Rose

The next morning I wake up an hour before I usually do. It isn't difficult, even though I hardly slept last night. Every nerve in my body is awake with excitement.

So, no surprise, I am dressed and ready to go before Sam has even gotten out of bed, and spend a good twenty minutes just waiting for him to wake up. I can't help it. Today is the day we're presenting our character blocks in art class.

"Oh my god, get up you lazy ass!" I finally shout after bouncing in place on my bed for ten minutes.

Sam groans and rolls over to look at his alarm clock. "Rose, it's barely 7:30," he complains.

"I know, and school starts in half an hour. Now get up!" I hit him with a pillow.

He throws it right back at me. "It takes me ten minutes to get ready and five minutes to walk there. Even I can do enough math to know that I have a good fifteen minutes left of leave me the fuck alone."

"Uggggh, come on Sam. I'm presenting my first serious art project today, and I have to make sure that it's perfect." For effect, I start listing off what I need to do. "I have to double check my paint and make sure there's not a single missed spot, I need to redo some of my older bold outlines so the pictures stand out, I have to—"

Sam makes a sound like a dying grizzly bear and puts a pillow over his head to block me out. "Then go without me," I hear his muffled voice groan underneath. "For the love of god, just go without me."

That command makes me stop dead. My first thought is, Walk to school without him? But....we always walk together. It's what we do.

Almost immediately, however, I realize I'm being silly. Of course I can walk to school without my brother! I walked home without him yesterday, after all. And what, am I supposed to put my life on hold just because the guy doesn't want to get his ass out of bed? I have shit to do.

"Okay," I respond simply before turning on my heel and leaving. I don't look back to see his reaction to my quick exit, if he has one at all. He probably just went back to sleep, anyway.

"Bye Mom," I say as I pass her through the kitchen.

"Oh, you guys are leaving already?" she asks before turning around to see that I'm by myself. She looks confused. "Where's your sister?"

"She isn't ready yet, and I really need to get to school and prepare my art project for today's presentation."

"Oh..." She frowns and eyes me suspiciously, as if she thinks I'm lying.

I try not to let my annoyance show. Is it honestly so hard to believe that Sam and I can walk somewhere separately? Man, we really need to stop being so codependent.

"Well, alright then." Mom says at last. "See you after school."

"Bye."

------------

The art room is packed this morning, with my class as well as students from other class periods putting finishing touches on their character blocks. Paint already splatters Miss Vaughn's nice clean tables, which makes me a bit annoyed on her behalf. She probably had to open her door half an hour early this morning just to accommodate everyone's last minute preparations.

But as always, our art teacher is warm and inviting to us all.

"Morning George!" she greets me kindly from where she kneels on the floor, cleaning up someone's spilled paint mess.

I immediately set down my backpack, grab some paper towels and rush over to help her, dodging bodies between every table.

"Oh, thank you so much, hon," Miss Vaughn says gratefully. "Ugh, this place is a zoo this morning! Presentation day and all." A few tables away, someone knocks over another paint bottle and leaves the small red puddle to spread across the tile.

Miss Vaughn sighs, moving to clean that one as well.

"I've got it," I stop her. The poor woman is going to have enough to clean up as it is.

I grab some more paper towels and a sponge to take to the mess. "Teacher's pet," someone spits in my ear as I kneel down.

I ignore them, scrubbing hard at the formerly-white tile until Miss Vaughn touches my shoulder. "George, it's okay. I've got it. You go touch up your project, although I'm sure it's already perfect." She winks at me, taking the sponge before I can protest.

With ten minutes left before the bell rings, I decide that she's right, and go to grab my character block from the shelf. I find Kelsey and Brianna at our usual table, working so furiously I doubt they noticed me come in.

"Hey guys," I say as I set my stuff down in front of them.

"Oh hey," says Kelsey without looking up. She's touching up the purple background on the side of her cube that's painted as a bookshelf. Brianna, meanwhile, barely acknowledges me with a grunt, completely absorbed in her own retouches.

I sigh and focus on my own block, turning it over and over again as I examine each intricately painted face. I stare down each one, searching desperately for the slightest flaw.

The six faces of my character block are as follows:

1. A faded white background painted with a variety of different numbers and equations drawn in rainbow colors, representing my love for math.

2. A view of the outdoors through a window, showing a cloudy day with some scattered raindrops falling over spring-green grass. This one represents my love for nature, but my preference of observing it from inside.

3. One of my simplest faces: It is just a plain, mouth-less mask split in half vertically: half pearl white, half obsidian black (with the eye holes each painted the opposite color), representing the disguise I wear for the world as opposed to who I really am. I haven't decided which color represents which yet.

4. This face is painted as a closet (hilarious, I know) with double doors thrown wide open. Inside, however, is completely black except for the outfit I wear everyday, shown to be facing the viewer. It's a red hoodie, pale jeans, and worn tennis shoes. (I was going to paint a dress in its place, but I lost my nerve.)

5. I had to have a square for art, of course. The color of parchment, with different colored streaks of paint following life-sized brushes.

6. The final face: The Rose. Occupying the entire square with a bold presence, painted entirely with shades and hues of the same audacious red. Its petals envelop each other protectively, spiraling from the center outward until they extend beyond the confines of my character block and into the air around us. I can feel them....

Too perfect. That's the flaw. No rose in real life exhibits such symmetry. Those velvety hills and valleys.... it looks like a cartoon.

Every time. Every damn time. I can never get them right.

"What the hell is your problem?" Bri asks, noticing the disappointed expression on my face as I stare down at what must look to her like a perfect picture. Her hands are covered in orange paint and her hair is falling out of its ponytail.

I shouldn't say it; she won't understand. She and Kelsey never do.

But somehow it comes spilling out. "I hate it," I mutter, unable to tear my eyes away from the stupid, plastic-looking rose. "It doesn't look right. I can never do it right. I hate it."

Bri stares at me, her mouth open in honest disbelief. For once, she's speechless.

And for once, Kelsey is not. "Shut the fuck up, George," she snaps at me. "God, you are such a snob sometimes. You know it looks good, so why don't you just accept it instead of fishing for compliments all the time?"

"I wasn't—" but before I can argue further the bell rings, and the already chaotic classroom dissolves into further disorder as students rush to put their projects up. Many rush off to class without bothering to clean up their messes. Some stop only to ask Miss Vaughn if they can come in to finish their blocks during lunch.

But for those in first period with me, time is officially up. We can only sit in our seats, projects ready and waiting in front of us, and wait for kids from later class periods to clear out.

Through the mass of kids putting up their projects, I catch sight of a familiar face.

What? No way.

I have to blink a few times, believing at first (or maybe hoping) that I imagined him, but unfortunately it's hard to miss such pale skin set against such black clothes and hair.

Dan is in an advanced art class?

It's hard to deny, as I see him slide his own character block onto the large drying rack in the back of the room. From what I see of it, it actually looks pretty good.

"Thanks Miss Vaughn," I hear him call out politely as he puts his paintbrushes in the sink. "See you this afternoon."

"Bye Daniel," she responds, smiling.

Huh. I never figured the kid to be an artist. But then again, all I ever knew of him was what I see in math class, where he periodically talks shit on me and Sam with his buddies.

On his way out the door, he has to walk past my table.

Shitshitshit, head down, head down. I hold my breath, hoping and praying that he doesn't notice me....

But unfortunately, that's not how my life works. Rather than speeding past my table and out the door, his footsteps slow to a stop by my seat.

Shit. Keeping my head down, I cringe and brace myself for a shove or a rude comment, whichever Dan feels like dishing out today. Even though he truthfully hasn't been his bullying self lately, I fully expect him to want to ruin my day before it has even started, like many other guys in this school love to do.

What I don't expect is what he does, which is pause only to lean close to my ear and whisper, "Say hi to your brother for me," before continuing his brisk pace out the door.

I blink and he's gone, but my insides have turned to ice. That did not just happen. There's no way he actually said that. I glance at Kelsey and Bri, but they're still whispering together, intent on ignoring me for whatever I did to offend them.

