Thanks so much to the always amazing BookWorm145 for the AMAZING trailer

Adena’s POV

I brushed my hair and glanced at the clock. I was supposed to meet Dylan for lunch at Al's Pizza in twenty minutes. After noticing how close I was getting to Dylan, even telling him about my mother, I had completely shut him out. We had become too close, to the point where I had to start pushing him away.

I only talked in short sentences to him now. But we were only in our groups once this week. The other days we spent doing vocab. Dylan, oddly, waited outside for me one of the days. He began to talk about movies and when I didn't respond he started on the subject of this weeks project assignment. We had to hang out for at least an hour.

That's when the plans to hang out Saturday were made. And now, here we are; Saturday.

I slipped on a necklace I had gotten from my mother; my real mother. I rarely wore it and thought it was time to show it off. And in what better way than a pizza place. Grabbing my wallet and phone, I made my way down the stairs. Grady and Quinton were in the kitchen, trying to shoot chips into each others mouths.

"What are you doing?" I questioned.

"Not only can Quinton not catch a football, he can't catch chips either," Grady teased, causing me to laugh. Quinton opened his mouth, chucking his empty water bottle at him.

"I can to catch a football! and chips! You just can't throw them right!" I laughed at their silliness as Grady grabbed a handful of chips and chucked them all at Quintons face. Quinton attempted to catch them all but failed, almost smacking against the counter. I watched as Quinton struggled to find a retort.

"See! ...can't throw!" He finished lamely.

"See!" Grady yelled. "Can't catch!"

"I'd love to sit here and watch you too guys be... idiots. But I have to go," I smiled, almost happy I actually had plans

"Well, where are you going dressed all fancy?" Quinton questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm meeting Dylan at Al's Pizza," I nodded.

"A date? Adena! You're going on a date!" Grady yelled, practically jumping with joy.

"No!" I instantly rejected. "It's not. It's for the project."

"Well, if it isn't a date, than I want to come! I want pizza! Pizza is good!" Quinton shouted.

"Oh come on guys. We have to work on the project!" I protested.

"Ooo! Adena wants some alone time with Dylan," Grady teased, winking.

"When do you have to be there?" Quinton asked. I clicked on my phone, looking at the time.

"Fifteen minutes."

"Then you shall not be late dear sister!" Quinton yelled, running over and throwing me over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" I tried to yell, but my yelling was covered in laughter.

"To the car!" Grady shouted, running out of the kitchen and to the front door.

"Put me down! I'm serious!" Quinton ran after Grady. He bolted outside and to the car where Grady was standing with the passenger seat open. Quinton set me down, closing the door and walking around towards the driver side.

Grady had ran back to shut the front door. When he saw Quinton was heading to the driver seat, he sprinted. Grady beat him to the door, hopped in and locked it.

“I win!” Grady yelled in victory. Quinton frowned, admitting defeat and got into the backseat. I sighed, finally relenting; knowing I couldn't change their minds. Besides...it might be a good thing having them there... maybe it will be less awkward.

Getting to the pizza place only took five minutes because Grady liked to speed like a maniac. The whole time he and Quinton argued over which actresses was hotter Jennifer Lawrence or Megan Fox.

We pulled up to the place and my palms began to sweat. I became nervous instantly and thought about faking sick so I could go home.

Quinton must have saw this because as soon as Grady stopped the car he got out of it, coming to my side and opening the door.  I stepped out, taking in a deep breath. Quinton threw his arms around my shoulders and we walked inside, leaving Grady behind.

The second we stepped foot through the doors the smell of delicious pizza instantly hit my nose. There was a lot more people than I had thought, most of them being from school. Quinton spotted an open booth and we walked to it. As Grady came in, he talked to some friends before joining us.

"Thanks for waiting!" He said sarcastically, taking a seat in the booth besides Quinton. Our server, Hazel, came up and set down some cups for us.

"Hey guys, welcome to Al's Pizza. I'll be back for your order but help yourself with drinks. The machines over there," she pointed behind herself, walking away.

"I'm so thirsty I'm going to die!" I gasped, grabbing my cup and heading towards the machine. I debated on getting Diet Coke or Root Beer. Deciding on Root Beer, I filled up my cup. I spun around, heading back towards the booth. I was almost there when a man, about six foot, slammed into me without warning. My Root Beer spilled all over my top and he pushed me again; I crashed to the ground. He turned to me, muttering some hurtful cuss words.

My cheeks turned red almost immediately as I felt everyone's eyes on me. Quinton and Grady jumped from the booth, running over.

"Are you alright?" Grady asked, helping me up.

"Hey! What's your problem?" Quinton yelled at the man who had bumped into me. He turned around and came up to Quinton.

"I don't have a problem. What's your problem?" He bellowed. The man had a good couple inches on Quinton, making him look like he towered over him. But Quinton wasn't backing down. “She ran into me!"

"Really? She ran into you? Is that the best excuse you got?" The man snorted. "Are you going to apologize?" Quinton yelled.

"No, I didn't do anything."

"Quinton, please it's fine. Just leave it," I said, feeling as embarrassed as possible. Tears threatened to build up in my eyes and all I wanted was to go.

"Listen to the clutz."

"What did you just call her?" Quinton spat at him. As people began to crowd around us, I saw the door open. Dylan peeked his head through the people, seeing Quinton, Grady and I. He tore through the crowd, coming up and in between Quinton and the man.

"Woah! Everyone calm down," He said, trying to defuse the situation. "What's going on?" He questioned.

"This jerk ran into Adena and he's refusing to apologize!" Quinton explained. Dylan turned to me and saw me in my distressed state. I was extremely uncomfortable, standing soaked in Root Beer.

"I see." Dylan said. "Just apologize," he said, turning to the man.

