Alastair struggled to move, his back broken from the heaviness of his heart. It had been a few weeks since Sarah dropped him torn-apart on the admin wing floor. Now, he slouched from class to class, still languishing in his sorrow. While he was miserable every day, he still maintained his work in all his classes, steadily preparing for the finals which loomed nearer. He needed to get scholarships for school. He needed to help his mother. He needed to show Sarah what he could be.

With the impending exams on his mind, Alastair slunk into Potions and Poultices.

"Hey, you've been awfully down lately, Alastair. Is everything okay?" Jackson was that kind of teacher who noticed and who cared. He checked in with the students in non-academic ways, like he knew that they couldn't learn anything if their minds were occupied with other things. It was as if he actually remembered what it was like to be young.

Alastair shook his head, "Not really."

"What's up?"

Students began filtering in, disturbing the quiet of their conversation. Alastair turned away sharply when Sarah and Mason snuggled in.

"Ah," said Jackson, knowingly. He patted Alastair's shoulder and whispered, "You're too good for her."

But Alastair knew it was just the opposite. He wasn't good enough. Not at all. His darkness had pushed her away, and now he would never have her. What he couldn't understand was how Mason managed to win her heart. It wasn't like Mason was so good. He slumped in his chair.

"Well, we have a lot to cover for our finals next week."

The class groaned.

"Now, come on. I know you love my finals. 'The inventor of Binding potion is a) Franz DeMarco b) Isaac Newton c) Dominic Wasilisky or d) your mama.'"

The groans became laughter, and Jackson started class.

Alastair focused on every word. He needed distraction from their presence behind him. Jackson was lecturing about a potion called Candor. It would require first concocting the Argentum Nitricum, Calming potion, they had made in the first quarter. Then, they would add the barbiturate Sodium Pentathol, which was what non-practitioners use for "truth serum." The Calming part relaxes someone who drinks the potion, allowing the barbiturate then to eliminate any inhibitions, and the last ingredient, the plant Lunaria or Moon Root, releases the truth from the person's mind.

"The difference between this and 'truth serum' is the Candor potion actually works," Jackson said, bringing the lecture and notes to a close. "The traditional truth serum fails because it lacks Moon Root. Without that final ingredient, all you have is a potion that will make you talk a lot, but there's no telling whether what's coming out is the truth. In the last twenty minutes of class, you will work on the first phase of the Calming potion, then tomorrow we'll finish the whole thing off."

After the allotted time had elapsed, Jackson broke in, "Remember, the essays on chemical compounds are due tomorrow. Get out!" He often ended class that way, just shouting playfully for them to leave. Sometimes he called them turkeys or some other strange insult that was actually a term of endearment.

Alastair left for his scheduled patrols, wishing he could slip some Candor to Sarah. He would never do that, of course. One of the first principles they learned in PnP is that you should never give someone a potion without their knowledge and consent. The only time that is acceptable is when a practitioner spins out of Control, and then they are given Binding until they normalize. But, he so badly wanted to know the truth. He couldn't believe that what she said to him was it. This can't be it, he said to himself as he reported to the SO room.

««•»»

Rose made her way into the theater for play production with a swath of annoying girls from her grade following behind her, led by Porsche, who had given her a hard time pretty much all year.

"She's the jolly blue giant," snickered a pair of girls behind her as she walked into class.

Rose raised her eyebrows but didn't look back.

"Do you think the air up there is thinner?" Porsche continued. "She's so tall and fat. She'll never get a boyfriend." Fat? Rose had definitely put on weight since she got here, but fat? Rose just thought she had curves. She looked down at her body, insecurity settling into her mind as she noticed every lump under her clothes.

"Ya'll shouldn't make fun of people, Porsche," Tommy said, walking towards them. The effect of his words was immediate, as if his cool factor made it more meaningful. They stopped giggling.

"Yes, my green-bellied friends," Mr. Jackson said jovially, walking past in the hallway with Sarah beside him. Rose turned to see the girls, faces red, looking down at their shirts in confusion. "Boys like 'em tall, hey Sarah?"

Rose laughed through her nose. She towered over every boy in her grade, and most in the upper grades as well. She seriously doubted that they liked that. And that teacher Jackson implying that the girls were jealous, that was a laugh. Anyone who was jealous of Rose needed their head examined.

