Art by: Rose Wyatt.

Entitled: Numb

Captioned: I wish you would forget me. I wish I could forget you. But more than anything, I wish I could forget me.

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"Sam Wyatt. You evil, selfish piece of shit. I hope you cook to a slow crisp in the hottest flames of Hell. Kill yourself."

— Bathroom graffiti.
Author: Unknown

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

Sam

I wake up Thursday morning with the peculiar feeling of having swallowed a ton of bricks, while simultaneously feeling completely hollow. A feeling that hasn't gone away since leaving the hospital with Cody two days ago.

The hollow feeling is simple and easy to explain: I haven't eaten in two days.

As if to remind me of this fact, my stomach growls like a pack of wild dogs. It was probably my rumbling stomach that caused me to wake up when it's still pitch black outside, which I haven't done in awhile. Groaning, I roll over and look at the clock on my bedside table: 6:35 AM. Jesus, I haven't woken up this early since.....like, ever. Rose isn't even awake yet.

Taking advantage of this, I tip-toe past her bed and to the bathroom across the hall to do my morning check-in. As I close the door behind me, my stomach growls loudly again. This time accompanied by a painful ache.

"Shut up," I mutter to it, but I guess I can't blame my body for being pissed at me; it has been deprived. But hopefully not for much longer, as I have a feeling today is the day.

Sure enough, I look to find the inside of my underwear spotless. "Thank the fucking lord," I sigh under my breath. Though a bit of self-starvation is always worth cutting my monthly curse a few days short, I wasn't sure I could make it another day without food.

Before even getting dressed, I grab myself a bowl of cereal. Munching quietly in the otherwise silent kitchen, I close my eyes and wait for the hollow feeling to go away. I'm irked when it doesn't....until I realize that the pangs I still feel in my stomach are actually from the ton-of-bricks feeling, a feeling that is going to be much, much more difficult to get rid of.

For what must be the billionth time, Tuesday's afternoon at the hospital replays in my head. From the moment Cody and I walk softly into room 647 (god, I even remember the number), to my bold move of reciting his poem as he sulked by his sister's bedside, to that first surprising hug. I remember the warmth of his arms wrapped around me, the way the crook of his neck smelled exactly like his jacket, the way his voice broke when he whispered "Thank you,"....

And my most replayed moment of all: the moment when our lips touched and the whole world around us ceased to exist, along with all of the millions of reasons why this was wrong. And I haven't the faintest idea who initiated it, either. Just that we both leaned in, we both kissed with passion....and Cody pulled away.

Yes, of course it was Cody who came to his senses, and I suppose it's a good thing he did. If it was up to me, it would have been hours. Maybe days. Hell, I could've stayed like that forever, with his warm, eager lips on mine. I smile softly just thinking about it. Those three, maybe five seconds of pure bliss before everything went to hell.

Too bad the next part is eternally engraved into my memory as well.

"Whoa!" said Cody, jumping back as soon as he pulled away. "Whoa, what....what was that?!"

My first kiss, I remember thinking fondly, but my smile dropped as soon as I saw how Cody was panicking. "Cody, it's okay—"

"No it's not!" He backed far away from me, as far as he could go before hitting the wall. "Why did we do that? Jesus, what the fuck—"

"I'm sorry," I said, because I couldn't think of what else to say. Was I sorry? It didn't matter; he clearly was.

But he didn't seem to hear me. "What am I going to tell George?" he groaned , his hands over his face.

"Whoa, hang on!" This spiked my fear up a hundred degrees, though I wasn't sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the still-throbbing bruise on the right side of my face, hidden by makeup. "You don't have to tell—"

"And you—" he pointed at me with an expression somewhere between furious and frightened. "What...what the hell are you doing to me?"

"Cody—"

"I'm not...." he interrupted me, pacing from wall to wall. He seemed to be talking to himself more than me. "I'm....I'm not—"

"Cody, listen—"

"No! I didn't spend the last fifteen years on my life figuring out my sexuality to be tripped up by—"

"Cody, I'm a boy!" I blurted at last. My gender was probably the least of our worries at the moment, but I couldn't have him falling into an identity crisis because of me.

My words made him freeze in his tracks, and he looked at me. "What?"

"I'm transgender, Cody. I look like a girl, but I'm....I'm a boy. I always have been." Strange how after being figured out by Dan and outed against my will by Rose, finally saying the words for myself was such a huge relief.

I'll admit, Cody's reaction to my confession was probably the last I would've ever expected: he laughed. Not a ha-ha funny laugh, or even a surprised laugh. But a quiet, kind of sad laugh. Maybe with a tinge of relief.

"You know, it's funny," Cody chuckled, looking at his feet. "I think a part of me always saw you that way. I think that's why I allowed myself to feel something for you.... But it's still not okay,"

And just like that, he was back to his panicking.

"This isn't good. I can't believe I fucking did that. I have to tell him."

"No you don't!" I tried to convince him. "Please don't, it'll only hurt him—"

"I've already hurt him!" Cody fired back. "You don't understand. I really like George. He's such an amazing person, so smart and kind...."

If only you could hear some of the stuff he's said to me, I remember thinking with a scoff, before biting my tongue and correcting the pronoun in my head. Jesus Christ, I really needed to work on that.

"....Which is why I can't believe I did this to him. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Look Cody, it'll be okay," I assured him, reaching to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shied away from my touch. I felt the pang of rejection, but I ignored it. This wasn't about me. "It's just as much my fault as yours, if not more. Please don't beat yourself up over this."

"How can I not?" said Cody. He looked to be on the verge of tears.

I tear up now just thinking about it, remembering how he looked. So guilt-ridden and in pain. The sight of his face wracked with regret completely erased any positive emotions I previously had about the kiss. I had done this to him; this was all my fault. All because I had to have fucking feelings.

No, because I had to act on them.

Still ravenous, I pour myself a second bowl of cereal, but it has become hard to swallow over the lump in my throat. I am caught in between feeling aches of regret at the memory of Cody's face, and tingles of satisfaction from finally knowing that I'm not crazy, that he does feel something for me. Or did, at least.

And fuck, I can't quit replaying that kiss.

Through some coaxing, I ended up convincing him not to say anything to his "boyfriend", only after (reluctantly) promising that nothing would ever happen between us again. I even offered to shake on it, but again he refused my touch.

"I think you should leave," he said. refusing to even meet my eyes. So I did. I left having outed myself without outing Rose, and apart of me still wonders if I made the right choice.

Yesterday's Creative Writing class was awkward, to say the least. We didn't talk, we barely even looked at each other. But as far as I can tell, he hasn't said anything to Rose. I'm sure I would know it if he did.

Speak of the devil, by the time I finish my breakfast and return to our room, Rose is awake and getting dressed. She freezes for a moment when she sees me, making a point to turn away as she changes her shirt. As if there's anything on her chest to hide.

I change in the opposite corner, both of us being as quiet as possible, as if even making a noise would be interpreted by the other as an attempt at communication. This is the first morning we've both been awake at the same time since we started fighting, and the awkwardness is palpable.

Across the room, Rose has finished getting dressed and is messing with her hair in front of the mirror. Her shaved sides have started growing over her ears again, which I'm sure she's thrilled about. She brushes it all forward, like she always does, mussing up her slight fringe over one eye. She doesn't look like a girl as much as like a gay emo kid trying too hard, but to her it's better than nothing, and as good as she can get for now.

Kneeling down to tie up my boots over my jeans, I watch her out of the corner of my eye and practice the little mantra I made up a few days ago.

That is Rose Annabelle Wyatt. Your sister. A girl. George Elijah Wyatt was the name she was given at birth, and which should never be used. No matter how much you hate her, right now or ever, her gender should not be brought into question. She is a GIRL. And you, Samuel Aaron Wyatt, are an asshole for ever thinking differently. For even slipping up. A total fucking asshole.

And I feel like one. Just the fact that I have to practically retrain myself to use my sister's correct pronouns makes warmth rise to my cheeks in shame. I think I've figured out why it suddenly required effort for me to think of her as a girl, something I used to do so easily, and it's because I stopped caring about her. I just stopped fucking caring for the briefest instant there, and it turned me into a complete and total piece of shit. Someone who calls his sister by the wrong pronouns, provokes her enough to earn a punch to the face, and then proceeds to make out with her boyfriend behind her back.

Yeah, I deserved that punch. I probably deserve another one. I need to fix myself.

Now finished getting ready, Rose grabs her backpack and leaves without a word or a glance in my direction.

Finally. Now that she's gone, I reach under her bed and pull out the makeup kit. Grimacing, I apply the liquid stuff to the large, yellowing bruise extending from the edge of my nose to my jawline. I top it with finishing powder. As gross as this stuff feels, it makes for a great concealer. Mom and Dad haven't noticed a thing in the three days I've had this bruise.

Suddenly, I hear fast footsteps making their way up the stairs and down the hall to our room.

Shit.

But before I can think of what to do, Rose is back. She forgot her hoodie. I can tell that she meant to just grab it and leave again as fast as possible, but she freezes when she sees me using the makeup.

My face floods with heat, feeling like someone who just got caught looking at porn. But luckily I don't need to explain myself; she can clearly see the bruise I have yet to finish covering up.

Not so luckily, our eyes meet and I can't look away this time. Hers are, to my surprise, full of sympathy and regret. Maybe because I've been covering it so well these past few days, she hadn't really known how bad the mark she left was. But that's when I notice the knuckles of her right hand. They're also slightly bruised.

Man, even I forgot how hard she hit me that day.

To my utmost shock, Rose clears her throat. "S-Sam," she says, speaking to me for the first time since Tuesday. "I'm sorry I hit you. That was probably the worst thing I've ever done. I shouldn't have—" She cuts herself off very suddenly when her voice cracks; not from emotion, but from....something else. From the way she closes her eyes and swallows, I can only guess that's been happening to her a lot lately.

Meanwhile, I grimace. She shouldn't be sorry, not even a little bit. She owes me nothing. I kissed her fucking boyfriend. But clearly she doesn't know that.

Dammit, tell her you forgive her, Something inside me hisses. Because she's still standing there, almost expectantly. You owe her at least that much.

But I owe her so much more than that. "It's....it's okay," I stammer. The old Sam, the one who laughed and joked around with Rose might've said something like, It didn't even hurt that much! You hit like a girl! And then we would've had a good laugh and gotten past this whole thing as quick as flipping a switch.

Except that it did hurt, and she didn't hit like a girl, and our fight goes so much deeper than that. So I just end it there, at "It's okay."

Rose nods, like that was all she needed, and leaves once more with her hoodie clutched in her bruised hand.

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

Rose

There have to be at least three hundred reasons why I love art, but number one is definitely the way it has always been an escape for me. No matter what I'm going through in life, how dysphoric I'm feeling or how much stress I'm under, I can always put a pencil to paper— or, if in the right environment, a brush to a canvas— and let all my anxieties fade away as my creation becomes my whole world.

Like I've been doing the past couple weeks or so, I arrive in Miss Vaughn's classroom way before anyone else. I find her at the easel next to her desk, moving a large paintbrush across a canvas so frantically, it's almost like she's dancing

"Good morning, George," she greets me cheerfully without looking away from her work. She knows it's me. "How are you doing this morning?"

I smile. I can't be mad, I can't even flinch, my birth name sounds so sweet falling from her cherry red lips.

"I'm okay," I tell her, like always. Only this morning it comes out shaky, maybe having something to do with my very brief interaction with Sam this morning. Our first one that wasn't a screaming match in what feels like ages.

Hearing the uncertainty in my voice, Miss Vaughn pauses mid-brushstroke and looks up over her painting. "Are you sure? You look a bit frazzled."

Maybe it's the concerned look in her eyes, or her honest tone— like she really cares and wants to know if I'm doing okay— but I can feel myself starting to tear up. Not for the first time, I have a strange urge to tell this woman everything. She has that kind of personality, Miss Vaughn does. The kind that just makes you want to trust a person, to confide in them, if only because you know they would love and care about you no matter what.

But I hold back. I blink back the tears. "Yeah...it's been a rough couple of weeks," I mutter instead. "I just really need to dive into a canvas right now."

Her soft, polite smile turns into something of a knowing smirk. She understands me. "The supplies are in the same place as always. So is your project."

"Thank you." She isn't talking about my fall-themed sketch that I'm doing for our monthly assignment in class. She's talking about the painting that I work on every time I end up in her room in the mornings. One that I have yet to title, but that I am quickly becoming obsessed with.

I'll be honest, it isn't much to look at right now. Just a mostly blank canvas with a couple shadowy parts on the edges. But it means something to me; every brushstroke means something. Something I can't possibly explain.

"It's beautiful," says Miss Vaughn, suddenly standing behind me as I observe what I have so far. Because of course, she would be the only person besides me who would see something of worth in my black smudges.

"I wish I knew what it's going to be," I tell her.

"You don't have to," she replies, putting a hand on my shoulder. "And let's be honest here, you never do. That's not the type of artist you are."

I give her a questioning look, and she continues.

"The way I see it, there are two types of artists who become great. There are those who recreate visions, those who can picture anything in their minds and paint or sculpt it effortlessly. Generally, these artists make plans and scrap several drafts before presenting a final piece of work that they have been envisioning for months, maybe years.

"Then there are the artists who create emotions. They don't make plans, or even ever find themselves with ideas, really. They just feel so much that they have to let it out, and they do it through art. They paint their confusion, sketch their pain....they make art from what they feel instead of what they see. And I can almost guarantee that few of these artists know what their piece will be in the beginning. They just know what they feel, and they channel it until it becomes something amazing." She ruffles my hair and walks away, leaving me with my canvas.