Before I can ponder Dan's words further (did he say that? No, I'm sure I imagined it) the late bell rings, and Miss Vaughn takes her place at the front of the room.

"Good morning, class," she greets us cheerfully, as always. "Today is the big day."

------------

Sam

I'll be perfectly honest, I didn't expect Rose to actually leave without me when I told her to. She knows I'm not a morning person, and that I was just tired and annoyed when I growled "just go without me."

I didn't expect her to be gone when I opened my eyes again.

"Rose?" I call out for the second time, still stretching and rubbing the crustiness of sleep out of my eyes. A creaking by my door grabs my attention, but it isn't my sister.

"Sammie, what are you still doing here?" My mother demands, peering through the doorway

I glance at the clock by my bedside. 8:02

"Shit!" I yell, throwing back my covers.

"Language!" scolds my mother. "Geez, George told me you weren't ready yet when he left, not that you were still asleep. If you hurry, you might still get there in time."

I'm way ahead of her, already yanking on the same jeans I wore yesterday. I pull another band tee from my collection and step into my combat boots. "See ya," I wave at her, grabbing my backpack from my desk chair.

"You better hustle!" Mom calls after me, as if I'm not aware that the late bell rings in three minutes.

I stop at the bathroom to splash some water onto my face, squirt some toothpaste into my mouth and call it breakfast, then bolt out the front door.

I run down the entire block, taking the steep hill leading up to the high school in long strides. I don't slow down until I'm inside the building, but I'm still too late.

BRIIIIING, the bell sounds just as I burst through the double doors. By now, the halls are already empty.

Fuck. Well, no point rushing now, I guess. I slow my frantic pace to an easy stroll and catch my breath as I take the long way to class. My boots make loud clomp clomp noises on the linoleum floor, echoing through the silence, and I stare at them as I walk. Meanwhile, I'm wracking my brain wondering what the hell I did to Rose to deserve being left in the dust this morning. Is she still mad at me about yesterday? I thought we made up for that already.....

I don't take my eyes off my own feet as I walk and think. Consequently, I don't notice him coming right towards me until I almost plow right through him and send us both crashing to the ground.

"Whoa there!" says a voice, as hands grab both my arms firmly to stop said crashing. "Where's your head this morning?"

"Huh?" I look up to find Cody's intense brown eyes staring straight into mine, looking worried.

"I said your name, like, three times," he tells me. ".....From the way you kept walking, I thought you were ignoring me on purpose."

My face flushes in embarrassment, both of my own tactlessness and the words that almost jump from my lips without my consent: I would never ignore you, Cody.

"Ah shit, sorry man," I say instead. "Bit distracted. I got up late this morning and had to run all the way here. I'm just trying to get to class."

"Well, you didn't look to be in too much of a hurry," he notes, chuckling. "And you looked like you had something else on your mind. What's up?"

Damn him for being so observant. I bite my lip, avoiding his eyes and glancing instead at his crisp blue polo shirt and khakis. I notice that his hair is slightly damp, as if he just showered this morning, and I can't help but wonder if he notices that I'm wearing the same jeans from yesterday. I'm suddenly conscious of the layer of sweat under my t shirt, a result of running all the way here. I must look like a fucking mess.

I exhale loudly, shaking away the stupid insecurities. "Nothing, it's....ugh, it's stupid. Don't worry about it," I respond nonchalantly, sure to change the subject before he can press me further. "Anyway, what are you doing out of class, Mister Foster? You running late, too?"

He smirks at my teasing tone, shaking his head. "Nah," he holds up a piece of paper that I didn't realize he had, being a bit too preoccupied looking at his cute face. "Just delivering this to the office for my teacher."

"Ah...." That made more sense. Of course he wasn't late. Cody was what would generally be classified as a "good kid". A nerd to some people, but admirable to most others. Unlike me, with my tardiness, my emo outfits, and my general struggle to not get detention.

We stand there in awkward silence for a few seconds. Not wanting him to walk away just yet, I try desperately to think of something to say. Something clever or witty that would spark conversation....

"So....how's your day going so far?" Holy fuck, Sam. Really?

Cody laughs. "Well it hasn't really started yet, so...."

"Right, right. Duh." Jesus Christ, how is it that I can give a ten minute speech for class in front of people who hate my guts, but can't manage to talk to one boy without sounding like a moron?

There's another short stretch of painful silence before he holds up the piece of paper again. "Uh, anyway....I'd better get this to the office before I miss too much of math," he says, already starting to walk again. Probably eager to get away from the freakish social abomination that is myself.

Or, at least that's what I think until he pauses mid stride, turns back, and asks, "Oh hey....we're going to hang out again, right? Like we did yesterday?"

My masked embarrassment is broken by a wide, relieved grin. I offer a shrug to hide my enthusiasm. "As soon as you want."

"How about today? I mean....I still need help with my poem. Only if you have nothing going on, of course. Don't, like, make room in your schedule just for me or anything. If you're not free, that's totally fine."

Cody, I am pleased to inform you that I have checked my schedule, and I am, in fact, free everyday from now until my funeral. "Today would be fine," I say instead. Keep it cool, Sam. "I just have to make sure I check in with my mom this time...."

I cringe, almost sorry I said that last part, but he just nods. "Yeah, I got lectured for coming home late, too. I won't get you in trouble this time, though. I promise." He flashes me his crooked smile. "Later!"

I wave at him as he walks away, astonished by how such a short conversation could lift my crappy mood so fast.

Funny enough though, the second Cody rounds the corner and I'm left standing alone in the empty hallway, the black clouds return. For some reason, even though I get to see Cody again after school, I have a feeling that my day leading up to that point is going to suck big time.

Not excited for that prospect, I don't rush to class. As a result, I trudge into first period history more than a few minutes late, with a sour expression and a general air of fucking touch me and you're dead.

"Samantha Wyatt, you're late." Mrs. Bork grumps as I make my way to my seat. As if I don't already know.

"Yep," I respond, matter-of-factly.

"Do you have a pass?"

"Nope." I pop the "p". Some of my classmates giggle.

"Then you need to go to the office and get one."

I pause by my desk chair and glare at her. Is she for fucking real right now? "Mrs. Bork, I'm really not that late—"

"Sorry, the rules are the rules," she snaps, not sounding sorry at all. She points a chubby finger at the doorway. "Go to the office for a pass, then you may come back and join us."

It pisses me off that she acts like suffering through her class is some privilege that I would hate to miss out on. I want to correct this faulty notion, but I would hate to ruin my month long good-student streak. So I bite my lip, turn on my heel, and try to ignore the quiet giggling and whispers as I make my way towards the door.

Unfortunately, one annoying voice reaches my eardrum and pierces it like a knife coated in acid. "....You can tell she got out of bed, like, five minutes ago. She didn't even bother to tie up her greasy-ass hair today. Fucking ugly dyke." Everyone hears her, and the laughter increases in volume.

My face burns, a cold feeling settling in my stomach as, for the second time this morning, I become conscious of how I must look. I even go as far as to feel my head. Yep, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I didn't tie up my hair this morning. Cody must have noticed. He must have thought I looked like a fucking idiot.

And with that realization, I can feel myself growing hyper-aware of how long my stupid hair is, and how ugly it makes me. In my head, the low laughter around me reaches an ear-splitting pitch.

My vision turns red. I freeze halfway out the door and turn around again so that my hateful gaze finds Callie Dunham. "Shut the hell up, you fucking insufferable cunt."

I didn't scream it— hardly raised my voice, even— but from the way my classmates and teacher gasp, you'd think I had just pulled out a fucking shotgun.

Whatever. Still seething, I wait patiently while Mrs. Bork writes me a pink slip, but am sure to grin at her when she hands it to me so she knows that I regret nothing.

"Go to the office, Samantha. And don't come back."

------------

Rose

My favorite part about this presentation is that, at least for the first part, there is no talking required. Miss Vaughn simply instructs us to set our character blocks up at our desks with our favorite square facing down, then says that we'll have ten minutes to tour the room and observe the work of our classmates. She will walk around with us while she grades the quality of our work.

