There were about a hundred things I could've done differently.

That's what I found myself thinking about, as I changed from sopping clothes to dry ones. A hundred easy, simple things that could've changed everything else.

I'd doled out more what if's this past year than in all the years prior. Combined. There were too many things I could've done better, things I could've done smarter, things I could've kept from doing at all. And changing one small thing would've changed something infinitely greater.

Or maybe not.

I knew better now where handling those questions put someone, in the tight booth of a roller coaster that had a thousand loops and no stops. I wasn't about to hop on that again.

I couldn't change what had happened anymore than I could change anything else up until this point. But that didn't stop me from wishing I could.

It couldn't keep my mind from replaying the scene of Bellamy walking away.

It couldn't quell the flare of pain I felt after, or the guilt that never quite seemed to leave.

And I did feel guilty. Of all the chaos of emotions, that one was the easiest one to identify, like it was a horrible thing, to feel. But I couldn't help thinking that in this sense, it was. What kind of person could move from one heart to another so quickly, passing across them like pages in a book?

My fingers touched the metal bird that dangled from my neck, its warm body kissing the scar above my heart.

With numbed fingers, I reached up and carefully undid the clasp, letting the bird fall into one of my hands.

"Allow me."

I gazed at it for a long moment, its slender wings poised in flight. It was a wonder how something that wouldn't break could still look so fragile. Finn hadn't made it with eyes, but I still felt like it was peering up at me. Into me.

"This is a nothing present for a nothing occasion."

I set the necklace down on my nightstand, the chain folding in a way until it looked like some sort of nest. A metal house for a metal soul.

My eyes burned. "I'm sorry," I whispered quietly, as though the bird could hear me.

But I knew who I was really talking to.

I think sometimes apologies were just easier than goodbyes.

*****************

I studied.

I burned an intellectual hole through every material given to me, trying to take every thought that was even remotely irrelevant and cram it into a mental box that was steadily growing more and more pressurized.

I tried to be reasonable, telling myself that I had bigger things to focus on, going so far as to trivialize the whole matter by the revelation that I would be heading off to college soon enough.

Both attempts were probably true. And both were equally ineffective.

I was frustrated, but I couldn't do anything about it. And what was worse, was I had no one to talk to about it, either. The one person I'd grown accustomed to discussing personal things with was the person I couldn't discuss this with. And that knowledge alone was enough to stir an ache in my chest, one that left me just as unsettled.

A small part of me, infinitesimal, really, considered reaching out to Thalia. Not to talk about Bellamy-no, definitely not that. But maybe to try and smooth some things over and actually invest some effort into salvaging whatever relationship we may have still had in the wreckage Finn's absence left. In hindsight, my accusations to her were not entirely justifiable. They'd been spoken-honestly shouted-out of pain. The greater impact of my loss didn't invalidate the existence of her own.

And if anything, it did put my mind at ease to try and actually see if there was something I was capable of saving.

On Saturday, I'd made my decision, and sent her a quick text.

Hey. How are you? Want to talk?

When Sunday came around and I opened the screen of my phone to find nothing but silence, I was surprised to find that her neglect stung.

Well, there's that.

And I went back to studying.

Even amidst the distraction, between numbers and columned pages, the mental screenplay of what I would say tomorrow if I saw Bellamy was undeniably persistent, despite my strongest efforts. Yet each time it began to play, I still tried to short-circuit the production.

Kinematics. An airplane diving at an angle of 36.9 . . .

Continuous sutures.

Interrupted sutures.

Deep sutures.

It worked, for the most part. But only when the following morning invariably came, did it strike me, by ignoring the problem, how unprepared I had made myself.

I bit my lower lip, trying to think it all through as I walked from the parking lot and into the school building.

Actually, 'unprepared' was a gross understatement for what I was when I found myself at my locker, messing up my code for the second time in my haste. Haste, that was, as I tried to convince myself, not in the least borne out of my attempt to avoid-

"Hey."

His shadow seemed to engulf me entirely.

Yes. Morbidly, horrifically unprepared.

I slowly forced my gaze upwards to meet his molten brown ones, telling myself I could as I tried to keep the flush of embarrassment from running into my cheeks. Our last encounter flashed through my mind with startling clarity.

The rain.

The impromptu embrace.

The closeness that sought simply more.

"About the other day."

No warning. No moment allotted to alert me and get my scattered thoughts together. He'd just come out with it.

"I know I left kind of abruptly," he went on, the confident timbre of his voice suddenly more on the hesitant side. The fact that he didn't preface his words with an apology was oddly reassuring; that was, at least, something that hadn't changed. "I just needed to clear my head."