I stare at it, trying to find a word for what it makes me feel. And that's when I realize: Nothing. I feel empty.

I pick up my brush, dip it into yet another shade of black, and start to paint.

I'm only interrupted when my phone buzzes. I know that it's only Cody's usual morning text, but I put down my brush to look at it anyway.

CODY: Good morning <3

I feel myself smiling like an idiot; his texts always seem to have that effect on me.

ME: Morning :). You feeling better today?

Yesterday he didn't look so good in English, and when I asked he told me he wasn't feeling well. I had a small suspicion that there was something more bothering him, but I didn't press the issue. If it was something I needed to know, he would've told me.

CODY: Way better, thanks. Are you free after school today?

My first instinct is to go Psh, is that a joke? I don't have a life. Before remembering that I actually have a best friend now, and I have to think for a second to make sure I don't have plans with Rose today.

ME: Yeah, I think so. Why?

CODY: No specific reason. I just miss you and want to hang out :)

I smirk, feeling myself blush. The fact that he misses me even though we see each other at school everyday is so adorable, I have to bite my fist to keep from giggling audibly.

ME: Omg, we literally have a date tomorrow. Homecoming, remember?

CODY: So? Is there a limit to how often I can see you in a week? ;)

ME: No....but I am worried that my parents will get suspicious. I've been telling them that I'm staying after school for speech tutoring whenever we hang out. They don't exactly know about us, you know?

I bite my lip when I click send, hoping that he'll understand. I follow it up with, Sorry :(

CODY: Oh man, that's okay. I'm not out to my parents either, they'd freaking destroy me if they knew. I've actually been telling them that I've been staying after to tutor people, lol.

I smirk. Of course his parents would believe that; Cody's a freaking genius in all of his classes. Just like my parents had no trouble believing I needed tutoring in Speech, my most worthless subject.

Suddenly my phone buzzes again.

CODY: Do you really need help with speech?

I blush again, this time from embarrassment.

ME: Well yeah, probably. You already know that I'm awful at talking, but the writing gets me too. I honestly suck in that class.

CODY: Well hey, what if I helped you after school today? Then, technically neither of us would be lying to our parents for once, and we'll still hang out. It's a win-win.

I laugh out loud.

From her desk, Miss Vaughn smiles. "You doing better over there, Georgie?"

"Yeah....way better." I don't even feel compelled to work on this painting anymore.

I type back: That sounds perfect!

CODY: Sweet, see you then!

CODY: I mean technically I'll see you in English first, but :/

ME: Lol. See you in a couple hours then.

CODY: <3

If mood could be measured on a weight scale with improvement marked by heaviness, mine would have just gone up by metric tons.

------

Sam

And then, just to top off the painfully-awkward stack of shitty pancakes that is my life lately, there's my relationship with Dan.

Yep, yet another person that it has been difficult to make eye contact with since Monday. First there's Rose, then Cody, not to mention Rose Parker if we ever happen to pass each other in the halls, and finally Dan. That's four people that I have managed to piss off and/or make to feel uncomfortable, and the semester is barely half over. This has to be some kind of fucking record.

Now granted, Dan and I weren't exactly friends to begin with, and I was okay with that. But over the past month, I've gotten so used to our random, hilarious, and often violent interactions in gym class that not speaking for the past couple of days has just felt....wrong. We still pair up for basketball, but carry on through the motions without any of our usual banter. And it's weird.

I think Tuesday was easier because we were both still steaming from our argument the previous day, knowing that my date with Cody— the thing that had started it— was happening that very afternoon. But by Wednesday I think we were both pretty much over it. However, I was so preoccupied replaying that goddamn kiss in my mind that any signals Dan sent that he wanted to talk to me might have flown right over my head.

Today, I want it to be different. Even though it has only been two days of this silence, I fucking miss talking to him. I miss actually being able to look forward to gym. Because as much as I hate to admit it, Daniel Albright is the closest thing I have to a best friend nowadays.

Tugging at my long sleeves to make sure the results of my latest bathroom trip are well-hidden, I barely make it to gym as the bell rings. Coach Wheeler narrows her eyes at me as I stroll into the locker room, almost late for the fourth day in a row.

"Hey, I technically made it this time!" I say in response to her look.

"You're lucky," she grumbles. "Another tardy and it would've been straight to the office with you."

"Sorry. Jeez, I was coming from the bathroom—"

"Well you need to time yourself a little better then," she cuts me off, her voice thick with condescension. "Or work on your speed-walking. The world doesn't stop spinning for Miss Wyatt to finish her potty break."

Biting my tongue to keep from firing back a retort that would definitely get me sent to the office, I clench my fists as I walk past her to go change. As usual, I grab my clothes and head straight to one of the toilet stalls, ignoring the hyena cackles and not-so-quiet whispers that follow me.

"Aww, there she goes again!"

"She's like a twelve year old, hiding in the stall like that. So cute."

"Hey, at least I know she's not looking at me when she's in there. Fucking dyke."

"What do you think she's hiding?"

"Probably the bulge of her secret dick."

"Nah, I'll bet she's just embarrassed of her hairy-ass legs!"

I can't help but smirk as I overhear that last comment, having never shaved a day in my life. If I was so ashamed though, why wouldn't I wear gym sweats instead of gym shorts, like half these bitches do to cover up their freaking cellulite? Morons.

As for the "secret dick" comment....man, I wish that was true.

I emerge and leave without looking at anyone, raising my middle fingers high as a means of deflecting the taunts yelled in my direction. It gets easier over time.

My first instinct is to grab a basketball and go find Dan, but right away I notice that the ball rack is not out today. The second thing I notice is that the boys are all lined up against the wall on their side, some stretching or running in place, others just standing there with horrified looks on their faces. In the mass of black shorts and gray t-shirts, I spot Dan on the far left. He's doing a leg stretch.

Meanwhile, Coach Wheeler is ushering everyone to the wall on our side. "Everyone line up! I don't want to hear your complaints."

"What's going on?" I ask a random girl, not one of my normal bullies. "What did I miss?"

I don't even know her, but she still glares at me like I'm scum. "Weren't you listening?" She snaps. "It's the pacer test today."

Oh. Well, that would certainly explain the groaning, whining, and otherwise massive bitching that has become prevalent on the girls' side. The yearly pacer test: everyone's favorite required running exercise.

I take my place at the end of the line and begin to stretch.

"Everyone quiet down!" the Coach barks, shutting everyone up. I'm actually thankful for her terrifying and mean voice this time. "This is required of everyone, and you're not going to get out of it. No Kaitlyn, you aren't sick; Delaney, no one called you to the office; and Tabitha, I don't care if it actually is your time of the month, I am not letting you go to the bathroom when we all know you won't come back!"

The girls who weren't called out directly all snicker under their breaths, but overall everyone shuts up.

"Now," continues Coach Wheeler. "You should all know the rules of the pacer test by this point in your physical education, but if you need a refresher, the audio recording will tell you. Due to the number of students, we will be having two rounds of this test, so if you'd like to sit out for the first one you may go off to the side."

She hadn't even finished her sentence before half of the girls started breaking from the line, eager to delay their torture, leaving the smarter half who would much rather get it over with right away.

Across the gymnasium, I observe the first round of boys getting into place as well, and I see that Dan stays. I stare at him until he meets my eyes, and when he does I see him nod. Grateful for this small recognition, I nod back. And that's all either of us need to know that we're cool.

Suddenly a man's deep voice sounds over the loudspeaker, causing the students both in the lines and off to the side to fall silent. Just like that, the familiar ritual has begun.

"The FitnessGram Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues...."

As the introduction drones on, I catch Dan staring at me again. I raise my eyebrows questioningly, and he narrows his eyes and gives me an evil, yet somehow still friendly smile. I translate it in seconds: he wants a competition.

Smirking right back at him, I bend my right leg forward into running position. Across the gym, he mirrors my posture exactly. This is going to be fun.

Like a gunshot before a horse race, the first loud DING sounds and both lines take off jogging. As we pass each other, Dan sticks out his hand and I high-five him.

We all reach our opposite lines. One second later: DING"One."

Thank you, needless voice. Because we all forgot how to count.

We take off again. DING"Two."

Then again: DING

Then again: DING

All the way through the first level, which is signaled by three small beeps and the deep voice declaring: End of level one. Not even the weak ones have struck out yet. No, that'll take another couple of levels, at least. This is all so familiar.

We keep running, and I start to feel the exhilaration building with the shortness of breath in my lungs. Most people hate the pacer test because it's so needlessly structured, annoying, and all-around torturous for almost everyone. But a part of me loves it. I like running in general, sure, but my reasons behind loving the pacer test are a bit different, and slightly embarrassing. One: because I secretly love the hidden competition aspect of the whole thing, with everyone pitting themselves against everyone else and me always coming out on top. And two: because it's the only time of the year when everyone in gym, even those who really hate me, can't help but look at me with awe and respect.

And hey, that feels nice sometimes.

By the time the voice is proclaiming the end to level five, about half the people— guys and girls alike— have ducked out. They've gone to the bathroom, to the water fountain, or have simply just collapsed on the sidelines. The rest of us are still running.

DING "Forty-two."

DING "Forty-three."

DING "Forty-four."

It isn't until we get into the upper fifties that the remaining runners start to become scarce. The girls' side loses the last of their athletes, and pretty soon, I'm the only one left running for them. By lap sixty-two, it's me versus four other boys.

"You can do it, Wyatt!" Coach Wheeler yells, as if she wasn't just chewing me out at the beginning of class. "Show those boys!" Even a few of the girls look eager to watch my progress, like this is a battle of the sexes with me representing the females.

Little do they know....

DING "Sixty-three."

Each time Dan and I meet eyes when we pass each other, it's with wide, competitive grins. For me it's a struggle not to laugh, but I know that doing so will make me lose breath faster. I can almost see him trying to contain his own laughter, and I find myself wondering why we always end up laughing together even if what we're doing isn't remotely funny.

DING "Sixty-six."

The music interspersing the dings has sped up dramatically, and it is at this point in the test that Zack Turner and another boy I don't know quit at the same time, both clutching their stomachs and wheezing. Pussies.

Now it's just me, Dan, and a small, speedy little fucker called Storm. I remember that kid. We don't interact much anymore, but I can distinctly recall a time in seventh grade when he got suspended for writing FAG on Rose's locker. I remember, because I was suspended on the same day. For punching him in the stomach.

Remembering this, I have to fight the sudden impulse to trip him the next time we pass each other.

Finally, at level sixty-nine (cue loud snickers from the crowd of ninth-graders and irritated groans from the coaches) Storm can't take it anymore. He slinks off to a corner, extremely sweaty and looking like he might fall over and die at any moment. His friends all congratulate him with high-fives and back slaps.

Now, it's just me and Dan. Forty kids and two gym coaches watch us in near-silence.

DING "Seventy-two."

My legs are burning, but not nearly as much as the stitch in my side. Technically we're allowed to miss one lap before we're forced to quit, and I haven't missed one yet, but I'm afraid if I even slow down to take a breath I'll just fall to the floor, and possibly dissolve from my own exhaustion.

I pass Dan for the seventy-third time, and I can tell that he's not fairing much better. The strain is visible on his face; he looks like he might throw up.

In the brief instant that we're in earshot of each other, he breaths: "Quittogether."

But I'm so focused on keeping myself moving and upright (Run. Turn. Run. Turn. Run) that I don't comprehend his words at first.

DING "Seventy-three."

As we pass each other again, he says it again. "Quittogether?"

DING "Seventy-four."

Turn. Run. This time when we pass, I nod and breathe. "Yeah."

My foot hits the line at the seventy-fifth DING, and I turn on my heel to see Dan collapse on his side of the gym. The boys all applaud for him, thinking it's over.

But it's not. I'm still running.

Still on the floor panting, Dan doesn't see me until my foot lands inches from his head (DING "Seventy-six.") And I'm taking off again just as I hear him exclaim, "Son of a bitch!" making me laugh out loud.

And it's the laugh that does it. Right in the middle of what would've been my seventy-seventh lap, my legs and lungs give out simultaneously. I black out mid-collapse.

Next thing I know, everyone is standing over me.

"Back away, let her breathe," Coach Wheeler orders. Then, directed at me, "Do you need to go to the nurse?"

"I'm fine," I croak. My chest is killing me, and my whole throat feels like the Sahara Desert.

"Go get some water then. Somebody better help—"

"I've got it." Big surprise, it's Dan. He must sense that I'm wondering if I'll even be able to get myself off the floor, because he grabs both of my hands and helps pull me up.

Of course, this makes many of our classmates go, "Oooooh!" and make other suggestive noises.

"Oh, grow up," mutters Dan.

"Everyone settle down!" yells Coach Hill. "We're not wasting anymore time. If you sat out during round one, go get in line now!"

"First, a big round of applause for Samantha," says Coach Wheeler, looking at something on her clipboard. "Because she just broke the school record for highest girls' pacer test score!"

There are a lot of claps, way more than I had ever expected, but I keep my head down as Dan leads me into the hallway. I wonder what the highest boys' score is....

Once we're alone, Dan doesn't hesitate to lay into me. "You asshole. We made a deal to quit together." He sounds honestly pissed off, but then again, I'm not looking at his face. Even with his arm around my shoulders, I have to watch my own feet just to walk properly.

I laugh, even though it hurts my side. "We did, huh? And when you agreed to said deal, did you remember to account for the fact that I'm a little shit?"

