One of two things happened whenever I was lucky enough to get any sleep.

I either dreamt of nothing (my preference) or I had the same horrific nightmare I'd been having since I was twelve years old.

It always started out the same way. I'd be standing at the end of the hallway in our old apartment, right outside my bedroom door. The shouting would begin, dim at first, growing steadily louder and louder like someone was messing with the dial on a radio, cranking the volume up.

I'd take off down the hallway next, running for everything I was worth as the shouting and now the sounds of breaking glass, chairs being knocked over, became so loud it was painful. 

But try as I might, I never reached the end of that hallway. I never made it to the kitchen just around the corner, never made it in enough time to stop it — stop the very thing responsible for destroying my life and tearing my family apart.

Then I'd wake up drenched in a cold sweat, tangled up in the sheets with my heart pounding. It would take several minutes before the tremors in my hands would stop and I felt somewhat grounded in reality again.

Last night had unfortunately been the latter. This morning was no different. 

I leaned against the headboard and scrubbed my face with my hands, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. My heart rate had almost returned to normal when I heard a shuffling noise, followed by the unmistakable sound of light footsteps across the wooden floor of my bedroom.

I scrambled toward the foot of the bed and found the intruder at once.

"Rosie!"

My little sister stopped rifling through my laundry long enough to shoot me a cheerful smile and a wave. "Morning, big bro! I'm looking for Mister Wiggins."

"Rosie." I sat back with a groan. "You know you're not supposed to come in here without knocking."

"I did knock!" Rosie protested. "I knocked a lot, but you didn't say anything, so I thought it was okay to come in."

She was still in her Minnie Mouse pajamas, and I could see she had a milk mustache, so she'd been up long enough to get herself breakfast and go on a hunt for her favorite teddy bear.

"That's so not how it works," I told her. "If you knock and I don't answer, that means --"

Whatever I'd been about to say died suddenly in my throat when it finally hit that my little sister was going through my laundry --- dangerously close to the pair of jeans I'd kicked aside last night, where that note -- the note -- was still hidden away in the pocket.

"Put that down!"

I bounded up off the bed with a speed I didn't think I was capable of, immediately snatching the pair of pants from Rosie. 

She squeaked as she stumbled back a step, and all it took was one wide-eyed, terrified look from my little sister to make me realize I was being a colossal jerk.

I threw the pants on my bed and scooped Rosie up into my arms. "I'm sorry, bambolina. That was pretty mean of me."

Rosie wrapped her little arms around my neck and buried her face in my shoulder. "That's okay. Mommy says you're always grumpy in the morning."

"Well, mom's not wrong," I told her. "But it's still no excuse. I'm sorry, Rosie."

"That's okay," Rosie said again. "Promise, Archer."

I carted her over to the door and set her on her feet. "Let me get dressed and I'll come help you find Mister Wiggins."

"Sounds like a plan," Rosie said, holding out a hand for me to shake. "I'll go put on some TV while I wait."

I dropped my head against the bedroom door once it was shut, groaning. It occurred to me now that my little sister could barely write her own name, so it wasn't like she'd have been able to read the note.

I threw on the first articles of clean clothing I could get my hands on and stuffed all my homework into my backpack. I would've been done sooner had I not triple checked that the note was secured safely in my pocket. No way was I going to risk the chance of anyone else stumbling across it. The thing was going to have to stay with me for the foreseeable future – however long that happened to be.

Downstairs I found Rosie seated on the couch in the small living room, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and one teddy bear safely in her arms.

"Mister Wiggins was under the couch," Rosie said, patting the top of the bear's head. "I found him all by myself, but you can still watch TV with me."

"Five minutes is all you're getting from me, squirt."

"I'll take it."

I grabbed a granola bar from a cupboard in the kitchen and joined Rosie on the couch. I'd finished the bar by the time my five minutes were up and listened to Rosie instantly start complaining on my way to the front door.

"Do you have to go to school?" she whined while I slipped on my shoes. "Can't you just stay here with me?"