"Absolutely, tall and blonde," Sarah fluffed her hair, smiling broadly and trailing after the teacher.

Tommy shook his head, "Tall and dark." He grinned, reaching out to flip the end of Rose's long, dark hair. "And, she already has a boyfriend."

Rose rolled her eyes and sat down for class. She thought, What is that supposed to mean?

After another chaotic day of class, she strolled thoughtfully to the stairs and headed up to the Arts room. Sarah didn't seem so bad. Rose wondered how things between her and Alastair had gotten so terrible.

Mrs. Cowdrey greeted her at the door with a stack of sheet music. "Play this, come on," she babbled. "Come along, I need to hear you play this now."

Rose followed her small teacher to the piano. Things in Arts had been quiet lately. She mostly sat in a corner with an acoustic guitar or doing theory exercises. It was amazing how quickly she learned how to read music. Now she could hear the melodies, the symphonies just by looking at a page.

As she unfolded the sheet music before her, she saw the words of T.S. Eliot and heard music bursting in her mind. Apparently the chaotic bunch in the theater had finally settled on the play Cats. With a deep breath to steady her Control, Rose reached toward the piano.

She played the entire song, only the piano sounding.

"Perfect, oh excellent, Rosie. Here, read these and play again." Cowdrey handed her a stack of pages with the music for all the other instruments, winds and horns and strings. Rose let her eyes slide over the pages for forty minutes, each section in turn joining her imagined piano.

Finally, she set the pages down and played. So much lovely music exploded in the room that nearly all of the students in the room paused and turned.

Alastair had been brooding at his drawing table, scribbling darkness on the page when joyful music burst in on him. He sighed, wishing the Arts room was more quiet.

"Okay, Rose, you will need to report to the auditorium tomorrow during this period for the play rehearsals," Cowdrey said when the music stopped. Alastair looked up to see her nodding.

"Tommy, you will handle the percussion, as we already discussed," Cowdrey added as the chimes sounded to end class.

Alastair stayed at the drawing table for awhile. He had no desire to be around people, any people. He tore the page out of his sketch book, crumpling it morosely. It was difficult for him to be productive when he was so miserable. In fact, Alastair thought he probably needed to learn to Control his emotions better in general. Fear of his father sapped his power, anger blackened his blooms, depression stifled his creativity.

"Alastair, my dear, we will need you to help paint the sets again this year, okay?" Cowdrey interrupted his thoughts.

He nodded. Mindless tasks like that would be the perfect diversion.

"You know, like last year, this means we need you during 7th period as well, right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cowdrey, I remember. I'll be there tomorrow, 7th period."

He wandered out of the room and up the stairs to his dorm. He plopped down on his bed, pondering what he should do about Sarah. Maggie, Jackson, even Sarah all wanted him just to get over her, but how do you do that? He remembered this poem Grant made them read in 10th grade, "There is No Word for Goodbye." It said, "when does your mouth say goodbye to your heart?"

"When, indeed," Alastair said to the empty room, burrowing into bed, his head under the pillow.

««•»»

There were only four days until the third quarter exams, and Rose found the rigorous schedule exhausting. Just when she settled in to the new unit, they would begin preparing for finals again. So as she headed into her classes the next day, Rose was expecting the regular routine of reviewing what would be on the test. But English held a surprise.

Mr. Grant added a presentation to the English test, obviously trying to force her to speak. She couldn't, which would surely cement her failure in his class. She read over the page detailing the points covered on the test with growing gloom.

"You have all written outstanding research reports. The next step is to present. So, our final exam will take the first hour, and during the second, you will deliver your paper to the class," Grant explained. "Being able to speak comfortably in front of a group is part of life, and it is part of this class."

He seemed to be staring at Rose, who was becoming furious. He just doesn't let up! she thought angrily. She'd had enough, the year's worth of pressure finally getting to her. Rose gathered her books loudly and walked out of class.

"Ms. Regitano, get back here now!" he shouted at her back.

She stormed down the hall and slammed open the door to the stairs, other classes staring out at the noise. Rose stomped down the stairs to the main hall and into the library, which was large enough that she could tuck herself away in a corner until the next class. Rose found a nook on the third floor in a section of religious books. She was sure no one would find her there. Not wanting the angry tears to spill over, she lost herself in a novel, waiting for the chimes to end third period.