"And for the second half of this presentation," she tells us before we start, "You will turn your blocks so your favorite square is facing upwards. This will be the picture that you will speak about, telling the class what it means and why it's your favorite. I'll give you a few minutes to choose—"

My classmates all turn their blocks immediately, already knowing their own favorite pictures. Meanwhile, I stare at my block and panic silently, rethinking my own opinions of each of my pictures now that I know I'll have to speak about one of them. Which one can I get away with saying the least about?

"You okay, George?"

I jump. Miss Vaughn is right behind me, eyeing me curiously.

"S-sorry I, I just...," I stammer, then clear my throat. "I really don't know which side is my favorite, Miss Vaughn," I tell her.

She nods, craning her swan-like neck to see all sides of my block. She turns it a few times, making sure to get a good view of each. "I understand," she says. "Do you mind if I choose?"

Across the table, Kelsey and Brianna roll their eyes. I shrug, even though I'm scared. What if she picks....?

"Alright everyone," she says, even as she turns my cube. It's as if she doesn't want to give me time to object, like she thinks that I might. "Hands off your blocks. Your ten minutes begins now." She walks away without a word, the side she picked now against the tabletop, invisible to everyone.

"She picked the rose," Brianna remarks bitterly, as if I didn't notice right away. "And you really thought it wasn't any good."

I ignore her, hanging my head low to hide my flushed face and wishing I still had hair to hide behind. Fucking Sam doesn't know how good he has it with his beautiful locks. God, if only we could trade.

I take deep breaths as I begin walking around to other tables, looking at my classmates' projects but not really seeing them. I'm too focused on the fact that I'll have to speak in front of everyone before class ends today. Just the thought makes me want to vomit.

Sometimes I wonder about my fear of talking. I wonder if I'm just a shy person by nature, or if I have some type of anxiety disorder. Whatever it is, it has definitely gotten worse with time. Sam has this theory that as both of us go through puberty, our worst, most inconvenient personality traits are getting enhanced and will eventually become crippling. For me it's anxiety, he says. For him, it's his anger....

I'm yanked out of my thoughts suddenly when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out immediately.

ROSE PARKER: Ugggg I fucking hate biology. How's your morning going so far?

ME: Well, I'm in Advanced Art, which I usually love....but today we have to give presentations. I CAN NOT do the whole public speaking thing. I'm so nervous DX.

ROSE PARKER: Aww man. I'm sorry :(. Presentations are the worst. Is there any way you can get out of it?

ME: I wish, but I don't think so. It's part of our grade.

ROSE PARKER: Ooh, pretend like you have to throw up, then spend the rest of class in the nurse's office! That always worked for me in middle school :D

ME: Hmm. Tempting, but I can't do that. I'm the worst actress in the world, lol.

Shit, I realize the second I hit send. 'Actress'. God, speaking of being bad at acting....but I've never had any trouble hiding my secret until just recently. What the hell is it about Rose Parker that keeps making me mess up? At least this time, I have an easy cop-out.

ME: Actor**. Lol, autocorrect.

ROSE PARKER: Well then I guess you just have to get through it :((. But I believe in you! And hey, look on the bright side: tomorrow's Saturday! We can finally hang out outside of school :D

"George," sings a sweet voice. I lift my head to see Miss Vaughn standing a few feet away, raising an eyebrow at me. I bite my lip apologetically and lower my phone, but I shoot back one last text before pocketing it.

ME: I know. You would not believe how excited I am :D

And truly, the thought of going out to lunch with my best friend tomorrow is the only thing that gets me through the next ten minutes without having a heart attack.

------------

Sam

I'm afraid that I'll run into Cody again at the office, but luckily he's gone by the time I get there. Hugely relieved, and suddenly feeling like a guy with nothing to lose, I walk right past the blue plastic chairs that troublemakers are supposed to sit in until the principal calls them. I stroll directly into his office instead.

"Yo, whatup Dr. Suess?" I say as I plop myself down into the spinny chair in front of his desk. I spin myself around twice before placing my elbows right on top of his paperwork and looking him dead in the eye, with a self-satisfied smirk and not a single regret.

He stares me down. "Can I help you?"

I lay my pink slip on his desk. He stares at it for a few seconds in disbelief, not even picking it up.

"Really Samantha? You couldn't even make it one whole month?"

"Hey, first of all, it's Sam," I remind him, trying my hardest to maintain a level tone. "Not Samantha. And second, I almost made it a whole month, and I totally would have, if Callie Dunham didn't—"

"Don't act like you can't control your own behavior," he cuts me off immediately, staring at Mrs. Bork's note through his thick glasses. He reads it, then rereads it a couple more times before speaking again, shaking his head in disappointment. "What on earth made you think that this comment was appropriate to say in front of your entire class?"

I take a deep breath, but try not to let my annoyance show too much. I'd much rather he think I'm a cocky asshole who doesn't care about getting in trouble than some hopeless, over-emotional adolescent with anger issues. "Um, did Bork include in that little note of hers what Callie said first?"

"It doesn't matter!" Suss shoots back. "Again with that personal responsibility, Samantha—"

"—Just Sam, thanks—"

"—You are the one who lost control, and it's no one's fault but your own." He sighs deeply, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sorry Miss Wyatt, but after the warning I gave you just a few weeks ago....I'm going to have to call your parents this time."

I scoff. "Do it," I say, even though inside my heart is crumpling. But only because I know that getting grounded means I'll probably have to cancel my plans with Cody. And man, that's going to suck.

Mr. Suss eyes me curiously. "You really don't care?"

"No....I mean," I backpedal slightly. "I guess I'd prefer it if we could work something out that doesn't involve any phone calls. You know, just to save you the extra work."

His black eyes stare straight into my soul, and it's all I can do not to look away. I can almost see the gears turning in his brain, and I dare to feel the tiniest flame of hope flare up inside me.

"I suppose," he begins carefully. "If we can call Miss Dunham in here and have you apologize...."

Well fuck, there goes that idea. "I won't do it," I assure him before he has to waste anymore breath. "That bitch has given me shit everyday since middle school, along with her whole stupid posse! And if you think I'm going to grovel at her feet for defending myself, you might as well call my parents right now."

To my extreme surprise, Suss doesn't reach for his phone. He gives me a questioning look. He leans forward, never once breaking eye contact with me, and clasps his hands together. Textbook therapist posture, leaving me without a doubt that he's about to ask The Question.

His voice is gentle when he asks it. "Are you being bullied, Samantha?"

Just like every time before this one, I can choose to tell the truth. I can burst into tears and recount example after example of the torture both Rose and I experience everyday. The name-calling, the whispers, the rumors, the ridicule, the ever-present fear of gym class, the frequent use of our last name in hashtags on social media, the physical, emotional, and even sexual harassment that sometimes goes on.....

But how could I explain it all without also talking about our gender issues? How can I ever? Not to mention that Rose would never forgive me if she got called into the office and was made to talk.

So no. That option is out, too.

Instead, I slam my fist on his desk and respond through gritted teeth: "....My name is Sam. Call my fucking parents."

------------

Rose

In psychology, there's this neat little phenomenon called the next-in-line effect. It's actually one of the only things I can remember from the semester-long General Psych class I took in middle school. Basically it states that, in situations where people in a decently-sized group have to take turns speaking, one is likely to be so focused on their own upcoming turn that they will fail to remember the words of the person right before them.

This happens to me while I wait my turn to present the sixth face of my character block, only with every single person that goes before me, instead of just my predecessor. In fact, I think I might have gone temporarily deaf from the moment we all had to return to our seats and turn our blocks over, I was so damn nervous.

What the hell do I say? How am I supposed to explain what the stupid rose means when I'm not even sure myself? Sure, I've been obsessed with roses for as long as I can remember— way before I chose my name— but that doesn't mean I know why. I've never really cared why, either. I'm not like Sam, who will analyze and overanalyze every aspect of himself until he enters an existential crisis. Just being me is hard enough without having to question everything.