"Would if I could, kid, but you know how it goes. School first and then I'll be home later."

Rosie collapsed back onto the couch with an exaggerated groan. "But I miss you when you're gone, Archer."

Those words had a sudden vice-like grip on my heart, squeezing painfully hard. I was gripping the doorknob so tightly my fingers ached, and I don't know how long I stood there, waiting to thaw.

When I finally did, my voice sounded foreign to my own ears. "I know."

I was pretty sure I told Rosie that I loved her, but I didn't stick around to wait for a response. I was already on my way down the stairs into the coffee house's kitchen, that note feeling like a lead brick in my pocket weighing me down.

Jumping right into the action with my mom to help clear out the morning rush and send people on their merry way with coffee and pastries or breakfast sandwiches was enough to provide a temporary distraction. 

My brain was already returning to its regularly scheduled screwed up programming once I'd said goodbye to my mom and grandmother and I was on my way to the train. 

It was almost an hour-long journey to JFK Prep with all of the stops along the way, but it felt like no time had passed at all when I was joining the throng of students filing into the building. I'd been attending this school for going on three years now, but I was still hit with the same wave of awkwardness, the strong feeling that I didn't belong here, as I walked inside. 

After it  happened and I spent several months refusing to go to my run of the mill public school, I ended up being held back a year. This left me scrambling to catch up on everything I'd missed over the next summer – which I did, albeit grudgingly -- and it had been a casual suggestion from my middle school guidance counselor that maybe a more challenging curriculum would be a better motivator. So, I'd applied just to get Mr. Thompson off my case, doubtful I'd even earn myself one of the few full-ride scholarships JFK Prep offered each year.

But I had been, and now I was stuck.

For a long time, my mother hadn't stopped making comments about how good this would look on my college applications. I'd never been able to tell her that I had no intention of going to college, let alone finish high school. 

I drifted through my morning classes. I knew on some level I was absorbing the information thrown at me by the teachers because I got through the assigned work easily enough. I just wasn't sure how much of it was going to stick around in my brain later. It didn't help that my thoughts would return to the note burning a hole in my pocket every few minutes.

I made the decision to forgo eating lunch in the cafeteria when I was already halfway there and changed direction for the library on the second floor instead. If there was one place in this school where I could be sure to get some peace and quiet, it was this library.

The librarian gave me a friendly smile as I signed in at the front desk. I'd never made it a point to get her name, but she was always polite to me. "How are you doing, Archer?"

There was that stupid question again. 

"I'm fine," I mumbled, trying to ignore the way my hand shook.

"That's good," the librarian said. "It's hard to believe finals are just around the corner. Classes going well?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you have a good day, okay?"

"Sure."

I quickly made my escape to the far corner of the library, my preferred spot in this place. There was an old, overstuffed armchair sat conveniently by a heater, partially hidden from view by a few fake potted plants, and the overall ambience was cozy.

It was a relief to find that corner of the library empty and I quickly sat down, pulling whatever assignment I could get my hands on first out of my backpack – whatever I could do to keep myself occupied for the time being. I came up with my copy of Romeo and Juliet that I'd been annotating for AP Lit this last week. I could do that, easy. 

Or at least I thought I could until I saw a pair of stylish boots out of the corner of my eye however many minutes later, and the boots were headed right toward me.

I thought if I closed my eyes and pretended to ignore it the boots might disappear, but to no avail. Hadley Jamison was standing in front of me when I looked up, hand outstretched as if to shake mine. 

"I feel as if we got off on the wrong foot yesterday," she said after clearing her throat. "I wanted to introduce myself properly. I'm Hadley Jamison." 

That was...definitely not what I was expecting her to say. My first response was to immediately go on the defense at this weirdly formal introduction. 

This was the first time since freshman year this girl had even spoken more than a few words to me, and so seemingly out of the blue.  

So I did what I always did when I found myself in an uncomfortable situation where I felt like I didn't have control: I got mean. 