But before they arrived, Tommy Roarke did. He loped down the aisle toward her and sat facing her, his feet reaching all the way across. Rose kept her head down in her book, but she watched him through the wisps of hair that hung in her eyes.

"Hiya, California. Why'd ya walk out of class?"

Rose shook her head and flipped her hand at him, trying to swat him away like a fly.

But he kept buzzing in her face, "Grant's an ass. Sometimes he's hard on people just to be hard."

She nodded, tipping her head back to lean on the bookshelf behind her. She looked across at him wearily.

"He's kicked me out more times than I can count," he smirked. Rose wasn't sure that was an indictment of Grant. It might even be an endorsement.

Rose dug in her bag. What's the punishment for walking out? she wrote on the retrieved paper, handing it across to him. His arm brushed her bare leg as he took the extended note, Rose was acutely aware.

"Don't worry. It'll be fine. Most likely, Whitley'll give you a detention or two, maybe kitchen duty, but you probably won't even get demerits."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Rose staring at her knees, pretending not to see Tommy as he stared at her note, his fingers fidgeting with the edges. He had bitten his nails down to the nubs, she noticed.

Finally, he broke the quiet, "What'd he do to make you walk out?"

Without looking up, she sent her final review sheet flying toward him. As he read it over quietly, the chimes to end class sounded. She snatched the paper back from him and went to math.

When she got to class, Ms. Steele handed her a slip directing her to the dean's office. She knew she would eventually get in trouble for walking out, but eventually was sooner than she hoped. Resigned to her fate, Rose turned and went down to Whitley's third-floor office.

"Come and sit, Rose," said the dean gently. Rose plunked herself down across from the dean, who continued, "Whatever happens in class, it is never okay to leave without permission."

Rose nodded.

"You have detention in here today at lunch."

Another nod. It was just as Tommy predicted.

"Do you want to tell me what happened."

Rose considered this. The dean might actually be able to help. But, Rose remembered, Grant had ignored her request to excuse Rose from work. No, there was nothing that could be done. She shook her head, no.

"All right, return to class," Whitley said tiredly.

She dallied through math, and after Incantations, Rose returned to the SO room to serve her lunch detention. The dean greeted her at the door with a course catalog for Greenwich Preparatory, another private school in Manhattan. According to the first page, the school was down in the Village, just a few blocks down the street from Walter Avery's brick row-house.

"We have agreements with GP to give our students the chance to take summer school courses, given that Whitman shuts down for the summer. I thought you might like to take some classes this summer."

Rose wrinkled her face, first with confusion, then interest. As she flipped through the pages, she saw that the dean had marked a page, "English language arts."

She folded the book open to that page and wrote on a notecard, Am I not going to pass English?

Whitley looked surprised and answered firmly, "You will not fail as long as you complete your work. I simply thought you might want to take 10th grade English, in advance."

Brilliant. She wouldn't have to see Grant at all next year. Rose nodded vehemently.

"Very well. I will make the arrangements. For now, try not to leave class without permission. It is considered defiance, and at some point, we have to add that to your file. I don't want to do that, okay?"

Yes, she nodded. The rest of detention was a breeze, just cleaning the SO room, sorting papers, and organizing books. She was sure if Grant knew this was it, he would think she got off easy. Truth be told, Rose thought so too.

She headed down to the theater for play production and the first "rehearsal." At first, the room was an explosion of the same disorganized noise as usual. Then the diminutive Ms. Broer, nearly Cowdrey's twin, stepped out from behind the curtain as it slid open. Rose could see Alastair on stage painting the back wall black.

"All right, everyone, let's all take a seat," she said so softly, Rose was amazed anyone heard her. She was even more astounded when the crowd did as they were asked. Rose dropped into a chair ten rows back, and Ellie came running from backstage to sit next to her.

"We are set to begin rehearsals for the big end-of-year show, which is in six weeks time," continued the small teacher. "In order to ensure that the rehearsals are as productive as possible, each day when you arrive, you will need to take a seat immediately in the theater. Wait until you are called to the stage. Artists, you can continue your work as assigned."

Alastair was used to this routine. Like last year, he and another artist painted the sets while Broer organized the loud and energetic drama and dance crowd. He expected Rose to be called up first, and she was.

"Rose Regitano," called Broer expectantly. Alastair turned to see Rose making her way up to the stage. Her uncertainty gave her a lovely, vulnerable expression. Broer gestured down into the orchestra pit. "I need to hear 'Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats,' okay?"