Dan pauses, and then breaks into laughter himself. "Well, fuck," he says as we reach the water fountain. "Guess that was my own fault then."

I bend down and take a long drink, holding the sides of the fountain to steady myself. Still, Dan leaves a hand on one of my shoulders. "So....does it bug you?" He asks casually.

I lift my head. "Does what bug me?"

He gestures to the awards' case just outside of the gym, specifically towards the plaques that list school records. "That come next year, your name will be on one of those plaques....as Samantha Wyatt....under girls' records?"

God fucking dammit.

I glare at him. "Well shit, now it bugs me."

He grimaces. "Sorry."

Sighing, I let my still-shaking legs give out again and slide down to the floor next to the water fountain. Dan sits down beside me, and we're quiet for a bit. We can hear the dings and beeps of the pacer test going again inside the gym, accompanied by the sounds of pounding feet echoing against the hardwood floor.

"Are you okay?" Dan asks. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him looking at my sleeves.

Checking to make sure they're still pulled down all the way, even though I'm burning up, I respond in a monotone, "I'm fine."

"Sam—"

"What?"

"I...Sam, look—"

"What?" I speak through gritted teeth, trying to give my voice enough venom to make him shut up.

Sure enough, he falls silent. But when I turn to face him dead on and see the look in his eyes— a look of sadness and sympathy the likes of which I've never seen him wear— I immediately feel guilty. For the second time, the first being the day he held my bleeding face to his shirt, I am hit with the unsettling realization: this bastard really fucking cares about me.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, honestly. "It's just... I know what you're going to say."

"Do you?" he snaps, giving me déjà vu of our conversation just three days ago.

"I know what you're thinking—"

"I really don't think you do, Sam."

I bite my lip. Maybe I don't. Maybe I never did. Maybe I have no fucking idea, and that's why I'm afraid to hear it.

"Okay, fine," I find myself whispering. "Say it."

He gives me a suspicious look. "Say what?"

"Whatever you were going to say."

He looks taken aback, and rightfully so. It hits me that I'm almost never the one to offer someone a listening ear as much as I am the one who likes the sound of his own voice. I'm always talking, talking, talking. Rose is the listening one, if only because she's afraid to talk.

Maybe I'm afraid to listen.

Dan opens his mouth, but no words come out. His eyes move to my long sleeves again, and he presses his lips together. He looks regretful.

But I'm not letting him back out of this now. "Say it," I repeat forcefully, my voice shaking. "Please."

Dan makes a strangled noise, like a sob being forced back into his throat, and I'm startled to see his eyes glistening. Wordlessly, and with his lips still pressed tightly together, he tears off his collection of rubber bands and lays his left forearm face-up across my lap.

I stare at it with a poker face. I don't gasp. I don't make any noise. I think I always knew.

The scars are faint, white lines that barely stand out against his pale skin in the fluorescent lighting. Some are much thicker and more pink than others, which could either mean that they're slightly fresher, or that he pressed harder with his blade at the time. These are closer to his wrist, a spot usually hidden underneath the rubber bands he wears like bracelets. The rest of them, the thinner, whiter ones that are so easy to miss unless you're specifically looking for them, extend all the way up to the crook of his elbow. There are too many to count, and many that overlap. When I look closely, I can even spot a few past that area, closer to his bicep. And who knows how many exist where I can't see? His shoulders, his hips, his legs....all of the places I've done it.

Almost compulsively, I find myself running my hand over his forearm, gentle as if petting a rabbit, to feel the slight roughness and unevenness of his skin. I rub my thumb on the thicker scars, wishing they rubbed off like expo marker on a whiteboard. Wishing mine could. I graze the backs of my fingernails all the way up his arm, stopping at the crook of his elbow to return to his wrist. I think of how soft his skin might be were it not for the scars, how soft parts of it still are.

He lets me touch him, sitting still and silent at my side, not even moving when goosebumps appear on his arm and he shudders involuntarily. I think he's waiting for me to speak.

"Fuck...." Wow, nice one Sam. How eloquent and meaningful. But that's all I can say; the rest is lodged tightly behind a lump in my throat.

He doesn't wait to hear it. He just slides his arm out of my soft grip, leaving my hands feeling empty. "Now show me yours," he says quietly.

Shit. My face grows warm, and I literally have to fight the instinct to stand up and run. I should've known that he wouldn't bare his soul to me for free. This is simply his way of finally getting me to open up. He wants a trade.

"Hold on—"

"And don't you fucking dare try to lie to me." he growls, making me falter immediately. No amount of bite and venom I'm capable of producing could match the tone of his voice. "Not after what I just showed you. Don't try to act like I'm some idiot, like I don't know. Don't you even try to act like I'm wrong—"

"You're not wrong," I tell him in a low voice. "That's not it. It's just...."

"Just what?"

One look at him— his quivering lip, his pleading eyes, his raw expression— and I have to remind myself to breathe. I swallow. "So many of mine are....fresh." As in, they aren't scars.

He doesn't hesitate. He reaches over and takes my hand. "Show me," he repeats.

Well, don't say I didn't fucking warn you then.

Freeing my hand from his strong grip, I use it to pull up my left sleeve....then use my left hand to pull up my right sleeve. It has been a shitty two weeks. I present both of my arms to him with my eyes shut tight to avoid seeing his reaction.

But when he's silent for a good ten seconds I just have to look, and immediately I regret it. Because in this moment I know for a fact that I will never forget the expression on his face. Horrified isn't the right word, but sympathetic sure isn't either. Maybe something between stunned and shaken, outraged and distraught. He doesn't blink as his dark eyes travel up and down my arms, absorbing every shredded fragment of my skin.

I don't look at them, choosing to keep my gaze on his face. I don't need to see the hideousness that is my own handiwork: the thick, puffy and crusted-over lines of scarlet that itch and pain me constantly, that coat my arms like leeches. All fifty-five of them. And that's not even including the thirteen on my thighs and the eight on my right hip.

I don't expect Dan to feel sympathetic or loving towards me, as I did towards him. Not with this fresh, disgusting ugliness staring him back in the face. I expect him to freak and back away at any moment, maybe even feel triggered by the sight of my arms. I certainly don't expect him to touch me.

But he does. Just as I did, only slightly more gentle, he runs the tips of his fingers over my scabbed-over cuts. As he does this I keep watching his face, searching for any sign of disgust or fear. But I don't find a hint of it. Just....thoughtfulness.

"Sam...." he says, lifting his eyes to meet mine. "This is....some pretty severe shit."

I release a breath I didn't know I was holding in the form of a laugh. "No shit, Sherlock."

"I can barely remember when mine looked like this. I've been clean for almost a year."

What made you stop? I want to ask, but I don't. He's respecting me enough to not ask questions, I should return the courtesy. "Sorry," I mutter.

"You fucking should be," he says, trying to sound angry, but his voice is too quiet and shudders too much to pull it off. "Fucking your arms up like this. You....you idiot,"

"Hey, you did it, too," I mumble. We keep our voices low, like we're afraid of our own words.

"Like I said," he responds, looking away. "Idiot."

"So we're both idiots then?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

We sit like this for a little bit, completely silent again. At one point, I try to pull back my arms only to realize that he's holding my hands. I decide to let him, even though I feel naked with my sleeves up like that.

"I had a feeling that you did this," Dan says suddenly. "I've thought so for awhile."

"How did you know?"

"The signs are always obvious to anyone who's done it before."

That's a good point. Maybe just because my own parents and sister didn't notice, I assumed I was hiding it well. I can't even think of how any of my family would react if I showed them what I'm showing Dan.

"Are you going to tell me to stop?" I ask.

Dan looks at me, taking apart my face piece by piece with his eyes. "Sam, I'm not stupid. I know it's not that simple."

Wow. Yet another chapter in my book of Shit I Totally Did Not Expect Dan to Say, But That I'm Pleasantly Surprised He Did.

"We better move before the bell rings," he suggests, pulling my sleeves back down. He stands and offers me a hand for help.

"I think I'm fine now, thanks," I say, standing up on my own. I'm actually a bit lightheaded, but I don't think that has anything to do with the pacer test.

"So anyway," he leans against the wall, hands placed casually in the pockets of his gym shorts. "All of the dramatic shit aside, and while we still have a few minutes.... how was your, um, 'date type thing' on Tuesday?"

I groan. I was hoping this wouldn't come up, as I still haven't decided if I want to tell him about the kiss. On the one hand, I know it will piss him off. But on the other hand....well shit, I need to tell someone.

"I'm guessing it didn't go well?" he asks, smirking.

And it's that self-satisfied smirk that makes me blurt it out. "Actually, we kissed."

Just like that, his smirk falls away and is replaced by a look of horror. "No. Fucking. Way."

"Don't get me wrong, there was regret right after. Even when I came out to him—"

"And you came out to him? Dude...." Dan pinches the bridge of his nose. He laughs, but it sounds forced. "Jesus. You just love digging yourself into holes, don't you Sam?"

Wow, that was uncalled for....yet understandable. I guess I really can't hold anything he says to me against him. What I did was shitty and he knows it, and he even tried to keep it from happening. He just wanted to keep me from getting my heart broken by the inevitable rejection, which—

"Was it good?"

Huh? My eyebrows shoot up. That was unexpected. "What? The kiss."

"No, the frozen waffles. Yes, the kiss! Was it good?" The irritation in his tone takes me back to Monday, and I have to refrain from yelling at him. I really don't want to fight again.

"Um....it was good. I mean, I liked it. Uh...." At this point I'm blushing furiously, and so is Dan. At least, something is making his face red. But whatever it is, it's not enough to make him shut up.

"How long did it last?" He demands next.

"Like, five seconds? Shit, I don't know. What's with the third degree?"

Dan laughs out loud, but this time it doesn't seem so forced. "Yeah, this is gonna blow up in your face."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he obviously kissed you back for awhile there, didn't he?" Dan points out, like his reasoning is obvious. "And now he knows you're a boy. He clearly likes you, even while he's dating Rose. God....what a douche."

"Hey!" I don't hesitate to jump to Cody's defense, whacking Dan in the shoulder. "Don't say that about him."

"Oh what, are you guys boyfriends now?" Dan snaps caustically. "Did he break up with Rose, confess his undying love for you, and now you guys are gonna get married and have little gaybies—"

"Christ Daniel, what is your problem?" I demand. "We kissed one time, he pulled away, and we agreed that it won't happen again!"

"And what, you just think you can just move on now, and everything is gonna be all hunky-dory? You guys still kissed. How can you honestly think this won't come back and bite you in the ass?"

My face burns. Because the truth is, I don't. In fact, I think quite the opposite. But there's no way I'm going to give him the satisfaction of admitting that to him.

"Look," says Dan, shaking his head. "Defend that kid all you want, but I think he's a piece of shit, and I don't understand why you like him."

"You don't even know him!"

"I know what you've told me. And honestly...." Dan pauses and sighs heavily. "God, I'm going to kick myself later for admitting this to you, but....I really think that all it will take is for Rose to come out to him, and Cody will break it off with her and run straight to you."

My stomach grows cold at the thought. "He....he wouldn't."

"But admit it, you wish that he would."

I fall silent, and so does he. We stand like this for awhile until Dan catches sight of the clock on the wall. "Shit, we have five minutes. We better go get changed."

I just nod, not wanting to look at him or say anything. I start to walk away.

"Wait, hold on."

I pause.

Dan shuffles his feet and ruffles his hair a bit, looking like he's trying to choose the best words. "Even if this all does blow up in your face....everything with you and Cody and your sister....you know I'll always be there for you. Right?"

I have trouble responding to this. Almost as much as he did saying it. "Um....yeah?"

"I mean it. Just know that if you ever feel like everything is going up in flames, and like you don't have anyone left who cares about you....just know that I'm here. And I'll always be on your side."

Then he hugs me. I'm almost too startled to hug him back, but I manage to wrap my arms around him and squeeze tight before he pulls away. When he does, he lets his hands make their way to my sleeves and linger for a bit.

"Also, before I forget," he pulls off three of the many rubber bands from where they've returned to his wrist. "Here."

I accept them with mild hesitance. "What...?"

"They, uh...you snap them against your arm," he mutters. "Instead of....you know. Anyway, it helps. Trust me." He looks like he might say something else, but he turns and heads to the locker room without another word.

I'm glad he does, since he misses the grateful tears that are falling down my face.

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

Rose

I couldn't have dreamed of a better reaction to my coming out.

Since Monday, Rose Parker has been nothing but the supportive best friend I needed, and have always wanted. She calls me Rose (sometimes Rosie) like it's effortless most of the time, but on the rare occasions she does mess up and uses my birth name, she covers it up and continues on like it's nothing. Other than that, she doesn't treat me any differently for being trans. Except, perhaps, that she's more protective of me now than ever before.

There is one little thing about her that has been bothering me nonstop this week, however.

"Pleeeease, just tell me," I beg, for what feels like the trillionth time since Monday. "You were going to tell me before."

"For the last time," Rose grumbles. "It was nothing."

We're sitting on the wall in gym, having just finished the pacer test (scoring as low as we possibly could while still passing), and I have returned to what has been our primary topic of conversation this week: the fact that, after the big catastrophe with me coming out as trans and hitting Sam in the face and all of that, she had never gotten around to telling me her own piece of news that day.

"You are such a liar!" I argue. "You had something to tell me before." And if I hadn't stolen the spotlight with my coming out and causing that disaster, I really feel like she would've told me. If only I hadn't gone first.