"And you're wasting your time, Hadley," I said, like her name was the punchline to some joke. "Again, I know who you are." 

Hadley's face fell instantly, but she recovered a second later, smiling politely. "I — well, when we ran into each other yesterday, I thought, wow, it's been a while! It'd be cool if we got to know each other. You seem like a nice guy —" 

And that was where I was going to draw the line. 

"Let me just stop you right there," I said, snapping my book shut, rising to my feet. Hadley actually had to tilt her head back a bit just to keep eye contact with me, she was that short. "I don't know what game you think you're playing, but why don't you quit while you're ahead? Because I'm really not your biggest fan."

"What?" Hadley's eyes went wide, and some color started creeping into her cheeks. "But I...I'm not playing a game? Like I said, I just thought we...might have a lot in common or something. I mean, not like we'd be best friends or anything, but I..."

It took serious effort not to gape at her as her voice trailed off into nothing.

"Well, then, save yourself the trouble." I tossed my crap into my backpack, zipping it, and hoisted it up on my shoulder. "I'm not a nice guy. You don't want to get to know me." 

Okay, so a little overdramatic, but I was at a loss here. What possessed this girl to approach me with this ridiculous notion of us being friends? Luckily, the bell rang then, giving me the perfect excuse to make my escape, because no way was I going to be able to offer a coherent response.

I only managed a few steps before there was a hand on my forearm. 

"Hey! Won't you just please hear me out for a second?" 

I didn't have to wrench my arm free from her grasp; Hadley immediately let go, taking a step back when I turned to face her. 

"You've never spoken to me before," I reminded her sharply. "What changed your mind, huh? A bet, maybe? Surely you have better ways to spend your time, Jamison."

If I had to put a name to the emotion that flickered across Hadley's face then, she looked hurt. But just as quickly as the look had come, it was gone, and she was saying, "No, it's not a bet." 

"Oh, good. So, how about you do me a favor and leave me alone," I said, deciding to lay it all out on the table then and there.

Hadley should know where I stood on this whole friend thing — as in, not going to happen.

"Okay, all I'm asking is that we give it a shot," Hadley said, sounding somewhere between eager and exasperated. "I'm fun to hang out with. Besides, we might actually have a lot in common. Won't know unless we try though." 

The only thing I could think of to ask was, "Why?" 

"Why, what?"

"Why would you even care?" 

That question seemed to catch Hadley off guard. She fumbled for an answer, pursing her lips as she frowned in thought. "Because...because I..." She pulled in a quick breath before saying in a rush, "Well, nobody should have to be alone. Everybody needs a friend." 

Yeah, maybe, I thought. But not me.

"Did I say I was alone?" I asked flatly. "Tell me, Hadley, has it ever occurred to you that I enjoy being by myself? Has it ever occurred to you that I really just don't like people?"

"No," Hadley answered after a beat. "But you've got it written all over your face. Honestly," she continued, crossing her arms, "I don't think you're as big and tough as people think you are. You could do with a friend."

Great.

"Well, maybe I should start being more of an asshole from now on," I said shortly. "Can't have people thinking I'm not all that big and tough."

Hadley looked taken aback by my response. "Archer, I --"

"Look, I don't need your pity," I snapped. I was more than ready to be done with this conversation, seeing as Hadley apparently didn't know how to take no for an answer. "Save yourself the Good Samaritan act and just leave me alone."

I walked swiftly from the library, refusing to look back over my shoulder. Since Hadley didn't follow after me like the day before, I assumed I'd done my job in shaking her off.

I would say that was a good thing. 

Why I was still thinking about the interlude with Hadley Jamison later that night, the stupid note clutched in my fist, I did not have an answer for.

This left me for the second night in a row that I couldn't do it. By no means had the thought left my brain, but I couldn't get myself to leave my bed.

All this told me was that clearly I couldn't do a single thing right in my life.

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The response to these few chapters has been amazing. I'm so glad you're all enjoying Archer's story so far!