"George?"

"Huh?" I look up, my vacant expression eliciting giggles, and realize that everyone is staring at me expectantly. It must be my turn.

"Tell us about the rose," Miss Vaughn leads me in, smiling encouragingly. "Why is it your favorite? What makes it so special to you?"

"Faggot," someone coughs, obviously. Miss Vaughn ignores them though, and for that I am grateful. There is nothing more embarrassing than when a teacher sends someone to the office on your behalf, and I'm glad Miss Vaughn knows this. I can't afford to lose focus right now, as I try desperately to ignore my sweaty palms, my cold stomach, and my hammering heart. It's time for me to talk.

"Whenever you're ready, George."

George. That name echos like a screaming chorus inside my head. I've always hated it. Even for a boy, it's such a stupid name.

"Well," I begin. Well is a good word to start with. Much better than um, or uh, or so. I think Sam taught me that once. Or did I read it online somewhere?

Crap! I should probably say more words. "The rose is my favorite side of my character block because...." Okay, another good lead in. You see Rose? You're not dead yet. You're doing just fine. Ignore the fact the there's a billion people staring at you and all their faces are starting to swim together like a watercolor painting from hell.

Holy shit, I'm not going to make it, am I?

Chill out dude, responds my consciousness. Surprisingly, its tone strikingly resembles Rose Parker's, as if she's speaking out all the way from her biology class to act as my much-saner alter ego. It's not a billion people, it's eleven. And you WILL get through this. I believe in you.

I take a deep breath in and let it out slowly, shaking out my still-growing bangs so that they fall in front of my eyes. Maybe if I can't see them, they won't be able to see me. "I mean....I really like it. It's...." I ignore the snickers of my classmates and try to think of something Sam would say. "....It's very symbolic."

Aha, there we go. There's still some giggling, but I don't let it deter me. Through the fringe of my bangs, I make eye contact with Miss Vaughn. She smiles at me, and I realize that I can pretend that I'm speaking just to her instead of my entire class. "I think roses are really cool, because they have thorns. They cause pain to people who try to pick them. So I guess...to me, anyway, they uh....ummm," shit, where was I going with this????

Oh, right! "They represent kind of an ugly beauty. You know, something that is somehow two completely opposite things at the same time, like....like...." what would Sam say? What would Sam say??

"Like an oxymoron!" Thank you eighth grade English vocab!

I grin despite myself, and risk a glance around the room only to find that no one is looking at me anymore. I spy four people on their phones, a couple more spacing out, and one girl picking at a hangnail. Apparently, once I actually started talking, everyone ceased to give a shit. Interesting to note.

Miss Vaughn, at least, looks proud of me. "Thank you George. She then shifts her gaze to the next person. "Macy?"

I want to collapse from relief. I did it. I did it. I SURVIVED!

------------

When the bell rings, I practically float out of the classroom, still feeling on top of the world. Even better, I spot Rose Parker in the hall so I can tell her how it went in person.

"I think I stumbled my way through about four sentences total," I admit. "So I guess it wasn't much of a presentation, but—"

"But it was a start," says Rose, beaming. "I'm proud of you, Georgie." she punches me in the shoulder lightly, like one would to a guy friend. But for some reason, it doesn't bother me so much when she does it.

"Hey, I've got to get to class. I'll see you later though, 'kay?"

"Yeah, see you, Rosie."

"Whoa whoa, hold it!" She stops me with a firm hand and a raised eyebrow. "Rosie?"

I try to shrug it off, still blushing furiously. I don't know why I said that. "Hey, you call me Georgie," I say in my defense.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, as a nickname. But Rose is already my nickname."

My eyebrows shoot up, and I can only imagine how idiotic I must look in my surprise. But I am surprised. "It is?"

"Yeah. Short for Rosalie, which I fucking hate." She shakes her head to show her disgust. "So don't call me Rosie, it's wayyy too close to that."

I nod in understanding. "Sorry. I get it, though. I hate my name, too."

She looks confused, and I can tell she wants to ask why, but the hallway is clearing out fast. "Shit, I've really got to go. To be continued, though!" She says as she runs off. And I know she means it.

I curse myself, speed-walking the rest of the way to Bio. Fuck, Rose, why must you say things to her?

Sam is already slumped forward in his seat when I get there, looking way more pissed off than usual. I notice that his hair is down for the first time in....damn, I don't even know when.

I cringe as I sit down, wondering if he's mad that I left without him this morning. I nudge him gently, ready to explain myself if needed. "Hey man. What's up?"

"I'm a fucking idiot, that's what."

"Look, I—wait, what? Aw man, did you mess up?" Suddenly, I'm about ninety percent sure that Sam's good student record is officially ruined, and that that's why he looks ready to murder somebody. But what could have happened in the span of one class period to—

Unfortunately, I'm not left in the dark for long, as Callie Dunham takes her seat before turning her overly made-up face towards us.

"Hey Samantha," she hisses at Sam, like I'm not there. "How was the principal's office? Did Mr. Suss call Mommy and Daddy and tell them about your potty mouth?" she asks in a baby's voice.

I look at Sam, bracing myself for the explosion, but he doesn't say a word. He just stares straight ahead, fists and teeth clenched with impossible tightness.

The bell rings before I can even consider whether I should let Callie have the last word or not.

"Good morning class. Today we'll be watching a video...." Oh good, nap time then. Or maybe time to find out what the hell happened with Sam and Callie in first period.

But the second the lights are dimmed and whatever documentary we're watching begins with its boring intro, Sam turns to me with a look of desperation. "I need to borrow your sweater," he whispers.

"What?" I glance down at the red hoodie I always wear, underneath which I'm wearing a plain gray V-neck and the necklace that Sam gave me. "Why?"

He breathes an annoyed sigh. "Please Rose, I just need it. I'm—" he swallows, then lowers his voice to an even quieter whisper. "I need something to hide my chest. This shirt is too tight....I can feel them. They're disgusting. Please, I just want to pretend they're not there."

I don't have to ask what he means by "them". And as much as I don't want to give up my hoodie, I know that he would do the same for me....right?

I pull it off and hand it to my brother under the table. Immediately I feel naked, exposed. While I'm at it, I remove my necklace and shove it in my pocket.

"Thank you," Sam mutters. "Also, do you have a hair tie?"

God, what the hell am I now, the Giving Tree? "Of course not," I snap. "Short hair, remember? Rub it in why don't you."

"Well fuck, I'm sorry," he responds sarcastically. "It's just that, in case you haven't noticed, I'm having a pretty shit day so far, and I was kind of hoping you'd be there for me—"

"I gave you my goddamn hoodie, didn't I?"

"Excuse me!" We both jump at the sound of our teacher's voice. "Should we pause the video and wait while you two continue your little discussion back there?"

"No sir. We apologize." Sam growls, while I press my lips together and hide my blush. Our usual system.

We then put our heads down for the rest of class, and not once does my brother ask me how my art presentation went. I'm beginning to think he never really cared.

----------

Sam

The second the bell rings to end second period, I dash out of my seat and am the first one out the door. I have never been so anxious to get to gym. Although really, I guess I was just anxious to get away from Rose.

Fucking Rose. Why the hell is she being such a bitch today? Leaving me behind this morning for no reason, then snapping at me when I'm clearly feeling dysphoric. What is her fucking problem?

I elect not to think about it as I trudge through the gym and to the girls' locker room. It's only going to piss me off more, and I have enough on my mind as it is.

When Principal Doctor Seuss finally called my mom and told her what happened this morning, she of course wanted to talk to me. So I got to sit there in front the principal while she lectured me on the phone about my awful manners and "unladylike" behavior. She commanded me to come straight home after school, regardless of any other plans, and that my punishment would be decided tonight when Dad got home from work. So yeah, I have that to look forward to.

"Dress out!" Coach Wheeler barks at the doorway of the locker room. As if that's not what we do every fucking day.