"It really wasn't that important," she says with a sigh. "And it's not even relevant anymore—"

"Then it shouldn't matter if you tell me," I point out. "Please, I'm curious."

"Well get over it, because I'm not telling you!" she shouts, making me shrink back. "Just let it go already, for the love of God."

I fall silent, my face flooding with warmth from guilt.

Rose looks guilty, too. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you, okay? I just...."

"I get it," I say, without looking at her. "I'm sorry too. If you don't want to tell me, I shouldn't have pushed you."

"It's not that I don't want to tell you," Rose sighs. Her eyes are on the second round of runners, dashing back and forth between the two lines in a ritualistic procedure that would probably be considered barbaric by most countries. "More that I don't think you'd want to hear it."

We sit in complete silence for a good couple of minutes as I ponder what that could possibly mean, but Rose doesn't give me any longer than that. She pulls out one half of the earbuds that seem to exist in her ears constantly and hands it over to me. "I'm bored of the sounds of running," she grumbles. "What are you feeling today?"

I smirk. "Surprise me."

She smirks back. "It won't be much of a surprise in that case."

"I don't care."

She presses something on her phone and I hear familiar opening notes. It isn't long before I recognize the same song that she had her uncle play at The Corner on Monday.

"Twenty-one Pilots, huh?" I tease her. "Who'd have guessed...."

"Shh," she hushes me, leaning back and closing her eyes. "Just let me absorb the lyrics into my skin until they drown me."

"I swear to god, you are such trash," I laugh.

Opening one eye, she gives me a look. "You act like I don't know it. And the goal was to turn you into trash also, remember? Now listen."

I do, and I must admit, the lyrics give me chills like they always do. That's the funny thing about this band: It truly doesn't matter how often you listen to the same song on endless repeat. If you allow yourself to hear it, the goosebumps will always come back.

You're an angel fallen down.

Won't you tell us of the clouds?

You have fallen from the sky.

How high, how high?

I let the song play all the way through before I speak again, keeping my eyes on Rose's face. The effect this music has on her intrigues me more than anything else. She almost always closes her eyes and mouths the words perfectly, looking to be a combination of at peace and in pain.

"Hey Rose," I ask when the song ends. "You never told me—"

"Don't start again," she snaps through her teeth.

"No! I mean, this song. You told me that it's your favorite, but you never told me why. I was just wondering."

"....Oh."

"It just seems like a bold claim, seeing as how much you love the band," I say. "Even I can't pick a favorite. Why'd you choose this one?"

"Um...I couldn't tell you, honestly." She looks away in a manner I've come to associate with her not being entirely truthful. "I guess....I don't know. It's harsh, it's beautiful, it....it tells a story. And it reminds me of...."

Just then, the bell rings. Rose stands up quickly, jerking the earbud from my hand that had reached up to remove it.

"Of what?" I prompt her, but she's already on her way to the locker room, waving goodbye without looking back.

"See ya. I'll text you later," she says, and without another word she's gone.

I'm left feeling glum, and wondering when and why things got so weird between us.

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

Luckily, I have my study date with Cody after school to keep me from dwelling on whatever might be bugging Rose. And once I see him waiting for me in the commons at the end of the day, smiling his crooked smile when he sees me, everything else is easy to forget.

"Hey," he greets me. "You ready to study some speech?"

I groan. "Not really. I just had that class."

"Well prepare yourself for an extension. Where do you wanna do this?"

I laugh. "I dunno....why don't we just walk to the library?"

His smile falters ever so slightly, but enough that I notice it. "What's wrong?" I ask him.

"Huh? Nothing, uh....yeah. That sounds good. Library it is." He smiles nervously, shifting his backpack to the other shoulder, and starts for the door.

Well that was weird. God, is it just me, or is everyone acting weird today?

I follow him out into the cold October air, tightening my hood against the wind chill of our first forty-degree day of the season. It rarely gets much colder than this in Alabama, but something tells me this year might be different. There's supposed to be a lot of cold fronts moving in.

I notice Cody shivering in his thin, white t-shirt. "Don't you have a jacket?" I ask him, only to immediately regret it as I recall where I last saw the very jacket I'm remembering: hanging on Sam's bedpost.

Thank God he doesn't seem to know this. "Yeah, but I lost it awhile back," he says through chattering teeth. "Can't remember for the life of me what I did with— nope, don't you dare."

That last part was meant to cut me off, as I had started removing my hoodie to give to him. "Cody, you're freezing."

"I can handle it."

His voice is so firm that I don't argue further, sliding my right arm back into its sleeve.

When we reach the library, Cody immediately leads us to a table by the window.

"You wanna sit here?" I ask.

"Yeah." He gives me a questioning look. "Why? You don't?"

I shrug. Truth be told, I'm not a big fan of window seats unless it's the window in my bedroom. In public places, they make me feel insecure. I hate the thought of strangers staring at me as they walk by.

I don't say any of this, though. Instead, I take a seat next to him.

"I like sitting by windows when I work," he admits, staring out at the brown-and-orange-leaved trees that line the sidewalk, extending all the way out to the park about half a mile away. "Nature is the only peaceful thing in this world...."

He says that last part as if quoting somebody, and I'm surprised to see his cheeks go slightly red before he clears his throat. "Anyway," he says, pulling an immaculate journal from his backpack. "Speech notes, speech notes....what do you need to review the most?"

"Um....probably most of this unit," I mutter. "I haven't been paying much attention lately."

"Why's that? Have you been talking too much?" He asks, jokingly.

"Oh yeah," I joke back, rolling my eyes. "You know, with how extremely popular I am it's almost impossible to get me to shut up in that class."

We share an awkward laugh before I decide to admit the truth. "Actually....it's just kind of hard to focus in the classes I share with Sam. We've kind of been fighting lately."

"Oh, that's right," he says, before catching himself. "Uh, I mean....I didn't—"

But I just sigh. I should have figured Sam told him already. "It's okay if you know," I assure him. "I know that you and Sam are friends, and that she probably tells you a lot of things. And don't worry, I'm not going to make you choose sides or anything. I have no problem with you guys talking."

I expect him to look slightly more relaxed, if not totally relieved once I tell him this, but instead he looks more uncomfortable than ever.

"You okay?" I ask, curiously.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Anyway....back to this." He slides his notes over to me, pages and pages of impeccable handwriting.

"God, do we have to go over alllll of this?" I groan.

"If you want to pass the class," he responds, his slight smile returning. "It's not so bad, it's just the different parts of a speech. There's the opener, the intro-transition, the thesis statement—"

"Uggggggh," I groan, sliding down in my chair dramatically. "I'm bored already. Can we do math instead?"

"You're already decent at math," he laughs, nudging me playfully. "It's this you need help on." With one hand, he pulls me back into an upright position in my chair. He lets that same arm slide over my shoulder and leaves it there. My neck heats up at his touch.

"I hate writing," I grumble. "Writing and talking, and all things language-related. I don't know how you stand it."

"I love it," he responds with a shrug. "So does Sam. I've noticed that that's the main thing you two differ on, the Language Arts skills. You're almost the same otherwise."

"Not true," I snort. "Sam may have a writing talent, but she sucks at math. It's just vice versa with me. It's always been that way."

"Sam sucks at math?" he asks, looking puzzled. "Wonder what she's doing tutoring people then."

"Sam's not tutoring anyone," I almost laugh. "Especially not in math. Whoever told you that is a liar."

"Sam told me, actually," he says, his eyebrows furrowed. "She told me that she was tutoring that Daniel Albright kid on Monday."

"Pfft, more like Daniel is tutoring her," I tell him, knowing full and well that I'm throwing my brother under the bus right now. But I can't find it in me to care; he shouldn't be telling lies if he doesn't want to be caught in them. "And they were just hanging out on Monday, I saw them. The two of them are practically inseparable these days."

Cody's eyes widen; he clearly wasn't aware of this. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. Big time BFFs, the two of them. Which I totally don't get, seeing as what an asshole Dan was to her at the beginning of the year. To both of us."

"Interesting," says Cody, staring off out the window. I can't help but wonder what he's thinking. If, with just a few words, I've managed to change his whole perception of Sam....

But I must admit, most of my mind is preoccupied thinking about the fact that Cody's right arm is still around my shoulders, and how it's casually tightening, bringing me closer to him.

I finish the job by laying my head on his shoulder. "Can we take a break?" I ask gently.

He laughs. "We haven't done anything yet."

"So? I ask, scooting closer to him so our chairs are touching. "We can take a preemptive break."

He laughs harder this time, and the sound is so beautiful my stomach floods with cold butterflies just from hearing it. I fully expect him to say no, that we should really get some work done, because that's the kind of student he is.

But instead he ruffles my hair, sending chills down my spine, turns his face so his lips are right up against my ear, and whispers, "Sure. Let's take a preemptive break."

His voice makes me shiver, turning the cold feeling in my stomach to a warm one that spreads throughout my body. He kisses my temple. Then kisses my cheek. I turn my face towards his, and he kisses the very corner of my mouth.

Then our lips meet for the very first time.

The kiss is softer than I imagined. Slow and gentle, like I'm made of glass and he doesn't want to break me. I want to press my mouth harder against his, but I get the feeling that Cody knows what he's doing slightly more than I do. Not that I want to think of other people he has kissed before me....

I focus instead on the present: Cody's sweet tasting lips, mint and strawberry chapstick, his hot breath, his slight— very slight— use of tongue. The fierce pounding of my heart, hormones running wild, blood rushing to....

places....

Shit. I pull away, an unexpected rush of dysphoria drowning out every good feeling in my body.

"What's wrong?" Cody asks, looking panicked and concerned. "Are you okay? Was it....?"

"No! I mean, it's not...." I try to laugh it off, even while every fiber of my being is writhing in discomfort. "It's not...." It's not you, Cody. It has nothing to do with you.

"I'm sorry," he says, blushing fiercely. "I shouldn't have—"

"Cody, you're fine," I assure him, leaning in and kissing him again just to prove it. Ignoring my own squirming cells, and my stomach aching with anxiety. Ignoring my brain and body, and their aggressive attempts to remind me of parts I normally manage to forget I have without too much difficulty.

I pull away. "I was just surprised, that's all," I explain with an easy laugh. "Just nervous. That was fine, that was....perfect."

I say this all while looking straight into his chocolate brown eyes, trying desperately to communicate comfort and happiness. But the uneasiness doesn't vanish from his warm irises. Am I imagining it, or does he look almost as sick as I feel?

"I"m okay," I assure him once more. "Are you okay?"

He exhales a nervous laugh, cupping my face with one hand. "I'm so much more than okay," he says, leaning in again.

But just then, we hear a loud "Ahem." sound from behind us, and we both freeze. Damn it. I completely forgot we're in public.

Cody must have had the same realization. We both turn slowly to find the librarian giving us a death glare. She shakes her head at us firmly and angrily.

"Shit," mutters Cody. "We better get out of here before we're banned for public indecency."

"I though it was pretty decent," I say, blushing.

"Well that's good," Cody chuckles, blushing as well. "I did too."

We rush out of the library in fits of laughter, and I try to pretend my dysphoria isn't still bubbling under my skin, much like a pot of water set to low right after having almost boiled over.

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

Sam

Waking up on Friday is almost as painful as waking up yesterday was. Slightly less only because my monthly curse is over, but still pretty bad. Waking up every morning is painful nowadays.

Getting dressed is painful, packing my bag is painful, tying up my ridiculously long hair is painful.

Existing is painful.

"Sam, are you sure you don't want to go to the dance tonight?" Mom badgers me before I can slink out the door, and for the fifth time this week. "Your brother's going, you know. I think he's taking that nice girl Rose he's been seeing."

"I know mom," I sigh, trying my best to keep my temper level. Lately, whenever it flares up as it likes to, I end up bursting into tears instead of just yelling. Fucking crying. I hate it, but it has been happening all too often lately. "I don't have a date, though."

"What about that Cody boy that you went to the library with that one day?" Mom presses. "I thought there was something going on there...."

"Mom," I say, my tone heavy with warning. "Just....drop it. Please. I'm not going."

"Alright, alright," Mom backs off, smartly. "I suppose you still have three years's worth of dances after this one—"

"Never gonna happen."

"But if you change your mind at all today, just let me know!"

"Bye Mom!" I make a conscious effort not to slam the door, and still probably close it harder than necessary.

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

At school I see them everywhere. In the morning, at lunch, in between classes....

Cody and Rose. Holding hands, hugging, pecking each other on the lips. Seeming completely oblivious to the glares and the comments, and even the objects thrown their way. They make no attempt to be discreet anymore, almost to the point where they're flaunting their relationship. It makes me sick.

But dammit, I can't help but feel proud of them. And maybe just a little bit jealous.

Not jealous that Rose has Cody anymore— ever since I made that promise to Cody that nothing would ever happen with us again, I've been trying my damnedest to stamp out my feelings for him— but jealous that they're not scared anymore. That they can be out and proud like that, to the point that they're oblivious to the legitimate danger they're putting themselves in.

Even though I know Rose is still living a lie, I can't help but admire her for the dangerous lie she's choosing to live. Not quite as dangerous as actually coming out as trans might be, but still....pretty badass.

"Are you okay?" Dan asks, snapping me back to reality. We're in the lunchroom, sitting alone at a table far off to the side, and I've been staring at Rose and Cody for a good five minutes, probably.

"Yeah," I lie, dropping my gaze to my untouched plate of potato-and-toenail casserole, or whatever the fuck it is today.

"Bullshit," says Dan. "If you're going to lie to me, you can go sit somewhere else."