Rose nodded as she disappeared out of view. Alastair heard pages rustling, then an upbeat symphony. He smiled to himself, turning back to the "alley" wall he was painting. She was the only student they'd had who could play the whole arrangement alone. Last year, they had seven musicians, and it was often muddled, each playing at his own pace. She was special, extraordinary in so many ways.

"Okay, Tommy, come on," called Broer.

Alastair felt the usual hatred lurch in his stomach. He glanced over his shoulder to see Tommy drumming the air.

"Detention?" Tommy asked as he descended into the pit.

Alastair assumed he was asking Rose. His whole history class saw Rose stomp down the hall and heard Grant bellowing for her to come back. When Tommy left a few minutes later, supposedly to the infirmary, Alastair didn't think anything of it. Now, he wondered what he was up to.

Alastair moved to the front of the stage, pretending to look at the set design. He saw Rose give her standard nod.

"Told ya, California," Tommy drawled in his idiotic accent, a disgusting grin on his face. "No big deal."

What has he gotten her into? Alastair thought. He got angry, thinking how quickly Tommy could corrupt someone. He hoped it wasn't so. Did they arrange to leave class, to meet? What's going on here? He would have to protect her from him. Tommy was not only a bully, he was also a player. He had long held the reputation as biggest flirt, and nearly every girl in their grade had gone out with him at some point.

Alastair remembered asking Maggie last year what all the girls saw in him.

"He's hot!" she replied.

Alastair gaped at her.

Maggie laughed, "Hey, I'm into girls, but I'm not blind."

"Whenever you're ready," Broer prompted, startling him out of his memory. He looked around, wondering who she was talking to, then realized it was Rose and Tommy.

The combination of their instruments was disastrous at first. Loud, discordant music boomed from the pit. They played at opposing tempos, different volumes. It didn't work.

Broer waved her hands for them to stop, "Rose, let Tommy lead you. Percussion sets the pace."

They tried again, and it was a little better. Once they had a reasonable result, Broer called the dancers to the stage, but it took the rest of the allotted time just to get through that first number. Each of the next few days was similar, Rose learning to give the lead to Tommy, song after song, while Alastair seethed with hatred for him.

The third quarter exams began the following week. Alastair had his history final first, and Fitzhugh had already informed them that it would be comprehensive, covering last quarter as well.

"I know Dean Whitley meant well," the aging teacher had wheezed when the quarter began, "but she did not cover all that should have been done by now. We will have to go back before we can go forward."

Alastair wished it was so simple in life. If he could just go back, he would take back what he said to his mother. If he could just go back and fix everything, then he could go forward. He and Sarah could go forward together. But instead, he was burdened by the weight of his regrets, which walked in behind him for the exam Monday morning.

"I don't think I should have to take the test. I mean, I have a game tonight," complained his nemesis.

"I know, babe," soothed Sarah, "but you'll be okay. It's just one test."

"Whatever, man. You act like you're better than the rest of us just 'cause you play ball," Alastair was surprised to hear Tommy challenge Mason. "Why should we have to take it and not you?"

"All right, all right. Jeez!"

Alastair shook his head and sat up front for the final, trying to find peace from their inane banter. The exam was as difficult as any test he'd had at Whitman. Fitzhugh asked deep, critical thinking questions. He laughed to himself, picturing Mason trying to understand the questions, let alone answer them. After an hour, he was pulled from the daze of the test by Tommy Roarke's voice.

"Excuse me, Dr. Fitzhugh. I'm sorry, sir, but I need to go."

"Are you all right, Tommy?"

"Yes, sir. I just have to go."

"Well, did you finish your test?"

"As much as I could," Alastair craned his neck to see Tommy walk out of class. He wondered if this was another ditch session, but to his surprise, Tommy walked in to the class next door.

"Ms. Regitano, you're up," Grant said coldly.

Rose stood and walked to the front of the room. She had been dreading this moment for a week, and now that it was here, it was far worse than her imagination. Her hands were shaking and her stomach was squeezed dry like a sponge. To make matters worse, she hadn't been able to find the report Grant returned last week in order to allow them to prepare their presentations.