I change clothes in a stall, avoiding everyone as usual, but today I can't help but wish there was one girl in here that I could call my friend. Or an acquaintance. Just someone whom I would feel comfortable asking for a damn hair tie. But no, my hair has to stay loose around my shoulder's like a fucking girl's. And apparently we're running again today.

"Everyone outside!" the coach directs us. "Line up next to the boys, just like last time!"

Thank god, I think, trying to push away all thoughts of my hair. I need this run today. The stress, the anxiety, the dysphoria....a good workout can at least numb it all for awhile.

I'm standing away from the other girls, doing my stretches at the starting point, when a voice interrupts my attempt to clear my mind. Like fucking déjà vu.

"Your hair is down today."

Having been doing a leg stretch on the ground, I hop to my feet to come face to face with Dan. "Yeah? Your point?"

"I've never seen it down before. Not once since I met you," he notes, eyeing me intently. His own hair is the same as ever: inky black and combed like a classic emo's. He pushes his bangs aside, seeming nervous, as he voices his next thought. "....You look good."

I shoot him a scowl. "Shut the fuck up."

"Oh right, sorry," he puts his hands up innocently. "You're a dude. I didn't forget, you know. I'm just saying that you look—"

"And I'm just saying shut the fuck up," I hiss, looking around to make sure no one heard. Lucky for me, we're pretty far off to the side. "It's not exactly public news, dumbass."

His smile changes from innocent to smug. "Ahh, so you're admitting you're a dude now."

I glare at him. I am so not in the mood for this today. "I'm not admitting shit!"

The coaches blow their whistles and I take off, sprinting ahead of everyone. Since I really need this run to not be stressful, I'm hoping this doesn't become another game of me and Dan racing and fighting and yelling at each other. I hope he doesn't catch up to me.

"Nice try!" yells Dan, catching up with irritating speed. "I did cross country in middle school! You can't outrun—"

"Watch me!" I yell, breaking into a sprint. Of course, all sprinting does is wear us both out much faster, and we end up taking our first break at the same time anyway.

"I have been....watching you...." Dan wheezes, his hands on his knees. "And I've noticed—"

"Of course you've been watching me!" I interrupt. "Fucking perv."

"And I've noticed...." he insists, holding up a hand. I allow him a few seconds to catch his breath. (What has he noticed?) "....That you're sad, like....most of the time."

Oh god. First Mr. Suss, now him. I am so done with people trying to play therapist with me. "Okay, first of all," I begin, hating that I feel the sudden need to explain myself. "I'm not fucking 'sad', okay? I'm pissed the hell off, and ninety-nine percent of the time, it's because of fucking assholes like you who go out of their way to ruin my life at school! And two, why do you fucking care?"

He hesitates. Then he shrugs. "I don't know....I feel bad?"

Ugh, you've got to be kidding me. "Well thanks, but I really don't need your pity—"

"Dude, no, I didn't mean bad for you," he says. "Although I guess I feel that too. I meant bad for the way I treated you, without even knowing what was going on in your life. I feel like I need to make up for it somehow."

I roll my eyes. "Oh really? Well you don't, so if all of these efforts to be nice have been purely because you feel like you owe me something, you can knock it off now. You don't have to make up for shit. You can go back to being the mean, soulless, homophobic, phony little cretin you are."

To my surprise, he smiles at me. "Wow, four adjectives," he remarks. "And only one of them is true." Then he takes off running again.

Huh? What?

"Wait, what?" I call after him, following at his same speed. "Which one?"

"Why do you care?" He shoots back, mocking me.

I quicken my pace to catch up until we're running side by side. "You're right, I don't care. But just so you know—" I cut myself off, distracted by the wind whipping my own hair around my face. "God dammit, I hate my fucking hair!!" I yell.

Dan slows down. "Here, hold on," he grabs my arm so I stop too. He pulls a rubber band from his wrist where— I didn't notice before— he's actually wearing three or four. All black, of course.

He hands me the one he took off. "Here you go,"

I hesitate, but take it gratefully. "Thanks," I mutter, tying my hair up immediately.

He grins, cupping a hand to his ear. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Oh, shut up. Why do you have all of those anyway?" I motion to his rubber bands.

His smile falters. Then he shrugs. "No reason. If you hate your long hair so much, why don't you get it cut?"

I have half a mind to respond with a shrug of my own, a payback for his own elusiveness, but decide that he could probably guess the answer anyway. "Long story short, my parents would be pissed. My dad likes his girls to look like girls." Ugh, I feel disgusting just saying that.

Dan frowns on my behalf. "Man, that must suck. Especially if you're a boy."

He starts to dash off again, but I grab his arm. "Okay, wait a second," I say, steering us away from the sidewalk and off our course entirely.

"Where are we going?"

"We're solving this right now." I don't stop until we're at the very edge of school property, in a thick of trees that separate the school from the highway. I sit down on the grass and Dan follows suit, looking very confused. "Now," I say. "What's your deal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dude, you've admitted that you were a bully. And despite what you say, I have no reason to believe that you aren't still one. You've called my sister and I—" there's no point hiding it now, he clearly knows our genders are flipped"—fag, dyke, tranny, and so on. You're clearly homophobic, along with the rest of this damn school—"

"I never said I'm not homophobic," Dan mutters, not meeting my gaze. "The whole idea of gay people scares me shitless."

That makes me pause. I've never heard someone admit to that so overtly. "My point is," I go on. "I don't see how, if you are homophobic, you could be so chill with me being a trans guy. I mean, homophobic people are generally transphobic by association. So....what's your deal? Why are you so cool with this?"

Dan sighs, still not looking at me. "I do own being homophobic, to some extent. But to me, it doesn't mean I hate gay people. Like I said, I'm scared of them. Terrified, even. Of gay pride and gay people....of being gay...."

My breath catches in my throat. "You....You're—?"

Dan groans and covers his face. "No no no. I'm not gay, I'm NOT! I just....ugh, I like girls, okay?"

"Okay okay, I believe you," I assure him, trying not to smirk. Funny how I never even considered that Dan's homophobic behavior could be to overcompensate for his own gayness. But now that I think of it....well, it's a possibility as good as any.

A possibility that's growing increasingly likely the longer he sits in silence, avoiding my eyes. "So are you admitting it now?" He asks. "That you want to be a guy?"

"I am a guy. Always have been." And there I've said it. I've just spoken my biggest secret outright for the first time in my life to someone who's not my sister—who's not even my friend. I've just given leverage to an asshole. God, Rose is going to murder me.

But then Dan does something strange. He sucks a deep breath in and stands up fast, facing entirely away from me. "Then I guess you're trusting me. And for that, I'll trust you with this: I have had feelings for guys before. I was raised to think that was disgusting and wrong, though, so I've always denied it. You were the first 'girl' I've ever been attracted to at first sight, and that was why I hit on you right away that day in math class. And that's also why I was so pissed when people told me that you and your twin were both either gay or total freaks. I was unpopular enough at my last school; this time around, I wanted to stay far away from the outcasts.

"I'm sorry I was a dick to you after that, though. I'm really, really fucking sorry. The thing is, I still thought you were cute. And I was excited about that because the fact that I liked you proved that I wasn't....you know" He sighs. "And now, it turns out that you're not even a girl. Fucking figures."

I want to laugh and cry at the same time. I don't know whether to feel bad for Dan or punch him in the face, even though my first instinct would usually be the latter. Instead, I find myself speaking sympathetically. "Okay....so now we both know each other's secrets. And now we can't rat on each other. Right?"

He turns back around to face me, wiping something from his eye. "Right."

"Do you want to go back to running before they notice we're gone?"

"Okay."

------------

Rose

Third period English is much like any other class when it comes to the bullying. Besides the fact that it's the only class where someone consistently sticks up for me.

"Hey dickwads!" Cody yells after several minutes of Edgar and his buddies whispering derogatory things while pelting me with erasers. The teacher left the room after passing out today's worksheet, like she often does, giving my bullies their daily golden opportunity to start harassing me. And Cody often says something to them (not that it ever helps) but he's not usually this loud about it.