"You're the one who sat down with me, jackass," I mutter, grouchily. "And why did you, anyway? We never eat lunch together."

"I don't eat lunch a lot anyway," he admits. "I usually just walk around, or go hide in the art room. But today I came and I saw you sitting alone. What was I supposed to do, just walk away?"

"Yes."

He throws an apple slice at my head and misses by a margin. "That's not what friends do, dickweed."

"Hmm. Are we friends though?" I tease him, my frown turning up slightly.

"Well I should sure as fuck hope so," he snaps. "All the stupid shit I've done for you. Ruining my best shirt. How's your face, by the way?"

"Better," I say, touching a hand to my face impulsively. "I still have to wear fucking makeup to hide the bruise, though. I'll probably have to for weeks."

"The average bruise takes about twelve days to heal," Dan informs me casually. "Less if you ice it regularly."

"What are you, Mr. Britannica now?" I snort. "How'd you know that anyway?"

Dan shrugs. "I looked it up once."

"Yeah? Did your sister clobber you in the face once too?"

"Close. My dad used to beat the shit out of me."

I actually lean back in shock. "Whoa. Really? That's fucked up, bro."

Dan shrugs again, like it's the most casual thing in the world. "Yeah, but whatever. It was a long time ago. And honestly, my ornery little ass probably deserved it nine times out of ten. I was a nightmare child."

I laugh, but still feel chilled by the casual way he said it. My dad used to beat the shit out of me. I wonder again who his parents are, what they do, why they're never home....

"Anyway," says Dan, interrupting my thoughts. "I sat with you so you wouldn't look like a loser, not so you could get away with not touching your food. Eat something."

"I already am a loser. And in any case, sitting with you certainly wouldn't help my image."

Dan rolls his eyes. "Hardy har har. Eat your food, ass clown."

"I'm not hungry," I mumble, pushing away my tray.

"Well Jesus, why did you bother going through the line then?" Dan snaps. "Just to waste a plate of perfectly good food?"

"I like to keep up appearances occasionally," I shrug.

"Sam, there are starving kids in Ethiopia."

"Then put a mortgage on that mansion of yours and mail them a check," I grumble.

For a minute Dan seems to have run out of things to say, and I think I've won. But it's not long before he starts again.

"Sam....eat your food."

"No."

"One bite."

"No."

"Eat, or I'm leaving."

"Bye Felicia." I sit back in my chair with a satisfied smile. I'm actually enjoying this.

Dan, on the other hand, is quickly losing his temper. "Sam, I swear....If you don't eat something I'll....I'll—"

"You'll what?" I ask playfully. "You'll shove it down my throat?"

"For the love of God, just eat your fucking food!" Dan practically shouts. "What, are you starving yourself or something? Are you fucking anorexic or some shit?"

Whoa, where did that come from? "Jesus fuck, no! God, I'm just not hungry. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Gee, I don't know," Dan spits, a heavy dose of venom infused with his sarcasm. "Maybe because you're thin as hell, and I've literally never seen you eat since I've known you—"

"We only ever see each other in gym and math, you moron," I cut him off. "Not exactly food-themed classes—"

"Then just prove to me you aren't a fucking robot," says Dan, handing me an apple slice from my own tray. "And eat something right here, right now."

I glower at him and the food he's holding, but something in his eyes makes the fire inside me diffuse. I don't want to fight him anymore. Not when he's practically begging. Wordlessly, I take the apple slice from him and crunch into it. It's like eating wet plastic.

"There," says Dan, looking both relaxed and satisfied. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

I ignore him, trying to focus on chewing slowly so I don't bite my tongue off. Truly, I haven't eaten since dinner yesterday and I'm ravenous. I swallow the hard lump of disgusting apple before spitting back a response. "Fuck you."

"Love you too," says Dan with a wink.

I can't help it; I smile. But it doesn't last long, as my gaze soon finds it's way back to Rose and Cody cuddling a few tables away.

Dan turns slightly, following my gaze. "So," he mutters. "I'm guessing they're going to homecoming tonight?"

"Oh yeah, definitely," I respond without tearing my eyes away. I flinch as a flying milk carton barely misses Rose's head, and only because Cody pulls her away seconds before it would have hit its target.

"Fucking fags!" Someone yells, triggering scattered laughter throughout the cafeteria.

"Wow, how original," scoffs Dan, rolling his eyes.

I kick him under the table. "Don't you scoff. You used to be one of those guys."

"Yeah, and even then I always complained about our very limited script of insults. One time, I graciously informed Edgar Thompson that he used the word 'fag' an average of thirty-five times a day, and asked if he was worried people would begin to judge him for his lack of creativity."

I snort. "Yeah? And how did that work out for you?"

"He....called me a fag and threatened to pummel me."

"Ha! That's funny."

"Sure, it is now. But at that time I was still desperate to fit in with those guys." Dan's tone is entirely serious, but carries more than a hint of embarrassment.

"Ah yes, the era of Daniel's douchbaggery," I recall with mock fondness. "Whatever happened, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what changed you?" I ask. I've always been curious to know. "Why did you suddenly quit hanging out with them? What made you sacrifice your easy popularity?"

Dan looks at me like I'm stupid. "You really don't know? Isn't it obvious?"

"Apparently not," I grumble. "Or I'm just stupid."

"You're just stupid," Dan snickers, reaching over just to give me a playful smack in the head.

"What? What was it? Did you get bit by the human decency bug or something?"

"No, you dildo!" Dan shakes his head, laughing. "I met you!"

"Huh?"

"Yeah. In the beginning, you were just another person to make fun of to make me feel better about my own shitty self. But after awhile I noticed that I liked tormenting you best because you tormented me back. It was like a game. It still is, kind of. Only now that I don't associate myself with those other shitheads....I dunno. It's just better." He gives me one of his rare smiles, one that has nothing but kindness and honesty behind it, and stands up.

I follow suit, knowing the bell is going to ring soon, but he doesn't leave right away. "Listen, on a different note," he starts off, a bit nervously. "I was wondering....you didn't have plans to go to homecoming tonight, did you?"

"No," I confirm. "And you didn't either, right?"

"Yeah, about that," he hesitates, shifting on his feet a bit. I've never seen him looks so nervous. "Do you wanna....not go to homecoming....together?"

Maybe it's because of the way he asked it, or maybe because I think a part of me was waiting for him to ask it, but I break out in the biggest smile of my life. "And do what?" I ask, slightly entertained by his nervousness.

Dan does what I can only describe as an aggressive shrug. "Well, I don't know! Just hang out or something. Maybe in a drama-free setting where no one will get punched or yelled at or outed as trans...."

I laugh. "Sounds appealing. But how about this. I'm thinking, if the idea doesn't repel you too much....what if we just went to homecoming?"

Dan's eyebrows shoot up. "Seriously? You want to go to high school dance?"

"Sure, why not?" I confirm, rolling my eyes at his surprised tone. "And while I'm deciding on things I never thought I'd do, I'm asking you to be my date. You down?"

His face breaks into that amazing, genuine smile of his for the second time in five minutes, and it's so contagious it actually hurts not to smile back. So I do.

"Oh yeah," he agrees in the geekiest voice ever. "I am so down."

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

Rose

The dance is supposed to be casual-formal, which is how I convince Mom that I don't need to wear a suit. Just jeans and a nice shirt would be fine, I told her, so that's what I'm wearing as I sit in the living room, waiting for the clock on the wall to read seven-thirty. The dance starts at eight.

Sam used a similar tactic to mine, telling Mom that none of the other girls would be wearing dresses, so showing up in one would be embarrassing. But of course, he's having a much harder time getting away with wearing jeans to the dance than I did.

I'm honestly not surprised that Sam ended up deciding to go to the dance after all. With how close he and Dan have been getting, just based on how often I see them together, I'm just waiting for the inevitable day they become official. That is, if Sam isn't still all hung up on Cody.

I'm sure Sam didn't think I noticed how much he stared at me and Cody today. Though admittedly, most everyone stared. It'd be hard not to in our small town Alabama high school, where an out-and-proud gay couple was probably unheard of to most people before today.

And honestly, even though I'm not actually gay, I was kind of proud to be one half of that couple. Holding hands with Cody, kissing lightly in the halls, flaunting our togetherness as much as the average straight couple, even despite the taunts. And with Cody, I didn't feel as scared and insecure as I've felt for most of my life. It was a brand new feeling of safety, freedom, and confidence.

But whenever I caught Sam staring, a lot of that evaporated and I felt insecure once more. Each time I felt his eyes on mine and Cody's clasped hands, I could feel his judgement. And I know it wasn't imagined, because if I were him, I would be judging me too. He knows that I'm not the gay boy everyone sees me as, but a straight girl living a lie, and yet he watches me continue to carry on with this charade. And even though he sees Cody in their writing class and must talk to him everyday, and even though he hates my freaking guts, he hasn't ratted me out. I suppose I should be grateful to him for that.

"Come on Sammie, at least let me do your hair!"

"No Mom! My hair is fine."

"You're wearing it like you wear it everyday."

"That's the point!"

I sigh, watching Mom attempt to chase Sam around the living room with a hairbrush and bobby pins. She's not going to win this and she knows it, but that's not going to stop her from trying.

"Samantha, just cooperate with me for once on this, please! It's your first high school dance; let your mother do your hair."

"Mooommm, no!"

"Ugh, fine!" Mom gives up finally, throwing aside the hair products. "We'll compromise. I'll leave you alone if you just wear your hair down, how's that?"

I watch Sam eagerly, waiting to see how he takes this. He definitely wants to argue, I can see it in his face, but he's wondering if it will be worth another thirty minutes of Mom badgering after him.

Evidently, he decides that it wouldn't. "Fine," he groans, removing his hair from its normal messy bun letting it flow around his shoulders in that long waterfall effect I've always been jealous of. He slides the hair band onto his wrist, along with what looks to be a collection of rubber bands. "But I'm not changing clothes."

"Oh come on, at least change your shirt," Mom attempts to reason. "It's not too cold, you don't need to wear long sleeves. Look, even George is wearing a nice shirt."

Yeah, this stiff, scratchy white button-up that I fucking hate.

Sam just huffs, not even looking at me. "I let down my hair for you Mom, but I'm not changing."

"Alright, fine. But if you think I'm letting you get away with this on your prom night, you've got another—"

"Mom!"

"Guys, can we cut this short?" I suggest, motioning to the clock. "It's about time to go."

"Goodness, you're right! You both better be off to meet your dates," Mom can barely contain her smile at these words. "Oh, I'm so proud of both of you. Finally putting yourselves out there, meeting new people. Going to your first dance!" She gasps suddenly. "Oh! Your first dance! I should take pictures—"

"We don't need pictures," Dad grumbles from the table, where he's casually working on his laptop. "It's just homecoming, for crying out loud."

"But it's their first—"

"Clearly they want to get out of here," Dad cuts her off. "Both of you have fun, but be home by eleven. And George," he points a finger at me. "Keep an eye on your sister."

Sam fumes at these words, but I grab him by the arm and lead him out the door before he can retaliate. "Bye guys!" I call. "See you later!"

As soon as we're outside, Sam rips his arm from my grasp. "Don't touch me," he snaps, quickly walking ahead of me.

I sigh, suddenly feeling an unreal amount of exhaustion with this fight. Even with a sharp memory of how steaming mad I was on Monday, the day I hit him, I find myself wanting to just give up and make amends with him already.

"Sam," I say loudly, rushing to catch up with him. Of course, he doesn't even look at me. "Sam!" I say louder. "Do you think we could give this a rest?"

This makes him stop in his tracks, whirling around to look at me. "Give what a rest?"

"This fight," I sigh. "Please. Just for tonight, at least. I'm....so tired of it."

Sam actually looks taken aback by my words. He stops and thinks for a minute. "You're....tired of it?"

"Yes. I'm tired of feeling like I have to make a conscious effort to avoid you so we won't blow up at each other. I'm tired of feeling like I don't have a brother. Sure, we've both made mistakes. We've both said terrible, awful things and we've both hurt each other. But this silence is the worst thing in the world to me. And it's ridiculous. So please," I take a deep breath. "Can we stop?"

Sam doesn't respond right away. We keep walking, and by the time he finally says something, we've almost reached the school. There is a crowd of students filing into the gym, where colored lights line the concrete outside and a huge sign reads HOMECOMING DANCE, 2016

"So then....you don't hate me anymore?" Sam asks suddenly. His voice breaks and I want to cry.

"I don't hate you, Sam," I respond without hesitation. "And I'm so sorry if I ever made you believe that."

"I'm sorry too," he says quietly. "But....do you promise you don't hate me?"

"I don't hate you," I repeat. "How many times do I have to say it?"

"Rose, you have to promise," Sam whispers. Why isn't he looking at me? "And you have to promise you won't hate me. If you happen to....find something out."

Huh? "Sam, what are you talking about?"

But before he can respond, a voice rings out in the near-darkness. "George!"

I look up and see Cody running up to me. He's also wearing jeans, thank goodness, and a white-and-blue checkered button-up shirt. When he's close enough, I see that the top two buttons are undone and reveal his smooth collar bone. God, he looks so hot.

And he's mine, I'm reminded when he embraces me. "You look gorgeous," he says into my ear, in that low voice that always makes me shiver.

"So do you," I respond, blushing.

He kisses me briefly, then wastes no time grabbing both of my hands. "Come on, let's go inside," he says eagerly. And it's only when he's already pulling me through the doors and into the packed entryway of the gym that I find it strange that he didn't acknowledge Sam at all.