"Are you serious? I'm not apologizing. If Papa Smurf over there couldn't make me do it, I doubt you will," Dylan turned to the man, looking him intensely in the eye.

"Come on, Jersey Shore," Dylan insulted, making fun of the man’s tan body and spiky hair. "Just say you're sorry, or is that too difficult for you?" I saw the anger in the mans eyes and I knew what was going to happen next. The man balled his fist and swung at Dylan. Dylan saw it coming and blocked it, returning with a punch to his face. The guy flew back and Dylan looked to me.

While distracted the man got up, charging Dylan. He tackled him, smashing Dylan on top of the table. Dylan landed on a glass cup, shattering it against his arm. The sound of the shattering glass made me cringe.

"Guys! Stop!" I tried to stop them, but it did no good. Dylan kicked the man in the stomach, sending him backwards as he jumped off the table. The man punched Dylan in the mouth but Dylan wasn't stopping now. He returned the punch, sending his fist into his jaw.

"Hey!" Someone screamed. We turned around to see Al, the short yet angry manager, standing there. "I'm calling the cops!" He warned. At the mere mention of the word cops, everyone inside the place took off running out the door. I grabbed onto Dylans hand, dragging him along with me.

"Adena!" Quinton shouted to me as we got outside. "Are you coming?" I turned to Dylan, seeing blood running down his arm. I couldn't just let him go home on his own.

"I'm going to make sure he’s okay. Be home later," I said as Dylan led me to his car. Dylan handed me his keys as we got into his car, speeding off. I remembered how to get to his house, so thats where we headed.  

Dylan seemed out of it, not saying a word. I was guessing his adrenaline had worn off and he was now feeling the side effects. We were silent the whole car ride to his house, not even music was playing. I pulled up and made sure Dylan was okay before following him inside.

We walked through the front hallway, passing family photos of Dylan and his parents. I wanted to stop and take a look, but Dylan was already moving into the living room. I quickly raced after him; wanting to keep an eye on his wounds. He lead me to the steel kitchen that was off to the left from the living room. He went right to the refrigerator, grabbing out an ice pack and holding it against his already bruised knuckles.  

“Do you have a first aid kit?” He gave a simple nod and grabbed something out of the drawer in the island table in the middle of the kitchen. “Can you sit somewhere for me?”

“You don’t have to help me,” he stated and I shook my head.

“We’ll, I’m going too,” he nodded and hopped onto the counter, giving me full access to his cuts. I started with his arm. I quickly got a paper towel and soaked it in hydrogen peroxide, patting it against his wound. He hissed in pain and I grimaced; I then glanced around the kitchen.

The stove was across from the fridge on the right which was next to the island that Dylan and I were at. I turned my gaze to Dylan’s eyes which were gazing back at me with a sleepy gaze.

I peeled the towel away to see if there was any glass in it. Finding none, I grabbed some ointment from the kit and placed it on an extra large bandage. Taking the bandage, I set it down on the cut. Then I turned my eyes to his lips; they were cut and a little swollen.

“Sadly, there’s not a lot I can do for that,” I said, lifting his chin so I could see his lip a little more in the light. “Just put ice on it. Gargle hot water with salt in it, it’s going to take some time,” I looked at his eyes, his gaze set towards the wall.

I could tell he was exhausted. Why had he defended me? I didn’t know.

The fight they had was worse than any other fight I had ever seen before. While running out, I saw the man’s battle scars. Extremely red cheeks which could soon bruise, a nice swollen left eye, and a bloody nose. Dylan had gotten his share of battle scars though, meaning no man had won the fight.

But if you asked either of them, they’d both say they had both won, no doubt.

“How are you so good at this?” Dylan questioned, snapping me out of my thoughts. I looked to his knuckles, seeing them already turning purple.

“Quinton’s an idiot.” I simply stated. Dylan managed a laugh, causing me to smile slightly.

“Are you okay?” He questioned. I tried to avoid the answer because this wasn’t about me at all.

“Don’t forget, RICE. R; rest your fingers, I; ice your fingers, C; compress your fingers, and E; elevate your fingers,” he nodded, taking in the information but not responding to it.

“Adena, are you alright?” I was the farthest thing from alright. I had been embarrassed in front of the whole restaurant and I was the cause of my friend getting hurt.

Wait... did I just call Dylan a friend?

It’d be something I’d have to get used to because, after this, there was no way he was just going to be my partner anymore.

"Adena?" He questioned and I noticed I had not only been standing there in silence, but I also had tears starting to build in my eyes.

"I'm fine," I smiled, trying to think of anything to get the tears to go away.

"Forget that guy," he said, trying to comfort me. He started at me for a moment and then looked down at my shirt. Dylan jumped down off the counter and disappeared upstairs. I stood there for a moment awkwardly, not knowing what to do. He came back down, a t-shirt in his hand.

"Here," he said, tossing it to me. "Your probably really uncomfortable in your Root Beer soaked shirt."

"Thanks, but I can't take your shirt."

"Ah, its an old one anyway. Come on, it's the least I could do," he smiled so sweetly, I found myself saying yes. Dylan pointed me towards the bathroom and I walked in it. I quickly changed into his t-shirt which felt like a dress on me, but at least it was comfortable and not soaked in pop.

Sadly the shirt was a Michigan one. My favorite team’s rival. I walked out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen, Dylan sitting on the counter where I left him.

"Sorry about the t-shirt, State," he teased.

“Yeah," I said lifting the corner of my lips to signal a smile.

"What's wrong?" He questioned.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure?" He said, an eyebrow raised in wonder.

"Why did you do it?" I turned to him. "I mean why did you defend me?"

"Because," he smiled, setting a hand on my shoulder. "We’re friends."