They all stop and glance up. I do, too. And so does the rest of the class.

"Can't you leave him alone for one day?" Cody asks through gritted teeth.

Edgar snorts. "Mind your business, Four-Eyes. It's a game. We're just trying to see if we can get him to talk. And he doesn't care anyway, do you Georgie?"

Of course, I say nothing. I just keep working, not even looking at Cody to show my gratitude. Sure, I appreciate that he keeps defending me without ever receiving thanks in return, but I know that he's only doing it because he has a thing for Sam. And the fact that Sam knows that Cody thinks he's a girl, and keeps leading him on anyway just pisses me off.

"I'm sure he cares," Cody argues. "He could report you in a second, he's just too nice to say anything."

Pfft. Sure, let's go with that.

"Maybe you should take a hint from him then," Edgar growls. "Keep your mouth shut, and quit defending this little pussy unless you want your ass kicked."

"Look, I don't want any trouble," Cody admits. "I just really think you should leave him alone."

"Oh do you?" Edgar asks. His friends chuckle as he stands up and makes his way toward me slowly. I can see him approaching in my peripheral vision, but keep my head down and pretend that I can't. I close my eyes, knowing what's coming before it does.

Edgar shoves me out of my seat and onto the hard linoleum floor. My shoulder takes most of the impact, and I'm barely able to refrain from crying out.

"And what are you going to do if I don't?" Edgar taunts.

Cody stands up, which immediately grabs my attention. He looks pissed as hell, like he might throw a punch. I hope to god that's not what he's about to do.

Luckily, Mrs. Carter chooses that moment to come back into the room, coffee in hand. She notices me on the floor, Cody standing and glaring at Edgar, and the entire rest of the class looking at us as if their favorite show just came on. "What's going on?" she asks.

"Nothing," says Edgar innocently, sitting back in his seat. I do the same, and the rest of the class turns away as well, all of us dutifully pretending that nothing happened. It is expected of Cody to follow suit.

But he doesn't. He remains standing. "Actually that's not true. That's never true. Edgar just shoved George out of his seat for no reason, and if you don't do something about it then I'm going to."

Half the class sucks in their breath, including me. Not only is it completely against the social code to "tattle" in high school ("Snitches get stitches!" is the motto at our school), but that was probably the most confident and professional-sounding tattle any one of us has ever heard.

"I did not! He's a liar!" Edgar defends himself, unconvincingly.

Mrs. Carter looks at me. "George, did that happen?"

Shit, now they're all looking at me. This is exactly what I want to avoid by never reporting anything bullies do to me. But Cody just put himself on the line for me (not that I fucking asked him to), and I'd be a total bitch if I made him out to be a liar. So I nod.

That's all Mrs. Carter needs, apparently. She writes something onto a pink slip and hands it to Edgar. "Go to the office, Mister Thompson."

"But I didn't do anything!"

"The you can tell your side of the story to the principal. Go to the office. Don't make me raise my voice."

"Ooooo," some people say under their breaths as Edgar grabs his bag angrily. His friends, of course, sit back and pretend to have nothing to do with him.

Edgar turns back only once as he leaves, pausing right in the doorway to point at Cody from behind Mrs. Carter's back. He mouths, You're so dead.

I turn to look at Cody, who just smirks back like he's not the slightest bit afraid. Jesus, does he know what Edgar Thompson is capable of? The guy has no conscience!

"Alright everyone, show's over," Mrs. Carter mutters, sounding tired. "George, do you need to go to the nurse or anything?"

My face heats up as I'm forced to say actual words for the first time in this class. Since Mrs. Carter is not one who especially cares about class participation, some of the students in here have literally never heard me speak before. "No, I'm fine," I mutter.

There are, of course, some giggles. Why is it that whenever someone who doesn't usually talk says so much as a sentence, everyone thinks it's so funny? As if I'm not self conscious enough. I hate it when people laugh at me.

As everyone finally loses interest in my predicament and goes back to their work, I feel Cody's eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. God, I should probably thank him now, shouldn't I? Especially now that Edgar is sure to target him in this class, as well as other classes they might have together. All because of me.

I grit my teeth. Hang on, it's not my fault that he chose to stand up for me when I never asked him to. This is just like with Rose Parker the other day in gym class, and with Sam throughout our entire lives. God, what is it with me always playing the freaking damsel in distress, allowing strangers and people I care about to throw themselves in front of trains to save my sorry ass?

"Hey."

I turn around to see Cody leaning forward in his seat, looking at me in a curious way. "Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod, feeling really fucking guilty all of a sudden. Whatever his reasons for defending me, and regardless of how embarrassed I am, a show of gratitude is surely long past due. "Thank you," I whisper. "I know I should have said that forever ago, but—"

"You don't talk much," he nods. "I know."

"Why do you do it?" I can't help but ask, even though I already know the answer. He probably can't wait until Creative Writing so that he can tell Sam all about what happened, and they can laugh at my helplessness together. "You don't have to defend me. Nobody else does, not even me. Why do you?"

He shrugs. "Nobody else does," he parrots back. "Not even you."

------------

Sam

Though I'm usually ecstatic about Creative Writing, today I dread it for the sole reason that I'm going to have to tell Cody that I got my stupid ass in trouble and can't hang out today. He's going to think I'm a total moron.

I get there early and wait for him, my stomach growling incessantly. Probably because I spent my lunch period in the bathroom, analyzing my reflection and wondering what the hell Dan saw in me. I'm not super attractive, even by chick standards. Rose and I were both born quite scrawny (she's grateful for it, I'm not). I suppose my cheekbones and hazel-ish eyes could make my face be considered "pretty".

Ugh. I fucking hate that word. Pretty. It's so light and dainty, bringing to mind little girls in dresses and flower crowns. So not me.

I'm yanked out of my thoughts when Cody takes his seat next to me. "Hey Sam," he says, but then must notice the look on my face. "Hey, what's up? Are you okay?"

"Uh, I've got some bad news," I say, blushing. "I'm in deep shit with my parents. After I got to first period late, I may have said some, ah, 'inappropriate' things to a classmate who was being a bitch. I got sent to the office, and now I have to go straight home after school. So....sorry, but I'm going to have to cancel on you."

I flinch at my own words, trying to gauge his level of disappointment and irritation at me. But I'm surprised to find more than I expected. All the color seems to have drained from his face, and he looks genuinely upset. "Shit," he says under his breath.

"I'm sorry, I really am! I mean, if I'm really good I shouldn't be grounded for long, and we can hang out some other time."

"No, it's not that," he groans, putting his head down on his desk. "I needed to talk to you today, preferably after school. It's important."

The speed of my heartbeat rattles my ribs. "Tell me now!" I urge him, even as my imagination runs away with the possibilities of what could be so important. After the bombshell Dan dropped on me in gym today, I'm not sure how many more surprises I can take.

"Not here," he mutters, sinking down in his seat.

"After school then?" I suggest. "I could meet up with you in the commons before I leave. I'll tell my brother to head off without me, so we can talk alone."

He swallows, seeming reluctant. "I really wish we could have more than a few minutes, but I guess that's better than nothing," he agrees. The bell rings, signaling the end of the conversation.

Morton passes out our journals, and I begin my entry right away.

Suspense is, quite possibly, the worst feeling in the entire world. Particularly when it must be stretched out over THREE MORE HOURS before finally being relieved....

------------

Rose

I didn't see Sam at lunch today. Not that it was a problem, since I had no intention of sitting with him anyway. Nor did I plan on sitting with Kelsey and Brianna, who have been giving me the cold shoulder in every class they've had with me since art this morning. Don't know why, nor do I really care.

Instead, Rose Parker and I ate lunch outside under the cloudy sky while I told her all about my presentation this morning.

Being best friends with Rose Parker is much different— better, I would even say— than whatever I've had with Kelsey and Bri for the past couple years. For one thing, Rose isn't embarrassed to talk to me in front of other people, even when they're clearly laughing at us. She also doesn't get mad at me for stupid shit, and she never jokes or makes allusions to me possibly being "gay".