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

Sam

And just like that, after one small, almost-productive conversation, Rose is gone again. Off frolicking with Cody, probably to go find a place to make out.

"I don't hate you, Sam," her voice repeats in my head over and over.

But you don't know everything, I wanted to say. I'll admit, my heart nearly broke inside my chest when she spoke to me without venom and said that she wanted to make up, that she was tired of fighting. Because god dammit, I'm tired of fighting, too.

But even more than that, I want us to keep fighting. Fighting means not speaking, not making eye contact, and having nothing to do with each other in general. Which would make living with myself after what I did to her on Tuesday, after what I did with her boyfriend, a helluva lot easier.

But making up? Speaking, coexisting, being siblings again? That would make it next to impossible. Making up would mean remembering how much I love and care about my sister, which would pretty much require me to come to terms with what a disgusting person I am for doing what I did.

"Hey Sam," Dan greets me, promptly interrupting my brooding. "Good to see you."

It's good to see him, too. Even better to see that he also hasn't changed from his same outfit that he wore to school earlier today: black on top of black on top of black. The only thing that's different is that his eyebrow piercing is back, which I've noticed he hasn't worn in awhile. He's also wearing black stud earrings.

"Ah, the piercings have made a return," I acknowledge aloud. "Were you losing goth points the longer you didn't wear them?"

"Very funny," says Dan, rolling his eyes. "Actually, I found out my second week of school that boys wearing piercings is against the school dress code.

"Shit, are you serious? And only boys?"

"Only boys," Dan grumbles. "But whatever. I can wear them to the dance and good ol' Dr. Seuss won't be here to yell at me."

"Hey, that's what I call him," I laugh. "Dr. Seuss."

"I'm surprised more people don't call him that. Honestly, who pronounces it like Suss? Makes no sense."

"That's what I'm saying!"

We both chuckle at our own mutual joke.

"Anyway, wanna head inside?" Dan asks, motioning to the lit-up doorway.

I grimace. "I don't know. I hear there are highschoolers in there."

"Don't worry, they won't bite," Dan responds without a beat. "Just as long as you don't provoke them." He takes my hand to lead me inside.

"I hear that some will  attack unprovoked," I grumble, letting Dan drag me to the doorway.

"It's just a myth, I promise," he assures me gently. "But if things do get scary, we'll just come back outside. I read somewhere that highschoolers will stay where it's dim, because natural light is toxic to their fragile skin."

"Really? Even moonlight?"

"Even moonlight," says Dan, stopping by the front table to hand money to the faculty member. He pays for my ticket as well as his. "Also don't get them wet and don't feed them after midnight, and you should be fine."

I laugh quietly. "Okay, I think I'm feeling better now."

"You sure?" He double-checks. He's still holding my hand. "I know we were just playing, but if you really are uncomfortable here—"

"I'm fine," I assure him, yanking back my hand. "I'm not some pussy who can't handle a stupid high school dance. I can do this."

"I believe you," Dan smiles. "But make no mistake, if one of the creatures does attack you, I'll be right here to kick its ass."

I smirk, "Thank you very much Daniel, but I think I can handle my own ass-kicking."

We're in the thick of the crowd at this point, and it's almost impossible to hear each other over the music without shouting. Also, in the dim lighting that my eyes have yet to adjust to, it's difficult to see more than thin outlines of people. But at that precise moment, a basketball-player body with a sea of flaming red hair  that's unmistakable even in the dark, practically barrels into me. Dan's firm grip on my arm is the only thing that keeps me from being pushed to the floor.

"Sorry, sorry!" Rose Parker says immediately. "God, it's so hard to see in here."

"Well try a little harder," Dan snaps at her angrily.

She ignores him, focusing on me. "Oh, hey Sam! I almost didn't recognize you with your hair down."

"S'okay," I say, still getting my bearings from almost being plowed over. "I almost didn't recognize you either," I only say that because it's clear that's what she's going for, even though a girl of her stature would be really hard to mistake.

"Really?" says Rose, seeming happy. "That's good. I put actual effort into this."

I must admit, she does look beautiful. Her hair is straightened and pinned back, and was probably conditioned judging by its unusual silky-smoothness. She's also wearing makeup; not too much, but just enough to enhance her naturally pretty features. Mascara widens her wide eyes, and lip gloss brings a shine to her full pink lips. Additionally, she's exchanged her fangirl wardrobe for a nice blouse over a long skirt. I can't help but wonder how long this costume took her.

"Do you have a date?" I ask curiously.

A tint of blush reddens her cheeks under the makeup. "Um, no. Not really. Actually, have you seen George? Uh, I mean Rose?"

"Um, not since we got here," I tell her. "Wherever she is, she's probably got her lips locked with Cody's."

She grimaces. "Right. Gotcha." Then she pushes her way through the crowd, presumably in search of my sister.

"Wow, don't sound too bitter about that," Dan comments sarcastically at my side.

"About what?"

"Don't play dumb!" he has to shout over the pounding of pop music in our ears, but the volume doesn't drown out his sharp tone. "Rose and Cody, and their lip-locking? You said it like you were upset about it."

I roll my eyes. I do not feel like getting into this right now. "I'm not!" I try to argue.

"I thought you were trying to get over Cody."

"I am!"

"Then what's the issue?"

"There is no issue!"

I can tell Dan is going to respond (probably to simply call bullshit, like he's so good at doing), but suddenly the music changes tempo.

Oh god. please don't be a slow song, please not a slow song, I pray silently, having no idea what the hell Dan and I are going to do in that event.

But it's not a slow song. Just another new hit single that makes everyone shriek like crazy with it's opening lyrics. I actually recognize this one, surprisingly, but only because it's in a movie that I liked.

All my friends are heathens, take it slow.....

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

Rose

Cody and I found a corner by ourselves without much problem. Still on the dance floor, but way apart from everyone else.

Even though it's not a slow song, he holds me close while we dance. "I'm really glad we got to do this," he says to me in a low voice.

"What? Come to a dance?" I giggle, because it's kind of silly.

"Not just that, but everything," he tells me. "Before I met you, I never thought I would be out at school. But you....you've always seemed so unashamed of who you are. You never denied the bullies who called you gay. You never even gave them your time, you just ignored them. I always admired that in you."

I would probably laugh if the first part of what he said didn't make me so sad. It's funny because I always considered myself a coward for staying silent in the face of taunts, but Cody apparently thought I was brave? Who would've thought....

But then it's sad, because he has me all wrong. I'm not brave, I'm not unashamed. Cody has no idea who I am, and I hate myself for it.

"Cody...." I start, not entirely sure of what I'm going to say.

But I'm spared the chance. "Hey, I've been looking everywhere for you guys!"

It's Rose, and I'm so happy to see her here that I break apart from Cody and hug her tight. "Rose! Oh my god, you look amazing!"

"Thanks," she says, obviously blushing. She looks over at Cody. "Sorry, I don't think we've formally met."

"Oh, right!" I'm quick to introduce them; I've been waiting for this. "Cody, this is my best friend Rose Parker. Rose," I take a deep breath to keep from squealing. "My boyfriend Cody."

They greet each other politely.

"Hope you don't mind," says Rose. "But I might want to steal George away for a couple of dances."

"No problem," says Cody with a smile. And it's a good thing he does, because the current song cuts off suddenly and switches tempo, transitioning into lyrics that make Rose and I look at each other and shriek.

All my friends are heathen, take it slow....

"IT'S HEATHENS!!!" we fangirl at the tops of our lungs, and we're far from the only ones. The gym is filled with the shrieks and screams of people who recognize and love this song, whether or not they're actual Twenty-one Pilots fans.

Cody laughs at our excitement, holding up his hands. "I'll leave you two alone," he says, walking away for a break.

We hardly hear him, already spinning and singing along fiercely to the first verse.

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

Sam

I've barely been here for ten minutes and the dance floor is already getting too crazy for me.

Pulling Dan along, I push through the crowd without caring who I shove aside. One person happens to be Edgar Thompson who, in my defense, was just standing there not doing much of anything besides being in the way.

"Ow!" he yells when I push him. "Watch it, dyke!"

Ignoring him, I pull Dan into the nearest boys' bathroom in the adjacent hallway. Luckily, there's no one else in here.

"Are you okay?" Dan asks me right away.

"Yeah, I just didn't care for the excitement," I tell him, leaning over one of the sinks and taking a deep breath. I stare at myself in the mirror, at my stupid, long hair—

"Do you need a hair band?"

"No thanks, I've got one."

And as I pull up my sleeve to remove the band from my wrist, Dan catches sight of my arm and inhales sharply. "Jesus Christ, Sam!"

I look at him innocently. "What?"

"Don't give me that! Let me see." He grabs my arm and yanks my sleeve up hard, making me wince. "Are these....these are new ones!"

"Look, Dan—"

"I just fucking saw this arm yesterday and you've already done it again since then?! What the actual—"

"It's not easy to stop, you know it isn't!" I shoot back, yanking my arm out of his grasp. "Especially once you start doing it everyday—"

"Everyday?" Dan looks appalled, frightened even. "Sam....that is not good."

"What, you're telling me you never did it daily?" I challenge.

But Dan shakes his head. "No, I didn't. Not even at the lowest point in my life. This is bad, Sam. Worse than bad. You're addicted."

"I am not!" I argue childishly, pulling my sleeve down firmly and returning to the mirror. I start tying my hair up. "I have complete control over it."

"Are you even hearing yourself? You sound like a fucking drug addict right now. You don't have control over shit!"

"Leave me alone, Dan," I growl at him. "God, I wish I never told you."

"And I'm glad you did. Because somebody needs to tell you that—"

But he cuts himself off right then as the bathroom door swings open, and in walks....

Well, go fucking figure.

"Hey," says Cody, looking concerned. "I heard shouting. What's going—"

"None of your fucking business, Foster," Dan snaps cruelly. "Don't you have a girlfriend to be sucking face with?"

"Daniel!" I yell in both anger and alarm.

But clearly Cody is used to bullies calling his boyfriend a girl, because he thinks nothing of it. Instead of responding to Dan, he looks directly at me. "Sam, what's going on? Why are you in here with this....this asshole?"

I'm not sure what to say. Half of me wants to defend Dan, but the other half wants nothing more than to run up to Cody and hug him, because I miss his warm arms and how safe they made me feel.

I don't do either. Instead I ask, "Where's George?"

"He's with his friend Rose, but that doesn't answer my question."

"Oh, for the love of god," Dan groans, turning to face me. "Sam, make up your mind. Are you going to talk to him so I can leave, or can I tell him to get the hell out so we can keep talking?

It's a difficult decision. But actually, not really.

"Dan...." I say, watching his face closely to see if he looks hopeful. He doesn't. He knows my choice already. "Please leave."

Without another word, he turns and stalks out the door

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

Rose

When the song ends, Rose and I are sweaty and out of breath, both nursing stitches in our sides.

"Oh my god, that was so much fun," she gasps.

"Yeah...." I can barely breathe from laughing and singing. "Amazing...."

At this point, the tempo changes into the night's first slow-dance song. Across the gym people start pairing up, while Rose and I take this as an opportunity to lean against the wall and rest.

"So...." says Rose, still catching her breath. "Do you wanna....go find Cody, or...?"

"No, we can chill and talk for a bit," I tell her. "There will be other slow songs."

Her grin widens. "Okay. I hope you're not just hanging out with me because you feel bad that I don't have a date though."

I shake my head. "That'll never be the reason, girl. You're my best friend."

"Ditto," she says with a wink.

"Best friends," I continue. "Who tell each other everything."

And just like that, her smile drops. "Rosie....no."

Dammit, I really thought that line would work. "Alright, it was worth a shot. It's just....I'm literally dying of curiosity here—"

"Rosie, let me ask you something," she speaks up suddenly, startling me. "Does Cody know you're really a girl?"

I pause. Shit, she had me there. "No. He doesn't."

"And why haven't you told him?"

Feeling uncomfortable, I stammer out a response. "Be-because I....um. I'm....I guess I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Of....scared that he won't like me anymore. That me identifying as female will be a deal breaker for him."

"So in other words, you're scared the truth will wreck your guys' relationship?" She clarifies.

"Yeah."

"So you agree that sometimes," she says, pulling her knees up to her chest. "It's best to keep the truth a secret to preserve a relationship."

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Good." And she stops there, and I can only guess she's leaving it at that.

I'm still insanely curious and upset that she won't tell me, but I'm starting to accept the fact that maybe I'll never get to know this secret of hers. And maybe that's just going to have to be okay.

"Hey." I nudge her shoulder gently with mine. "Do you wanna dance?"

She looks at me and laughs a low, almost sad laugh.

"What?"

"Nothing," she sighs, standing up. "Sure, Rosie. I'd love to dance with you."

She gives me a hand and pulls me to my feet, and we slowly begin to sway together in the dim, colored lights.

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

Sam

"So who is he to you?"

Of all the sentences I expected to come out of Cody's mouth the second we were alone, that wasn't one of them. I give him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

He jerks his head in the direction of the door, still rattling from Dan's pissed-off exit. "Daniel. You told me before that you were tutoring him, but I know that's a lie. Are you guys friends or something?"

"Is this really what we should be talking about right now?" I ask darkly, leaning against the sinks in a defensive posture. Surprised as I am that Cody gives a single shit about my relationship with Dan, it's the last thing I expected to talk about with him the next time we spoke.

"I'm just wondering. I never thought of you as the type to willingly hang around with jerks like him."