I was already nodding reflexively, biting the inside of my cheek so hard it felt ready to bleed. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it. It was . . ." adjectives abandoned me. The only ones that came were inappropriate and wrong, but neither were referencing him. It was my stuff that made it inappropriate. My losses that made it feel wrong.

Now I was distinctly trying not to look at him, but even I couldn't miss the way his eyes pinched a little, a thing I was starting to find he did when he was uncomfortable, like a wincing of sorts. "Think we should talk about it?" he asked.

No, was my impulsive response. But forgetting it happened didn't change that it had, just like the distraction of studying didn't make real problems go away. "I . . . don't really have anything else to say," I confessed lamely, entirely aware of how paltry that was. But it wasn't a lie; the last unfortunate incident said volumes for me. It spoke things I didn't even know how to say. Too many things I wasn't ready for.

There was no annex needed.

Bellamy kept his eyes straight ahead with unbroken focus. "So you just wanna leave it."

I simpered, choosing my words carefully. "I think there are other things going on that make talking about that . . . hard, right now."

"Because it wasn't just in my head?" Finally he looked over at me, his expression contemplative, his lips pursed. There seemed to be a lot of unspoken words there I had trouble placing.

I didn't even realize the both of us had come to a complete stop in the hallway.

A part of me wanted to lie, but I knew it wasn't believable. And I was starting to become tired of keeping some things to myself, as if silence would starve their existence. Bellamy deserved honesty. He deserved the truth. And he deserved to hear it from me.

And maybe, on some level, I did, too.

"No," I said. "It wasn't."

A beat of silence passed before he nodded brusquely. "All right."

Out of all the things I expected, acquiescence most certainly wasn't one of them. "You're not going to ask me about it?" I asked, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

"Didn't you just say it was hard to talk about?" He readjusted his backpack. "I mean, look at us. You're just now getting over things that happened with your Dad while I'm trying to avoid a custody battle with mine. I think we have enough of a mess in our lives to go screwing up one of the few things that's actually been . . . good. Intrusive, at first. Inconvenient, sure." He shrugged. "But, good. If you're not comfortable or ready to talk about this, maybe we should just . . . wait until you are. Until things blow over."

I stared at him, momentarily too bewildered to register the relief. "That's . . ."

"Mature, I know." He sighed. "Gotta start acting the part if I want to keep the court on my side of things."

The tension I'd felt a moment ago diffused, washed away by his words. In its place dropped genuine concern and I tried to wave away any last traces of nervousness, allowing this to become the most important thing. Anything else could wait. "Right. Jae. Anything . . . anything new there?"

Bellamy's expression turned grim. "If you mean him trying to squirrel his way into doing something with Octavia, then no. Nothing new. Only thing is that now he wants to spend time with her." His eyes flashed. "Unsupervised by me."

I felt my own temper respond instantly. "And you are. . .?"

"There's a lot of words for what I am. Cooperative isn't one of them though."

"But no changes have been made yet," I tried to console. "Anyone who looks at you can see how much you care about your sister. And we know that if anyone asked Octavia, the judge would side with her in a minute. She's kind of persuasive like that," I said with a half-hearted smile.

Bellamy grimaced.

"I just wish there was some way I could help," I added. "You shouldn't have to be put in this position. And neither should Octavia."

He sighed. "Some things just are what they are, Clarke." He came to a stop so suddenly, my shoulder nearly plowed into his. "That reminds me. Listen. I know when my sister's got ideas. If she asks you anything, to do anything, especially if it has to do with Jae, I want you to tell her no."

I could feel the confusion on my face. "Why do-?"

He pitched his voice lower. "Because this thing with him . . . I don't want anyone else involved. Trying to minimize the casualties here, for lack of a better term. And the only way to do that is to keep him isolated. You know Octavia. You know . . .me. And I don't want someone who knows us to be around him."

I nodded. I knew better than to ask if he was worried I would tell Jae something he didn't want that man knowing. No. Bellamy's words reflected those he'd spoken in the parking lot after dinner, under a cloudless night sky that sparkled like Christmas lights. His concern was about Jae, and Jae alone.

"Got any idea of what she might ask?" Better to have some warning.

But Bellamy shook his head and let out a sound of exasperation. I could glimpse the trepidation in the lines between his brows. "It's Octavia," he said, as if that summarized it.

I guess in a way, it did.

****************

As it turned out, Bellamy's warning found me the next day after first period.

"Clarke!" Before I had time to look up, Octavia was looping her arm through mine, dark hair fanning out across her shoulders as we walked. "I was wondering-"

Alarm bells flashed through my mind and I instantly shook my head. "No."

She faltered, brows knitting in surprise. Her arm tugged me to a stop. "You don't even know what it is I'm about to ask."