Talking, laughing, sharing music—it's all so easy with Rose Parker. Which I can only guess is how a real friendship should be.

"So where was your hoodie today?" she asks after we're already dressed out for gym and preparing to run our Friday mile. "I forgot to ask you earlier."

"Oh....uh," I wrack my mind for some type of excuse before realizing that I don't need one. Damn, I've gotten into such a habit of lying to her that it's my first instinct now. "My brother borrowed it today."

"Wow, that must be nice to have a twin your same gender that you can share clothes with," she notes. "Sometimes, I wish I had a sister just for that reason."

"Do you have any siblings?" I ask, curiously.

She shakes her head, then pauses and changes to a shrug. "Well....I usually just say no. I was always an only child before my parents got divorced when I was ten. My mom never remarried or had anymore kids, but my dad did. So technically I have two step-brothers and a half sister, but I don't consider any of them my family. I've only met my step-brothers, like, once. And that was at my dad's wedding."

"Oh." Man, I had no idea she had divorced parents. I'm not sure what to say. "I'm sorry," I try.

She snorts. "Don't be. My dad was always a piece of shit. I'm lucky if I get a birthday card anymore, let alone a phone call or a visit. My mom deserves better than him." She sighs, looking at her shoes. "I just wish she'd start dating again."

Coach Wheeler blows her whistle, and Rose Parker and I begin our walk. "Sorry," she says suddenly. "I've never told anyone that before. I've just never had a friend I trusted this much."

I smile at her. I feel the exact same way about her. The only difference is, I'm the one who probably doesn't deserve to be trusted. Not when she thinks that I'm a cisgender boy with a cisgender twin brother.

As soon as we turn the corner she pulls out her headphones. "Okay, let's see what we're listening to today," she says, scrolling through her phone. "I've shown you the entire Vessel album, right?"

I laugh. "Yes. And I've heard all of Blurryface too, I think."

"Oh, that one is so good. Okay, but have you come across their self-titled album yet?"

I shake my head and she squeals. "Well we have to fix this right now! Come here." She's about to hand me one of the ear phones when someone dashes through right in between us, knocking her hand aside.

"Ow! What the—" she turns, and Warren Hawk is jogging a few feet ahead of us now, laughing. He's followed by several friends, all of whom are sure to run right in between me and Rose, sometimes pushing one of us off the sidewalk.

"Move it, bitches!" one of them yells. "Get the lead out!"

"Wow, real mature," Rose Parker mutters. "Maybe we should run for a bit, though. Just so we don't almost fail the mile like we did last time."

I nod in agreement and start to jog along with her, sure to stay well behind the jerks who shoved us. But that doesn't help much when we're shoved aside yet again, this time by a couple of girls who cut in between us.

"What the hell?!" Rose calls after them.

One of them turns around. It's Fiona Hoffman, Rose Parker's main bully. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't see you there!" she calls back with fake sympathy. "Maybe if your fat ass wasn't taking up the entire sidewalk—"

"What's the rush, Fiona?" Rose cuts her off. "You late for an appointment to have your mustache bleached?"

I laugh without meaning to, and Fiona narrows her eyes. "At least I'm not an ugly bitch. No amount of makeup or nothing could fix your diseased fucking face. Don't they have a name for that condition?"

Ouch. I hurt for Rose and want to defend her, but she just laughs it off. "They're called freckles, Fiona. Go back to kindergarten."

"Cancer's more like it. They'll have to cut your whole face off before you're thirty just to get rid of it!"

"Yeah? I hope they get my ears while they're at it, so I never have to hear your nasally-ass voice again."

By this point, they've both stopped walking entirely and are standing in the middle of the sidewalk, roasting each other while I stand here and watch. My head whips back and forth between them as they take turns shooting each other down, and all I can think is....damn. I've always had an endless list of reasons for why I will never respond to my bullies' taunts, but now another one can be added: I will never be as good at creating fast and relevant comebacks as Rose Parker is, so there'd be no point even trying.

Unfortunately, that's about when Fiona feels the need to rope me into it.

"You think you're so cool, don't you? You and your little faggot friend here." I look at her as if she just said my name, and then automatically feel stupid for doing so. "What's your name again faggot? Georgey? Georgette?"

"Don't talk to him," Rose Parker comes to my defense. "This is between me and you."

"Oh, so I've hit a soft spot, have I?" Fiona laughs gleefully, her eyes lighting up. "See, Warren says he's gay, but I actually think you two are fucking. We bet each other ten bucks on it, so which one is it?"

"Go to hell!" Rose snaps. I'm astonished that, after everything that was said before, this is the thing that sets her off.

"Come on, it's a simple question." Fiona's smile widens. She's clearly beginning to enjoy herself. "Is he gay, or are you fucking? It has to be one or the other."

"We are not having sex," Rose growls, her face as fiery red as her hair.

"So you're gay then?" This time, it's directed at me.

I say nothing.

"Come on, I've got to know!" Fiona almost whines. "But if you're not having sex, you really should. Rose, I'll bet your dick would fit nicely into his vagina." She laughs at her own joke.

Rose shoves her into the dirt hard. "Fuck you!" she spits, right before taking off.

"Ow! You bitch!"

I run after Rose, not looking back. "Rose, wait up!" But she doesn't slow down until I catch up to her, and by then there are tears pouring down her face. "Whoa....what happened?"

She laughs at herself, wiping her eyes. "God, I'm so stupid! It's not even a big deal."

"It is if it upsets you this much," I tell her. I'm just confused because she was doing so well before. Right up until Fiona brought me into the argument. "Is this because she was making fun of me? Because believe me, I'm fine. I get that word all the time—"

"No," she says, blotting her face with the hem of her t-shirt. "I mean, yeah that pissed me off. But that wasn't why I snapped...." She did a three-sixty real quick, checking to see if there was anyone around us. "Alright....George, I'm going to tell you something about me. Something I've never told anyone else, but I trust you enough to tell you. But you have to promise not to judge me, okay?"

I almost laugh out loud right there, just because I'm the last person in any position to judge anyone, with all my baggage. But I swallow it down and nod.

"Okay." She takes a deep breath. "I'm asexual."

Oh. I want to say Is that all?, but I saw how much effort it took her to tell me, and don't want to demean her struggles. "Okay," I tell her, shrugging. "That's fine, some people are. It's no big deal, and I would never judge you for it."

She laughs with relief. "Thank you," she says. "God, I appreciate that. And I also appreciate that you know what it means."

Of course I do. Sam and I both, just from doing research about ourselves, could tell you pretty much anything about any label in the LGBT+ community.

"Anyway," says Rose. "That's why I get so pissed off about the sex stuff. Not that I'm repulsed by it or anything— frankly, I just don't care— but the fact that they always have to bring it up and use it against me, and accuse me of having it.....it's just so annoying." She heaves an irritated sigh. "And I'm so sick of it. But I'd never tell them I'm ace, because then they'd just do it more. But it's almost like they already know that it gets to me. Probably because of how I react, so I know I just need to chill out, but I just....Ugh! How do you do it?"

"Huh?"

"That thing where you just ignore people. Like what they say doesn't even affect you."

I shrug. "I don't know. But don't think it doesn't affect me," I feel like I need to tell her this, for some reason. "Because it does. The only reason I don't want to respond is because I don't want to be the center of attention. I hate talking. Not just public speaking, but talking to people in general."

Rose pauses, taken aback by this new fact about me. "Really? You talk to me just fine."

"Well....you're easy to talk to."

She grins. "You are too, man. Do you want to finish the rest of this mile to some TØP?"

I nod. I wish I could express to her how proud I am of her for coming out to me, for telling me her biggest secret. And I can only hope that one day, I'll have the courage to do the same.

We finish off the mile in silence, just listening to our music.

------------

Sam

The next three hours drag by like centuries.

After Creative Writing, I tell Cody I'll see him later and head off to algebra, where I have literally no idea what the hell is going on.