"Well you thought wrong," I say in a monotone. "After all, I'm just a huge jerk myself, aren't I?"

Cody shakes his head. "No. You're not."

"Oh, I'm not? Why don't we talk about Tuesday then?"

Cody's face flushes a deep scarlet. "Let's....not—"

"And why not?" I challenge him, feeling dogmatic. "Have you been thinking about it as much as I have?"

He doesn't respond, but lowers his eyes to the ground. Whether in shame or secrecy, though, I can't be sure. 

"Look," I continue after taking a deep breath. "I know I said before that we should keep it to ourselves, but I've been thinking, and....."

He widens his eyes, already shaking his head desperately. Clearly, our positions on this matter have completely flipped after just a few days. "No. No, no, nononono."

"Hear me out—" I try again, but Cody cuts me off.

"I can't do it," he says in a broken voice. "I can't tell him. I can't hurt him like that."

"We have to tell him," I urge, even though it hurts. The more I think about how badly Rose wanted to make up with me earlier, the more I believe she deserves to know how I betrayed her. "Besides, he won't hate you as much as he'll hate me."

"Neither amount will match how much I already hate myself," he mumbles, sliding down the wall and sinking to the cold floor.

Sighing, I sit down next to him. "Don't hate yourself, Cody," I attempt to reason with him. "Really, it's all my fault. I'm the fucked up one here. I knew you liked him, and that you guys were happy together, but I still....." I trail off, already feeling like I've said too much.

He gives me a curious look. "You liked me from the very beginning, didn't you?"

I hesitate, contemplating how I want to answer that. Then, keeping my eyes on the floor, I nod.

"I always thought so," Cody sighs. "You're not very discreet." 

I want to laugh at the truth of that statement, but I'm too sad.

Cody goes on. "But when I saw you as a girl, it was so easy to just ignore. I felt bad for you a lot, because I knew I could never like you back, but being around you didn't hurt....until suddenly it did."

I'm surprised to hear this. "It did? Even before I came out to you?"

"Yeah. Because I don't know how, but I started to suspect the truth not too long after I started dating George. And like I said before, a part of me always saw you as a boy. Something about the way you carry yourself. You kind of just....seem more masculine."

But how is it that you made that discovery about me, I wonder, biting my lip, but not about Rose?

"And then I...." Cody starts to say something else, but pauses. I look at his face again and it's bright red. What's he thinking about?

"What?" I prompt him.

"I....ah," he blows out a huff of air, as if to say oh boy, I guess it's too late to back out. "I felt it, too. When we....when we kissed."

"Felt what?"

He shrugs, hiding his face in his hands. "Something," he mutters. "I don't know. Did you?"

"Felt something?" I snort. "What the hell do you think?"

"I don't even know how to describe it anymore," Cody seems to shrink into himself, falling silent.

I'm not sure what to say to that, but I feel like I should respond in some way. So I turn my head toward him. "You know—"

But he cuts me off with his lips.

I want to push him away, to say Whoa, what the hell are you doing?! But I don't. I kiss him back, and I enjoy every second of it. Every part of his mouth on mine, the way his warm arms wrap around me tight, his hands coming to rest at my hair....

But this time, though it takes me a few seconds, I am the one to pull back. "Cody....I thought we agreed."

"God dammit," he sighs with his eyes closed. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" I stand up. Suddenly, every fiber of my being wants to get away from him. I'm so confused. "I don't understand. I thought you liked George."

"I do! I mean, I did. I mean.... God, I don't know what I want anymore."

"Well you better fucking figure it out," says an unexpected voice.

We both turn around to find Dan standing in the slightly-open doorway, looking a cross between pissed off and amused.

"Jesus!" Cody exclaims, standing and backing away from me. "How long were you—"

"Most of the time," says Dan, glowering.

Honestly, I'm not even surprised. I'm almost positive that he never properly left in the first place, that he was just standing on the other side of the door keeping watch, and waiting for an opportunity to jump back in. And with my heart still pounding and my lips still burning, I lack the energy to even be mad.

Cody, however, is a different story. He points a threatening finger at Dan. "I don't know what you think you're doing, eavesdropping like that. But this is none of your fucking business, alright?"

"Um, actually," says Dan, his anger growing more pronounced. "That's where you're wrong." Without warning, he moves fast towards Cody and backs him up against the wall, grabbing hold of his shirt collar. "Listen, you manipulative piece of shit—"

"Get off me—"

"Sam is my friend. I fucking care about him. And if you think you can fuck around with his emotions and I won't have anything to say about it—"

But Cody succeeds at pushing him off, interrupting his monologue. "Don't talk about things you don't understand, Daniel. Sam's my friend too, and you don't know the first thing—"

"Guys, can we stop this?" My voice is quiet, but it makes both of them quit their bickering at once. I speak to them both in turn. "Dan, I appreciate you standing up for me, but what just happened was my fault as much as his. And Cody....you should get back out there. I'm sure your girlfriend is looking for you."

He falters, looking confused. "You mean boyfriend, right?"

"Shows how much you know," Dan sneers, but I shoot him a look.

"No Cody," I explain without emotion. "I mean girlfriend. The two of you need to have a serious conversation."

"I don't....I don't understand."

I sigh. "Let's just say that you're not the only one in the relationship that has been keeping dirty secrets. If you want to know more....I'm not the one to tell you."

Cody looks from me to Dan several times, shaking his head. He backs away slowly, reaching the door before turning around and full-on sprinting from the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" Dan asks me as soon as we're alone.

"You really need to stop asking me that," I say, still keeping my voice level. I can't express anything; I can't even look him in the eye. It's taking every ounce of my willpower to keep from collapsing to the floor and breaking down.

I don't even notice my hands are shaking until I feel Dan grasp them in his to hold them still. "Can I do anything?" he asks, his voice filled with more determination than compassion. As always, his mission to make me feel better is taken almost like a challenge to the universe.

"Depends. Do you have a marker?"

This clearly takes him off guard, but I'm even more surprised by his answer. "Um, yeah actually. I do." He extracts a red sharpie from one of his pockets and hands it over.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking it gratefully before prying myself away from him and shutting myself into one of the stalls.

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

Rose

After being out of sight for nearly four songs Cody finds us again, looking sweaty and out of breath.

"Well hey, there he is!" Rose Parker laughs. "We were beginning to think you'd ditched out on your date, Foster."

Truth be told, I wasn't really missing him. I was enjoying my time with Rose, how easy and effortless everything felt just chilling with my best friend. It isn't until I see Cody's wide eyes and panicky expression that I even start to wonder where he's been this whole time.

"Hey," I say, my voice full of concern. "Are you okay?"

He stares at me, and it's impossible to read his expression. It's almost like he's staring through me, actually, like he's trying to read something about me. I find it unsettling.

"I'm, uh....I'm not sure," he says in response to my question. "Listen, George—"

But his voice is drowned out by the sound of cheering as the next song comes out. It's a pop song, something by The Chainsmokers.

"What?!" I yell over the voices and music.

"We need to talk!" he repeats loudly.

"Now?!"

"Yes, right now!" He grabs my hand and pulls me off the dance floor before I can say anything else.

Because Rose doesn't seem to know if she should follow, I grab her with my free hand and make sure she tags along.

I think we're going to stop in the hallway, but Cody keeps pulling us along past the entryway and through the front doors, not stopping until we're outside.

By now the sun is down completely, and the cold night air is welcoming after an hour in the hot, stuffy gym. But I can't enjoy it while I'm stressing about what's wrong with Cody.

"What happened?" I ask him, reaching to touch his face. He shies away from my touch. "What's wrong? Where were you just now?"

"Um...." he casts a side glance at Rose, looking reluctant to speak in front of her. "Could we get some privacy, actually?"

"Oh, sorry! Of course," Rose says, starting to walk away.

But I stop her with a hand. "Hang on. Cody....she's my best friend. Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of her.

Cody raises a curious eyebrow. "You're sure?"

"Yes, of course! She knows everything about me."

"Everything?" Cody asks, almost like a challenge. He looks almost angry. "She knows everything about you?"

"Yes! Why, what to do you—" but I cut myself off as his words actually sink in. My heart seems to freeze mid-beat, and my stomach grows very cold as something inside my head clicks. His panicked face, his tone.... he knows.

Which could only mean one thing. "Cody," I say gently. "Were you with Sam just now?"

Suddenly, and to my shock, Cody is the one that looks afraid. But he's not given an opportunity to answer as the front doors open and two more people stumble out of the building, disturbing our short-lived privacy.

"Sam, just talk to me!"

"I told you, I'm not in the fucking mood! Get away from me!"

"I'm not leaving you alone like—"

Sam and Dan both freeze in place at the sight of me, Cody, and Rose Parker watching them.

"What are you guys doing out here?" they demand, almost simultaneously.

I roll my eyes. "We were talking. So unless you guys need something, if you could give us some space, that'd be great."

"Hey, we're allowed to be out here as much as you are," Dan fires back. "It's public space. If you want to be alone, maybe you can go somewhere else. There's plenty of places to make out around here other than right in front of the school—"

"That's not what we—"

"You know, actually," Cody speaks up suddenly. "Maybe it's good that we're all in the same place right now."

Huh? "Cody, what do you mean?"

He looks at me lovingly, but also with caution. "George....we need to have a talk."

I almost sigh with relief. He called me George. That must mean I'm safe.

"Oh, this is gonna be great," laughs Dan, taking a seat on a nearby bench. He crosses his legs, looking like he's gearing up for his favorite show.

Sam glares at him. "This isn't fucking funny, Daniel."

"Oh, I think it's hilarious."

"God, you're such a dick," Rose Parker snaps at Dan out of nowhere. "Can't you just shut up for once in your life?"

"Hey, I reserve the right to be a dick," Dan says simply. "And anyway, what are you even doing here? None of this involves you."

"Holy shit, am I the ONLY ONE HERE who has no idea what's going on???" I demand, shouting over everyone. Seriously, one second I think this is going to be about my gender. But now, I'm not so sure.

"Yes. Why don't you let your scumbag boyfriend over there enlighten you?" says Dan, grinning from ear to ear. "Let him tell you what a lying, manipulative tool he is."

"Cody, what's he talking about?" I demand, almost hysterical now. "Just tell me!"

But Cody stands there in silence. He looks to be at a complete loss for words. His eyes move from me to Sam to Dan, then back to me, then to the space over my shoulder to avoid looking at anyone.

Immediately, I round on Sam. "What did you tell him?!" I yell, remembering something he said before the dance. You have to promise you won't hate me if you happen to find something out. Was this what he meant?

Sam lowers his head. "You know," he mumbles.

Under my skin, my blood boils with the heat of a million suns. My fists clench. I want to throw myself at him, tackle him to the ground, pummel his fucking face in with my fists.

No Rose, a soft, feminine voice in my head commands me. Breathe.

I breathe, slowly unclenching my fists. But I'm still livid. "When....did you tell him?" I ask slowly, my voice shaking with every syllable. I don't even look at Cody, who's still standing in silence a few feet away, as still as a mannequin.

"Just tonight," says Sam, even quieter than before. "I swear."

"You.....mother fu—" But I can't. There isn't a single dirty word in the book that can describe my feelings towards Sam at this moment. Everything I can think of is far too tame. "Why?" I practically sob. "Why would you....?"

But I just shake my head. I give up. Instead, I turn to Cody and grab both of his shoulders in an attempt to shake him out of his trance. "Cody, listen to me. This...this isn't how I wanted you to find out. I promise I was going to tell you myself. Dammit, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, they haven't even told you the best part yet," says Dan, spreading his legs wide on the bench and folding his arms behind his head in standard douchebag posture. It sickens me how much he's enjoying this. He probably wishes he had popcorn.

I turn to Sam. "What?" I demand, blinking back tears. "What is there still left to tell me? In what other way could you have possibly ruined my life that I don't know about yet?"

Sam doesn't say anything, actually looking like he might start crying himself.

"Maybe Sam isn't the person you should be asking," Dan says, nodding his head in Cody's direction.

It's only then that Sam speaks up. "Knock it off, Dan! I told you, it's just as much my fault as it is his, if not more."

"Bull-fucking-shit," says Dan angrily. "Quit trying to cover for him. He manipulated you! He toyed with your feelings, making you believe that you had a chance with him, and then always went back to Rose in the end. He's a fucking selfish asshole!"

Wait. What?

"You don't know what you're talking about," Cody says to Dan, speaking up at last. "I never led anybody on. Sam knew I liked George—"

"And yet you kept putting your mouth on Sam's every chance you got!"

Wait....what?

"It only happened once!" Cody yells.

"Twice," Sam mutters.

"And anyway," Dan continues on. "Sure, maybe you liked George. But now that you know George is actually Rose, what are you going to do about that, Mister High-Horse? Huh?"

"Wait!" I say aloud. "WHAT?!"

At the sound of my shriek, everyone shuts the fuck up and freezes in place, and rightfully so. Boiling hot blood races through my veins at a frightening pace, setting up camp in my muscles and getting ready to fuel punches that are desperate to happen. I don't know who to turn on first.

I go for the easiest choice. "YOU KISSED MY BOYFRIEND?!" I yell at Sam, expecting him to shrink back.

But he doesn't he steps forward, practically presenting his face to me. "Yes, Rose. I kissed your boyfriend. Twice. I'm the shittiest person that has ever existed, and I deserve to die. So if you're going to hit me, please do it hard and aim for a pressure point."

"Rosie, NO!" Rose Parker cries, jumping up and grabbing hold of my right arm that had already curled up into a fist. "Don't do anything you'll regret."