"I've been put under strict orders to not agree to anything," I said.

"By Bel?"

I sighed. "He just wants you safe, Octavia."

She scrutinized me in that way that made me slightly uncomfortable, as if she could catch the very thoughts crossing my mind. "And you're listening?" She spoke the word as if it were a horrible thing. "Since when do you take orders from my brother?"

She made a fair point. "Since he wanted to create a more controlled environment and limit the . . . variables," I said.

She arched a slender eyebrow.

"He doesn't want me to agree to help you hang out with Jae." I put bluntly. I guessed honesty was really becoming the policy today.

"I'm not . . ." she hesitated, pulling in her bottom lip. "Look, it's not like I think my dad is this really trustworthy guy. I don't. But I have . . . other concerns."

It was my turn to raise a brow. "Which are?"

She twisted her fingers together in what I could only presume as nervousness. "Bellamy doesn't want me to spend time with him. I get that. My d- Jae wants to spend time with me. I think he'd be satisfied with just that. But if he doesn't get it, . . . I'm worried he'll want to take a more . . . legal route."

I appraised the worry in her eyes. The tension in her shoulders. The stiffness in her spine. "And you're really comfortable with putting yourself in that position? You alone with him?"

Octavia nagged that bottom lip. "Welll . . . maybe if you came along-"

Those alarm bells sounded again and I cut her off before she could take this idea one thought further. "Octavia, Bellamy specifically asked me not to get involved."

"But is his reason for you not to get involved better than my reason for you to get involved?"

I felt as though my back were hitting some invisible corner I was beginning to find myself trapped in. "I'm not saying your reason isn't legitimate, but I can't just-"

"Clarke, do you know what my brother can afford right now?"

The seriousness in her tone caught my attention. I knew where she was going with the question. I'd been to his apartment. No piano. Little furniture. Lots of ramen. "I'm guessing it's not a court case."

"If it turns into one, he's going to have to use whatever savings he has, and I know it's not much. I've seen his bank statements," she added, as blase as if she were commenting on his posters.

What? "How have you seen his bank statements?" I asked, unable to quite keep the incredulity from my voice. In fact, I probably asked louder than necessary. "You're fourteen."

Her expression turned somber, full of a heaviness I wasn't used to seeing in her vibrant, joyful face. "There are some things foster kids learn earlier than everyone else." She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "And that's how to survive."

Those words cut deeply, stirring my uncertainty and guilt. I looked away from her, trying to think, torn between the two of them. Both were, to my utter dismay, equally valid reasons. But at the moment, Bellamy's reason wasn't the one looking at me with sad blue eyes.

"What was it that you were thinking of doing?" I finally asked.

A smile graced her lips. "Clarke-"

"I haven't decided yet," I said quickly, before she could get her hopes up. "I just want to know the plan, so I can get an idea of what I might possibly decide to help employ."

"Dinner?"

The reminder of our last meal had my face screwing up reflexively. "Because the last one was such a hit?"

Octavia wrinkled her nose, sharing my distaste. "You're right. Oh! Okay, how about this. A coffee shop. Lowkey. Casual."

I narrowed my eyes, deliberating. A coffee shop certainly didn't sound threatening. But gauging from my track record, I wasn't about to underestimate the power of discomfiture quite yet.

"And you won't have to even sit with us!" she added, as if she were trying to pitch me something. "I can just tell Jae that I feel more comfortable with you there. In the same place."

I mean, I wasn't technically involved then. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the idea of Octavia having someone else there.

"When and what time?" Maybe it's on a day I already have something, I thought feebly, only for me to remember that I didn't make plans anymore. My schedule was wide open.

"Today after school. Four o clock."

I tilted my head to the side, looking at her suspiciously. "You were that confident I'd agree?"

Octavia's lips puckered playfully. "No offense, Clarke, but you're a little predictable."

I glowered, and she tried, unsuccessfully, to smother her smile with a cough.

***********

"Don't get mad."

"Not the most reassuring way to start a conversation," said Bellamy the following day after the final school bell tolled, stuffing an AP Calc textbook in his locker. "What is it?"

I blew out a long, quiet breath. It was better to be transparent, I'd concluded yesterday, after Octavia's cafe rendezvous, which had, to my relief, been almost uneventful. As she'd mentioned yesterday, I didn't have to sit with them, content at another table just close enough to keep tabs on her while still being discreet and out of earshot. Of course, Jae was aware of my presence, and more than once when I glanced over at them to read body language did I find Jae's flat eyes already on me.