"Pica by Rose Regitano," said a Texas accent. Rose turned along with the rest of the room to see Tommy Roarke leaning against the doorjamb, her report in hand. "What's the weirdest thing you ever ate? Would you eat dirt? How about plaster from the walls? Or paper? Or chalk? Well, pica is a condition in which people eat strange things like these for no apparent reason. While it sounds funny, pica can actually be quite dangerous. In this report, I will examine the causes, effects, treatments, and prognoses for this odd psychological disorder."

Tommy walked into the room until he was standing right beside Rose. He continued reading, and pretty well in Rose's opinion, only stumbling slightly over the medical and scientific terms, like Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor.

At the end of the first page, Grant cut in angrily, "Roarke, what the Hello Dolly do you think you're doing?"

"I'm California's, uh," he dipped a bow in Rose's direction, "Rose's presentation," he said smoothly, as if it were obvious.

"No. Out," Grant directed, pointing at the door through which Tommy had so nonchalantly entered.

"But Mr. Grant, the outline for the exam just says we have to present our paper. It doesn't actually say we have to read it ourselves," Ellie chimed, waving a paper in the air.

"Thank you, Ms. Choi," he said through his teeth. "I know what it says."

"All right, then. Where was I?" Tommy laid his large hand on Rose's arm, which soothed her anxiety somehow. She pointed to the top of page two, the third paragraph. "Ah yes. There is some debate about the causes of pica..."

Rose stared down at her toes as he read, smiling to herself. It was a loophole, and Tommy slipped right through it. When he finished, the class applauded, and Tommy grabbed Rose's hand and pulled her into a bow. He handed her the report and left just as suavely as he arrived. Rose started to return to her seat, but Grant caught her arm.

"That's another detention, today. Here, four o'clock."

Lame. She slunk to her chair. At least this class was over for now, and with spring break next week, she wouldn't have to deal with Grant for almost two weeks after today's detention.

Alastair left the history test certain he passed. Maggie scrabbled alongside him, two steps for each one of his. He was excused from his Arts final in order to continue working on the sets, which was a relief because he had not created anything worth sharing in weeks. This meant he didn't have another final until tomorrow morning, so he planned to spend most of the day studying with her, save the time he needed to put in painting for the play.

"Math now, PnP later?" Maggie asked as they ascended the stairs.

Alastair nodded, "Sounds good." He was still dependent on Maggie's books, although they probably would have studied together anyway.

They went to the twelfth floor lounge and settled down to work. After an hour, Maggie stretched her tiny arms.

"I'm burnt, Al. Let's go eat."

Alastair gathered up her books and they rode the elevator to the second floor.

"What's up with Tommy leaving class again?" Alastair asked.

Maggie nodded as they got on line for food. "I know, right? Weird. Oh! And did you hear him mouth off to Moron?"

"That was classic. Can it be that Mason's jackass behavior is finally costing him friends?"

Maggie shook her head, "That's probably too much to hope."

He laughed as he got his food. It was amazing how something so small as Tommy arguing with Mason could lighten his mood. As they sat together to eat, he realized that it was hope, no matter what Maggie said. If his best friend would defy him, maybe Sarah would too.

His improved mood blossomed new ideas for the set, and as he walked up the stairs onto the stage after lunch, he worked out the best ways to manifest them.

After the misery of her English final, Rose had gone to the theater early. Her next final was Arts, which Cowdrey said would just be the play practice, so she had hours to spend playing piano. There were dancers working through their routines on the stage, but the large space was otherwise empty. Rose took the stairs down into the pit, where Tommy already sat tapping lazily at the snare.

It was time, she had decided. She had held onto the crumpled pages of the note Tommy gave her for months, tucked snugly in a small inner pocket of her book bag. Rose had waited, not fully trusting him. But, whatever she thought of him, of the way he treated Alastair, the truth was, she owed him, twice over now. Today, he came to her rescue like a relief pitcher. She handled the first eight innings of her report, and he pitched the last to get her out of trouble when Grant threatened to score on a balk.

So she stepped over to the drum kit and extended her hand.

Tommy raised his eyes in surprise as she held out the thick wad of pages, one labeled California and one Texas. The smile that spread across his face made her blush, her face pounding with excess blood. His fingers brushed hers as he took the pages. She flicked her eyes up to meet his--dark green with flecks of gold--just for a second before she turned and left the room. The electricity that had passed between Tommy's skin and hers freaked Rose out. It burned. But in a good way.

