away from the bar and out the sliding-glass door to a patio.

“Do you mind?” he asked, leading us to a garden bench. “I don’t want to share you at midnight.”

“When you put it that way,” I said, huddling into the warmth of his offered arm.

“Can’t think of a better way to welcome a new year.”

“Any resolutions?” I asked.

“Actually, there is one.”

I was certain this was a clever segue into a remark about us, something that would lead perfectly into a New Year’s kiss. “What is it?” I asked.

“To devote myself to Stanley’s climate-change studies.”

“You’re not serious?” Devote? It was an odd word choice.

“It’s interesting and important,” he said. “And of all people, I should know the science behind weather. Maybe it’s the key to understanding this thing I have.”

He said “thing” as if his abilities were a curse, not a gift.

“I guess that’s good,” I said, though probably without too much conviction. “To learn how to best control or use your abilities.”

“I don’t want to control my abilities,” Jack said. “I’m more interested in getting rid of them.”

“Get rid of them?”

“They’re dangerous. You know that better than anyone.”

I was speechless. The little boy’s death had me just as shaken as him. And the whole thing was more my fault than his. Still, I hadn’t seen denying or abandoning our gifts as the answer.

From the house burst out a raucous chorus: “Ten, nine, eight . . .”

“But Jack . . .”

“Five, four, three . . .”

“No buts,” he said.

“Happy New Year!”

Before I could argue further, Jack swept me into a kiss. A subject-changing, resolve-melting, backbone-buckling smooch.

We were interrupted by loud voices that sounded more angry than celebratory. We rushed into the house just in time to see one of the football players duck as a barstool whizzed past his head and slammed into the wall with a deafening thud and splintering of wood. Two guys charged each other, only to be pulled apart by Pedro and three others. Within minutes, the commotion had settled, and the two guys had been kicked out, but the damage had already been done.

Matthew held the broken leg of a stool in one hand as he rubbed a deep dent in the wall with the other. Penny stood glaring at Pedro with her hands on her hips.

“What?” Pedro asked. “I didn’t do anything. I was clear across the room.”

“The hell you didn’t,” Penny said, brushing past him.