But those moments were the most drama the hour and a half held. It hadn't seemed too stressful of a time for Octavia. I'd caught some nervous laughter here and there, punctuated by a few episodes of rambling. Jae gave her an awkward shoulder-pat as farewell. He gaze found mine again and he gave me a small nod.

Uneventful. But I was glad when it was over.

This however, standing beside Bellamy after class as I prepared to divulge what it was I had been doing yesterday at four pm, was the part I was truly dreading.

It was better if Bellamy found out from me than by accident, because I was well aware how that route went in the past, and it wasn't a road I was eager to travel again. Or maybe my exhaustion of secrets had simply rendered me incapable of keeping them anymore.

Either way, I needed to tell him.

"Look, I know you told me not to get involved but-"

Bellamy slammed his locker, the sound making my blood jump. With stiff shoulders, he looked at me, eyes wary, mouth set in a rigid line. "Octavia asked you."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. And-"

"And nothing," he said abruptly, shouldering his bag with enough force to give himself a bruise. "I told you I didn't want you-"

"-Involved. I know. But-"

"No, Clarke." He shook his head in frustration. "This isn't happening, all right?"

Nerves jumbled around inside me, but I pushed them away. "Bellamy," I said firmly. "It already happened."

The temperature in the hall seemed to drop a few degrees. Bellamy stared at me, his jaw working. His hand clutching his bag was gripping it much tighter than necessary. "What?"

I felt my heart rate climb. "Octavia asked if I could come with her to a cafe, and be in the same room with her so she would be more comfortable with Jae," I said quickly before he could cut me off. "Her reasons were just as valid as yours, and I know I agreed not to get involved, and I'm sorry I did, but Octavia asked me to be there for her and I couldn't . . .I couldn't not go."

Maybe I was still capable of keeping a few secrets, after all, because I found myself unable to confess to him the full extent of Octavia's reasons. I couldn't divulge she was doing this to appease the man Bellamy wanted her, or me, to have nothing to do with.

Moments lapsed. I saw the frustration burning in his dark eyes. The anger. "I asked you to do one thing," he said finally, his tone falling flat. "One thing, Clarke. But you keep interfering when I tell you not to."

I ignored the sting his words brought. "I just told you what happened. I was honest with you."

"Yeah, after the fact. After it happened, not before. Thanks a lot."

"Octavia-"

"Is my sister. She's my responsibility, Clarke. Not yours."

"No, but she is my friend." I sighed, weighing my tone, keeping myself calm. From a brother as devoted as Bellamy, this reaction was to be expected. "And I wasn't even technically involved, I was just in the same cafe as them."

"Technically?" He hissed, pulling in a sharp breath. I could see him struggling to keep his voice down. "Clarke, I asked you if Octavia came to you for anything that had to do with Jae, that you would say no. But you helped her do it instead."

"Bellamy, this isn't a conspiracy against you," I said, a little frustration slipping into my words. "I know you want to keep Octavia safe. And she naturally wants the same for you, no matter who's older. Family looks out for each other. It can't always just be you alone."

"I don't need you telling me what she needs, Clarke! First it was the tutoring." He counted them off, starting from his thumb. "Then it was the dinner with Jae. Now it's this. You know, for someone who says she doesn't want to go behind my back, you sure do it a lot."

I looked at him calmly. I knew why he was frustrated. I understood, as much as I was able to.

That didn't, however, make his accusations ineffective.

"Bellamy," I spoke the next words slowly. "I wouldn't have had to do any of that if I weren't put in that position. You ask me to do one thing, Octavia asks me to do another. You have your reasons, but so does she and I care about you both. Who do I listen to?" I dropped my hands haplessly, resigned. "You want to stop feeling like I'm going behind your back? Then stop putting me in the middle, because no matter what decision I make, someone always gets hurt."

We stood there for a moment in uncomfortable, terse silence, the tension once again palpable. Bellamy stared at me, as if weighing my words on some unseen scale. After a minute or two, he must've decided them sufficient, because his shoulders relaxed a fraction. Some of the fire in his eyes burned out. "I'm still frustrated," he deadpanned.

"I figured you would be."

He scrubbed a hand down his face and through his hair, releasing a long breath. "Why can't we be normal? Like why can't we have normal problems for once?"

I leaned against a locker and crossed my arms, sighing. "Maybe we will, . . . someday. But for now they're just the complicated and hard kind."

"'Complicated and hard,'" he repeated with a nod. "I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to the trivial and shallow kind."

That ushered a smile out of me.

Whatever remnants of frustration were left melted away. Looking up at him, it was hard not to recall the moment out in the rain, the moment that always tried to surface in other, quieter moments like this. When it was just the two of us, comfortable in the silence and the solace of each other's company.

"Yeah," I murmured softly. "Me too."