*Rylyn*

In all reality, I didn't think getting up and facing the consequences of losing my best friend is worth it. I can't take back anything I said, so why try to make it any better? Unfortunately, nobody in my house agrees with my thinking. Instead, I get up and force myself to step on the bus after Matthew on the hardest Monday of my life

David was pretty quick to accept the apology and help me. Like the super youth pastor he is, he whipped out his Bible on the spot and we read about what God says about lying and foul language. He got me started on reading through Ephesians, which really has helped with my situation. I'm currently on chapter four. Every time I read a chapter, I find myself falling in love with God all over again. Maybe that's why I was able to get out of bed.

Mirissa texts me all the way to school. Mostly about conversation starters to make my life better in the social aspect. Not a bad thing to think about. I seriously regret lying to Matthew. Especially when I stop for a second and put myself in his shoes. I mean, he has no idea whether his dad is alive or not. That must be nerve wracking to wait with the mindset you can't do anything to help. When I think of that and I think of what God wants of me, I'd rather be a comfort than feel sorry for myself. After my pep talk with Mirissa through technology, that decision became clear and I wanted to say for once that I'm okay and mean it.

"Matthew! Wait!" I call to him over the noise of the crowd moving into the building. I have to jump to see the top of his head above the heads of sleep deprived students. I start to weave through the kids to find him. When I do, I run to catch up and smash into his backpack. Why am I so awkward? How come momentum is a thing?

He stumbles forward a little before turning around to face me. His annoyed expression goes to exhausted as soon as he realizes it's me.

"Hey, do you wanna talk?" I ask, pulling my backpack straps up further on my shoulders.

"Not really..," he answers.

"Which means...?"

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" he asks, exasperated.

"I will if you want me to," I answer, a little startled.

"Fine." He stares at me and waits for my reaction.

"He isn't the bad guy here," a little voice says. "Just go with it, everything will be fine."

I look him in the eye before walking away.

I wish I could tell you that this didn't take me off guard, but it did. All of it does. Dad's passing, the transition from homeschooling to public, catching myself in the act of lying, and watching it all play out, getting to my head. Though it would've been nice to talk about the situation, somehow I'm calm enough to keep saying that I did what I could. If he doesn't want to talk, he doesn't have to. At least I still have... God, I guess. I mean, what else am I gonna do? Continue to mope around? No, there's no more of that. I'm going to get stuff done, with or without Matthew's assistance. Maybe I changed into this new attitude over the weekend, or maybe it was always there, but now it's actually taking place inside me.

My locker door looms in my view. Picking up the pace so I won't be late, I dial the combination, keeping myself under control. He appears at my side, shoving his backpack in and bringing out his text books.

"Rylyn," he says, nodding at me crudely.

I don't say anything. I just grab my saxophone case and hurry away. Maybe I'm avoiding the truth again, but at least I'm not denying it now. If he wants to pick a fight, I'll let him.

* * * * *

Later that day in band, while we're deciphering the notes of new sheet music, Mr. Jive notices Matthew and I's lack of communication. Usually, Mr. Jive hands us a set of music and allows us a class period to "get a feel for it". We do it by sections of instruments, meaning Matthew and I are suppose to work together. I've tried multiple times to start a conversation, but he ignores me. Pretty much acts like I'm invisible. Of course, our curious band teacher addresses it. That didn't change anything. Beforehand, in History, we were paired for a project.

I finally got rid of the feeling I'm was an annoying little kid following him around at lunch when I sat in the hallway. By myself. Alone with my peanut butter crackers and ham sandwich. The odd thing is, no one seemed to care. Like it isn't out of the ordinary for me to be where I am. Even May ignored me.

I refused to feel sorry for myself and cry. Instead, I casually texted my friends. Kayla is the only one who knows the whole story and is at lunch as well.

"What cha doin'?"

I glance up to see Asher standing over me, his long legs making me feel like an ant getting ready to be smashed.

"Nothing much, really," I say.

"You're lonely," he observes, looking around the vacant hall.

"Yeah, just being lonely," I reply quietly. I look down at my lunch bag, embarrassed. Inside, I've convinced myself that I'm not upset, but my body language doesn't follow in suite.

"Mind if I sit?" He points to a spot beside me. I shrug halfheartedly. I guess I do feel a tad lonely. He takes a seat on the gray tiled floor with a smile on face, crossing his legs and balancing a lunch tray on his knees. He bites into his pizza before talking.

"So, you and Matthew had a fight, huh?" He swallows before opening a small water bottle.

"We may have said a few things..."

"Yeah, I heard that your dad passed away or somethin'...? And you lied about some stuff and he was frustrated."

"He did a few months ago," I say quietly, fidgeting with the packaging on a cookie.

"I'm sorry," Asher replies. "We don't have to talk about it."

"Okay." I sigh, relieved, and lean my head back for a moment. I sit up and face my art partner. "Does he really hate me?"

"Nah," he answers with a smirk on his face. "He couldn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Nope, not at all," he states, being truthful. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Well..."

"Just march in there and talk to him. Why are you girls so hesitant all the time?" he groans. When I don't move, he sighs and stands up reluctantly. "Fine, I'll go get him."

"No!" I say quickly. I don't want to start this again, transporting messages through other people. That was disastrous when the truth came out. An apology shouldn't be the same way. "I'll do it myself."

"Use that bravery you've always had," he remarks sarcastically.

I ignore him and walk into the sea of students. Nothing is more chaotic than crazed kids with food and no rules to stay in one spot. Sure, there were monitors, but they weren't getting paid for it so they didn't seem to care. And of course, Matthew has isolated himself to the very back corner by the windows. Alone. Not even at a table, just on the floor like a dog waiting for food to be dropped from the table.

He looks up at me expectantly. Like he was waiting for me the whole time. What do I say? How are apologies like this suppose to go? I walk over to him timidly, hands shaking. What if he doesn't want to talk to me at all?

"Hey," he says, smiling, snapping me out of my doubt.

"Hi..," I reply, nervous. I manage a small smile.

"Are we still friends?" he asks.

Taken by surprise, I manage to stammer:

"I-If you forgive me." He just looks at me. "I'm really sorry about lying to you. I just panicked because I wasn't ready to tell people-."

"Yeah, why not?" he cuts me off.

"Wait what?"

"I forgive you, we're friends again." He laughs a little.

"Just like that?" Of all the scenarios I had played out in my head, him willingly asking if we were friends was definitely not one of them.

"Uh-huh." He nods to the space next to him. "Have a seat."

"Wanna start over?" I ask. For some reason the idea makes me feel better.

"Nah, let's just introduce ourselves again. Starting over seems too complicated," he answers. It's like him to be reasonable. I grin and sit down next to him.

"I'm Rylyn, no last name, or at least, I don't think so. Just Rylyn. I'm in seventh grade, math teacher's homeroom. My dad passed away a few months ago and now I'm living with my youth minister. So... What's your life story?" I declare bluntly. I smile widely and put my hand out for a handshake.

He just laughs and takes my hand.

"First of all, sorry about your dad," he says sympathetically. "Secondly, I'm Matthew Calamine and I'm in seventh grade. It was a beautiful, sunny spring day when I was born..."

"Oh goodness," I groan. "I've created a monster!"

He laughs again. Finally, my life is somewhat normal