It's always like this. Every damn year. I start off telling myself that I'm going to pay attention and keep up in math this time around, and might even do alright the first couple weeks. But by the end of the first month, I am completely clueless without even knowing when and where I lost track of things. It's frustrating, but it's always still okay in the end because I have Rose to help me.

At this point in the day, when I haven't seen my sister since second period and I have a million other things on my mind, I've mostly cooled off from whatever I was originally mad about. So I greet her as usual when I take my seat next to her. "Hey Rose. What's up?"

She glares at me. "Well, I had my art presentation this morning, not that you ever bothered to ask how it went."

"Oh shit, that was today?" Fuck, no wonder she was pissed at me. "I'm sorry. If I had known, I would have totally asked about it—"

"You should have known," she shoots back. "It was the whole reason I left early this morning! I even told you before I left."

Aw man, it's all starting to make sense now. "Damn it....I'm sorry Rose. I'll admit it, I'm a total asshole. I have no excuse—"

"Maybe if you weren't so busy daydreaming about Cody all day, you'd have heard me one of the million times I mentioned it."

Whoa, hey. What the hell does that have to do with anything? "Rosie, come on. I'm grovelling here. I'm clearly sorry....and you know, in my defense, I kind of had a shitty morning. Remember? Being sent to the office and everything?" Aren't you going to ask me about that?

She just narrows her eyes at me. "Yeah, well that was your own fault. Maybe if you had gotten out of bed when I told you to, or even just kept your damn temper under control—"

"Dude! Rose, what is your problem? I apologized for not remembering your art presentation, even though honestly—" and here I may be screwing myself, but oh well "—I don't see why that's such a big deal."

She throws up her hands in honest-to-goodness astonishment. "Oh. My god. You are literally the most self absorbed asshole sometimes, you know that Sam? You know how important art is to me, and how much I hate talking—"

"You sure seem to be doing a lot of it now," I mutter.

"I could have had a fucking panic attack. I almost did, and would you have been there for me? No, you'd have been too busy getting sent to the goddamn principal's office. I'm always there for you when you need someone, we invented a fucking code for when you need help. And what about me?"

I suddenly feel hot, but not from shame of embarrassment. From anger. "Are you seriously saying that I've never been there for you?" I ask quietly. "After all the times I've defended you and protected you?"

"That's not what I need Sam, god!" she seems beyond frustrated, like she's been wanting to say all this for years. "All I need is a brother I can trust. Someone who can control his temper, who doesn't always feel like he needs to prove himself to everyone by getting into fights, someone who isn't so fucking wrapped up in himself that he can actually notice and remember what's going on in my life—"

"Well look who's being self absorbed now," I growl. We're in the back of the room as usual and no one is really looking at us, but I still feel like I need to keep my voice low. "I do so much for you Rose; hell, my entire life is about you, or about us. In fact, everything we've ever done has always been about us, and surviving in this hell that is public school without anyone figuring out what we are. It's why we've always stuck by each other, isn't it? Why we do everything together. And you're really going to say that you've been there for me more than I have for you?"

"Maybe that's not what I'm saying," she counters, her voice much softer. "Maybe I'm saying that....we've outgrown it. Both of us. You clearly have more going on in your life now than just me. You're crushing on someone whom you would sooner hang out with than so much as walk home with me. You've got your own personal responsibility and chronic delinquency to sort out. Maybe it's time we....quit being so codependent."

I snort at her complete change of course in this argument. First I'm not there for her enough. Now, apparently we just lean on each other too damn much. "So what are you saying now, Rose? That we quit walking together places? Quit having lunch together and sitting together in every class? That we stop telling each other about our lives entirely, and that we just focus on our individual selves from now on, is that it?"

She doesn't nod, nor does she shake her head. She simply picks up her textbook and throws her bag over her shoulder, standing up. "I'll start us off," she says. And as I watch her walk to the complete opposite side of the room and take one of the empty desks in the corner, I don't think I've ever felt this much hurt and rejection in my life.

On her way to get far away from me, she walked right past Dan, whom I hadn't notice come in. I wonder how much he heard of our argument.

Dan watches Rose set her stuff down in her new seat and then immediately turns to look at me, his face full of concern. What's wrong? he mouths. I just shake my head and close my textbook to use as a pillow for the remainder of the period. I put the hood up on Rose's sweater, blocking out the world....

Rose's sweater. She probably wants it back. I yank it off over my head, even though I'm still hyper-aware of those fucking lumps on my chest, and walk it over to her new desk just to return it to her. Now I have nothing but my hair to hide my face with as I take my well-deserved nap.

------------

Speech class is no different. I take my usual seat in the back, and Rose makes a point to sit somewhere far away from me. I hate her for it, but at the same time, how can I? She's clearly a strong, independent girl who doesn't need her brother to protect her anymore. It might be my imagination, but in her seat across the room from mine, she seems to sit up a little taller and even smile a bit as class begins.

I swallow a lump in my throat. After a week or so of this— of her complete avoidance of me— will our teachers grow to see a dramatic change in her level of introversion? Will she start raising her hand in class, giving more presentations, defending herself from bullies? Has it really just been me holding her back this whole time? Funny how the thought has never occurred to me, but now that it has, I will never be able to shake it.

I can't pay attention at all in Speech today, and it isn't until the bell rings that I remember I have to meet Cody so he can finally tell me whatever he needs to tell me. At least now, I won't have to tell Rose to go ahead and start walking home without me. She has already left.

In the commons, I choose a random empty table by the big glass wall. Yes, our cafeteria has a wall that is entirely a window. It's awesome to sit by on rainy days, but today is just cloudy from yesterday's storm. The entire world outside is gray, befitting of my mood. There's not a hint of blue in the sky, or a ray of sunshine. The sun might have just given up on life.

"Hey."

I jump. For some reason I didn't expect Cody to get here so fast. He looks visibly upset, even like he might have been crying.

"Hey man, sit down," I urge him. "What's up?" I wonder again what he's going to tell me. I'll be honest, at first I was thinking (hoping) that he wanted to confess his feelings. That maybe, just maybe, he has felt the same way about me that I have about him since the day we met.

But now that we're here and he's about to tell me, and I can see the look on his face, I somehow know that that's not it. At least, I hope it's not. Not if it's making him this upset.

Cody sits and takes a deep breath, putting his head in his hands. "God," he sobs. "I'm such a fucking idiot, Sam."

"No you're not," I assure him. "You're the smartest guy I know. Now why don't you tell me what's wrong? I promise, whatever it is, I'm here for you."

He has to take a moment to calm down and collect himself, and I wait patiently, even though I'm getting more worried by the second.

"Alright," he breathes, sitting up. He folds his hands together on the tabletop and looks at me straight on. His smooth brown eyes are so intense it scares me. "Okay Sam, I believe you. You've been my friend for about a month now, and you seem like a really good person. I trust you. And honestly....I just can't fucking hold this in any longer...."

He trails off, and I'm already making deductions like Sherlock Holmes would. Judging by his word choice, his tone, and his face alone, there are only a handful of things he could tell me from here. And suddenly, I have a fairly good suspicion. "Okay," I encourage him with a nod.

"Okay," he responds. He takes one last deep breath. "I'm....I'm gay."

Boom, called it! But now's not the time for celebrations. (Because he's a boy, and I'm also a boy!! Uh, whether or not he knows it quite yet). He is clearly upset by this, and needs nothing more than a friend who won't judge him. So I nod. "Good for you, man," I tell him. "I know we don't live in the friendliest of places, but I'm definitely not judging you. I've got your back, no matter what."

I expect him to look reassured, or at the very least like someone who just got something huge off of his chest. But if anything, he looks worse. He's still visibly distraught, and now he's looking at me with eyes full of painful doubt. Does he not trust me?

"Cody, it's okay." I'm definitely pushing it, but I take his hand. Luckily, he lets me. "I told you, I'm here for you no matter—"

"That's not all."

I falter, confused. What else could there be?

He says his next words like a guy with a chest full of razor blades, and somehow I know that he's about to transfer the feeling over to me before he even says them. "I have a crush," he breathes at last. "On your brother."