Alastair dug through the paints already on stage, searching for purple. He couldn't find the right shade, so he set about mixing red, blue and black until he got the right shade of deep violet.

"No!" shouted a girl off stage. Alastair turned and saw Daniel Choi and his little sister standing in the shadows. "I'm not going to quit just because you say so."

"Ellie, this is not a discussion. Dad wants you to focus on your academics, and he won't approve of this," Daniel held her arm.

"I'll wait until I hear that from him," Ellie stomped out onto the stage. She brushed so close past Alastair she nearly got painted purple.

"Everything all right, Daniel?" Alastair asked amiably.

The usually quiet boy cast Alastair a dark look. "Mind your own business," he sneered as he left the stage.

Whoa. He had never seen Daniel this way. He was always a friendly, pleasant guy. He was known as a type A personality, uptight at times, but never rude or mean. He resolved to ask Maggie if she knew what was going on with him the next time he saw her.

When Rose returned to the auditorium a little while later, she saw Tommy in the front row, surrounded by girls. It was ridiculous, she knew, but nonetheless she felt a stab of jealousy as he laid a hand on one girl's shoulder. She slid into the seat next to Ellie and waited for Broer to call her up to the stage.

Ellie's long eyelashes were wet. Rose placed her hand in Ellie's.

Ellie sucked in a deep breath and nodded. "Thanks, Rose. You're amazing." Rose squeezed Ellie's hand.

"Rose, we're ready for you. Come on up," Broer called.

Rose began to play right away, not waiting for Tommy to set the pace. She had to try not to look at him as they practiced, but she failed more often than not. And whenever she did glance his way, he was always watching her, like a cat waiting in the window, watching the birds fly by. They remained that way until the clock told her she had to serve her detention with Grant, which was tedious but harmless.

Rose sat the rest of her exams over the course of that week and by Friday found that she had straight As, except for English and bio. She was frustrated, feeling that the grade in Grant's class was unfair. Why should speaking be part of the grade in a class where reading and writing are the primary skills? Plus, technically she had presented. Sort of. Okay, maybe Tommy didn't do the best job reading her paper, but her grade should have been better than a C.

"Oh, damn, man she was smooth and soft, like butter," came a familiar voice around the corner, followed by laughter.

Rose turned in time to see Tommy, followed by Sarah's boyfriend, who stumbled around the corner. Alastair was right behind, his arms falling to his sides as if he had just shoved the kid.

"Don't fucking talk about her like that, you pig!" Alastair felt his voice going shrill. He deepened his tone. "Does she know the crude things you say about her to your friends? Huh? How would she like that?" He shoved Mason again, satisfied at how the shorter boy's frame gave way to his strength.

"You're just mad that you don't get a taste of that butter and I do." Mason's taunts had the desired effect.

Alastair became furious, swinging at Mason just as Tommy stepped in to separate them. Tommy caught the full force of Alastair's swing below his left eye. There was a crunch as Alastair's knuckles gave in to Tommy's cheekbone. He pulled back to swing again, his rage still running wild. He had enough of Mason. He was going to end him.

Rose scurried in between the flailing, violent arms, pulling Alastair aside, away from the pair of assholes. Black mist swirled down from his fingers, and his knuckles were bruised and scraped. Her hands swept over his, concealing his injuries. The abrasions became hers, healing instantly.

Alastair was amazed, looking down into her face. Aside from healing his wounds, she calmed him, and he felt the darkness waning. She pushed him gently in the chest, turning him as she did so, and he understood. She meant for him to leave before he could get in trouble. He took the stairs up to the next floor two at a time, then caught an elevator up to his dorm to grab his bag. He was headed home for the break.

Rose had gazed into Alastair's blue eyes, darker than she'd ever seen them, almost indigo, and slid her fingers gently across his damaged knuckles. He shook his head, but it was her pleasure to take his pain.

She stared across the main hall at Tommy. Rose had the power to take the pain that stung his face, but she didn't want to. Shaking her head in disgust, she walked away. But she couldn't stop herself. At the door to the stairs, she turned to look back. She was satisfied that at least he wore an apologetic expression, even if his stupid friend didn't. She thought she saw something more there, some understanding that passed between them. Maybe he finally got why she didn't worship him like everyone else did.

"Is that loser gone?" asked Mason, panting.

Tommy nodded, pressing his palm against his bruised eye. "We'll get him next time."

Maybe not.