"Oh, I won't fucking regret this," I spit, trying to fight her. But her grip is strong.

"Oh, you better believe you will," Dan challenges me, having stood up and positioned himself in front of Sam at some point.

"You stay out of this!" Rose commands, shoving him in the shoulder. "You started all of this drama, you obnoxious son of a bitch."

"That's not true!" Dan argues. "They put themselves in this mess! All I did was sit back and watch it blow up in everyone's faces like I always knew it would."

"Oh, I swear, you are such a—"

At that moment, Rose's arm loosens just enough for me to finally yank my arm from her grasp, and I leap at Sam.

But Dan is too fast. He blocks me just before my fist reaches its target and shoves me to the ground. "Like I said," he warns me before I can even get up. "Lay a finger on him and I'll make you regret it."

"Don't threaten him!" yells Cody, shoving Dan away from me. "He has the right to be pissed—"

"He is a she, in case you've suffered recent memory loss." Dan reminds him with a smirk. "And I agree that she has the right to be pissed. At you."

Cody hesitates before turning to me, helping me up off the ground. "He's right about that, Ge—" he stops himself, still unsure of what to call me now. "You should be pissed at me."

"Oh, don't think that I'm not," I snap at him, but with not nearly as much venom as I spoke to Sam with. Thinking of Cody's unfaithfulness fills me with much more pain and sadness than I feel when thinking of my brother's betrayal. "I trusted you. I liked you, and I thought you liked me." My voice breaks as I start to cry.

"I did! I do." He reaches for my hand, but I pull back.

"Do you still?" I ask. "Even now that you know I'm a girl?"

He hesitates, and that's enough of an answer for me. I turn away. "We're done, Cody."

"George, hold on—"

"Don't call me that!" I yell. "Don't call me anything, actually. Just....don't talk to me. Not ever again."

I want to run away, but I don't know where to go. So instead I just collapse onto the ground, pull my knees up to my chest, and cry.

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

Sam

I watch Rose cry, with Rose Parker standing over her with a hand on her shoulder and Cody off to the side, looking absolutely broken.

I observe the mess I've created, feeling hollow. I destroy everything I touch, I realize silently. And ruin everyone I meet.

"Well Sam," Rose Parker speaks up in a voice dripping with hatred, and I just know that she's about to voice my realization before she even finishes her sentence. "Is there anyone left whose life you haven't ruined?"

Hmm. Well actually yes, now that I think of it.

Taking a few steps forward, I bend down to my sister's level and speak clearly so she can hear me. "Rose Parker is in love with you." I leave it at that, not elaborating any further.

The entire world seems to freeze at my words. Rose stops shaking with sobs and looks up at Rose Parker.

I look up at her as well, her blue eyes wide from horror. "There," I say, in response to her question. "That should about cover it."

"R-Rose?" My sister mumbles, looking with wet, curious eyes at her friend.

Rose Parker can't even stammer out a lie, much less an explanation or a defense. She shakes her head, covering her red face. Then she takes off running.

I turn and start to walk away. Yep, there we go. Everything I touch: destroyed. Everyone I meet—

"Sam, I know what you're thinking," says Dan in a low voice, reaching out to touch my shoulder. "And it's not true—"

I smack his hand away. "Don't touch me," I growl. "Don't you ever touch me."

I turn away from his hurt expression, not wanting him to see me crying. Daniel fucking Albright. The one person I've met whom I haven't ruined, only because I don't know what to say to him that will have that effect. Nothing I say or do will push him away; the bastard will follow me everywhere.

Just like now, how he follows me back into the building. "Sam!" he calls after me. "Wait!"

I speed up, cutting a complicated path through the crowd of students in the gym, but I don't shake him.

"Sam!"

I keep going, breaking into a run once I'm out of the gym and into the abandoned hallway. I run all the way to the science wing, not stopping until I've locked myself in the handicapped stall in the boys' bathroom. My brain can only think two words: CODE RED. CODE RED. CODE RED.

I pull out my phone to text the words to Rose, only to realize that she probably doesn't give a shit about me anymore, and that I wouldn't blame her if that was the case. I'm a piece of shit. I deserve to die.

Sliding my phone to the opposite wall, I reach into my other pocket and pull out Dan's red sharpie. On this stall door, I scrawl out the same words that I wrote back in the other bathroom. A message to me, Sam Wyatt, and one that now every boy in the school can read and know what a terrible person I am, if they every had any doubt.

Dropping the sharpie once I finish, I pull one last object out of my pocket.

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

Rose

I can't catch her, but not for lack of trying.

"Rose!" I call after her, trying to follow her path around the building. "Wait!"

But she's too damn fast, and I lose her about halfway down the street behind the school. "Fuck...."

I know there's no point trying to track down someone who doesn't want to be found, so on my way back to the school i pull out my phone and send her a few messages that she can read later.

ME: Rose, I don't know what Sam was talking about back there, but please know that I wouldn't believe a word that asshole said unless you confirmed it.

ME: If you think I'm mad or something, I promise you I'm not. I just want you to talk to me. You're my best friend in the whole world, and you shouldn't be afraid to tell me anything.

ME: I can understand if you're upset and want to be left alone for awhile, but PLEASE text me later, ok? Don't shut me out.

I pocket my phone with a sigh and think about this latest revelation, and how it all makes so much sense. If Rose really does like me, then that must've been what she was going to admit to me on Monday. Before I came out....

And apparently she had even trusted Sam with her secret, only to have him spill it like it was nothing. The poor girl. Just the thought of it makes me ball up my fists again, and I want to go back and find Sam and give him the beating he deserves.

No Rose, Calm down. Wait for the testosterone levels to settle.

Right. Fucking testosterone. I take deep breaths in an attempt to relax my raging hormones and frayed emotions.

As I make my way back to the front of the building, I find it abandoned. I couldn't care less where Sam or Dan went, but I do find myself wondering where Cody wandered off to. Did he go back inside? Did he go home? I wonder if he's upset that I dumped him, or if he's glad that he didn't have to do it himself after finding out I'm trans....

"No, I don't care," I remind myself aloud. The jerk cheated on me. He wanted Sam. I don't care about his feelings.

I don't care.

I pause when I reach the front doors, wondering if there's even a point in going back to the dance. I'm questioning whether it would be too risky to return home early without Sam ("Take care of your sister," Dad warned me before we left), when a large shadow looms over me.

"Well hey Little Georgie!" a familiar, mocking voice sounds from behind me, followed by laughter. "We've been looking for you."

I swallow, hand frozen inches from the door handle. I don't want to move, let alone turn around, but they don't give me a choice. A large, meaty hand grabs hold of my upper arm and pulls me away from the front doors. Suddenly, I'm immersed in a crowd of bodies on all sides, making escape impossible, and they lead me off to the side of the building.

Once we're out of view of the street, the hand holding on to me pushes me to the ground. "Where've you been all night, kiddo?" says a deep voice. Warren Hawk. Of course. "It took us ages to find you. We thought you had actually chickened out of coming tonight, but apparently not."

I grunt as I attempt to stand up only to be shoved back down again, triggering laughter from all of the boys. God, there must be ten of them, and I don't even recognize them all. Some look like they might be upperclassmen.

"Where's your date?" One of them jeers. "Did he stand you up?"

I open my mouth to spit a harsh Fuck you!, but no sound comes out. Just like that, any amount of confidence and bravery that I've managed to build up over the past month or so has vanished quick as a breath of fog into the cold night air. I can't speak.

"Aw, is Georgie giving us the silent treatment again?" Edgar pretends to whine. "That's never any fun."

I open my mouth to try again, but nope. Not a syllable. What are words? I've forgotten how to form them.

"Nah, I think he's just nervous," one of the older, unfamiliar kids sneers. His height almost matches Warren's, but his face is much more mature. He's muscular, too. Probably the most frightening one of all. "We just need to help him loosen up."

"I think you're right, Andy."

Andy. That's the scary kid's name. Just hearing the monster personified gives me chills.

I'm right to fear him, it turns out, as Andy is the first one to hurt me. He puts a firm hand on my neck and leans down until he's centimeters from my ear. "You like sucking cock, faggot?" he hisses, wetting my ear with his hot breath and spit.

I cringe, only being able to reply with grunting noises as I attempt to pry myself from his grasp. But he's too strong.

"I think he said yes," someone laughs. "But better ask him again, just to make sure."

"I didn't hear you, faggot," Andy spits. "I said, do you like sucking cock?"

His face is so close to mine that I can smell the beer on his breath, but the scent barely permeates through that of his cologne, so thick that he must have marinated in it. I gag, shaking my head desperately.

"Is that a no?" Andy feigns surprise, making the boys erupt with laughter again. "That's not what I heard. Are you lying to me?"

He's touching my ear with his lips at this point. I want to throw up.

"I think you're lying," he whispers. "I think you love cock. In fact," he pauses for dramatic effect. "I think you're pretty horny right now. I think you want to suck my cock. Is that right?"

I want to scream, to yell for help, to make any noise whatsoever but my throat is clogged with fear. I just shake my head, even knowing that it's a losing battle.

"I think he means yes," someone cackles. "I think he wants it bad."

Next thing I know, I'm being pulled to my knees, the heavy hand still gripping my neck to keep me from squirming. But I'm not even resisting at this point. It's as if muscles have locked up, having forsaken me along with my vocal chords.

All I can do is shut my eyes.

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

Sam

It doesn't take Dan long to find me, but by the time he bursts through the door I'm already bleeding heavily.

"Sam!" he yells. "I know you're in here!"

I know he knows, but I still don't answer him. I'm busy slicing smoothly, trying to maim myself as much as possible before being caught in the act.

He bangs on the stall he knows I'm hiding in, but I have no intention of letting him in.

"Samuel Wyatt, if you don't open this goddamn door I'm coming in under it!"

I don't open it. And true to his word, Dan drops to the floor and belly-crawls underneath the locked stall door. A sudden flashback of Rose doing the very same thing on our first day of school nearly sends me into hysterics.

slice. Fuck you Sam. slice. Kill yourself. slice.

"Jesus fuck!" Dan exclaims when he makes it into the stall and sees me at it. Any sane person probably would have dropped the blade at this point, but I felt as if it was glued to my hand.

Dan practically tackles me, grabbing my blade-yielding arm by the wrist and prying the tool from my fingers. I hear him gasp, and I know that he probably cut himself on accident trying to wrestle it from me, but he doesn't quit until the blade is free from my grasp.

"Jesus....fuck. Jesus," he seems to have lost the ability to say any other words.

I cry silently on the floor as I hear him flush the blade down the toilet, then clean his bleeding hand off in the sink. Next, he tries to pull me to my feet. "Come on, Sam. We need to get you cleaned up."

But I make no effort to stand. I'm dead weight. I should be dead. Why am I not dead?

Dan sighs, giving up on forcing me to stand. Instead, he wets a few paper towels in the sink and uses them to sop up my wounds. "Shh, it's okay," he soothes me while he cleans my arm with the gentleness of a nurse. He works like he's done this a million times before, and I lay my head in his lap and cry.

Only now does it really occur to me what a mess I am. "I'm so fucked up," I sob. "Why are you still here? Why would you bother with someone who's so fucked up?"

"Because I love you, Sam," Dan says simply. He says it with none of the sarcasm or joking tone he usually puts behind the words, but with no emotion at all. He just says it like it's a fact, and an obvious one at that. The Earth is round, the sky is blue, I love you, Sam.

I don't say anything else as he finishes drying off my arm, and stay silent when he pulls a tube of ointment from his pocket and begins to apply it gingerly to my fresh cuts.

After a few seconds, though, I get curious. "Why do you have this with you?" I ask, my voice dry and croaking from crying.

"I always carry it," he tells me without looking up from his work. His face is completely barren of any emotion. "Just in case, you know?"

I'm silent again until he finishes and rolls down my sleeve carefully. "There we go," he says once the marks are hidden. "You can't even tell."

But I can, I think as I stare at my sleeve. I can feel them. I can always feel them.

Dan pulls me to my feet, and this time I cooperate. He pulls me the rest of the way in for a hug.

I hug him back, biting my lip to keep from crying again.

"Do you have any more at home?" he asks as he rubs my back.

I don't need to ask what he's talking about. "No," I lie.

"Throw them away when you get home," he tells me without missing a beat. Calling me on my bullshit, like he always does. "Flush them down the toilet, do whatever you have to do to make sure you never see them again. We're going to get through this. Okay?"

I nod into his shoulder. "Okay."

He steps away from me so I can see his face, and fixes me with a sharp glare. "And if I ever catch you doing this shit again, I swear to god Samuel, I will beat the ever living shit out of you."

I laugh. "Thanks Dan."

"I mean it. That was...." and for the first time, I see a darkness pass like a shadow over his stoic face: fear. "Man, that was some of the scariest shit I've ever seen."

I flinch. "Sorry."

"You should be." He punches my shoulder playfully, forcing a smile. "Now come on. Let's go find your sister and get you guys home."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she left without me already," I grumble.

"Well let's go double check to make sure, alright? If she's still here, she's probably outside."

We leave the bathroom side by side, with his arm around my shoulder and mine around his waist.

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

Rose

In my mind, I finish my painting.

It's an easy escape, it always has been. It's one of the many perks of having an impressive imagination: I can just picture my painting in my mind and vanish from this earth completely. I don't live in this world, this isn't my life. I'm not kneeling in this grass, there aren't hands on my body, and there's nothing being forced into my mouth. This isn't my life.

The painting is my life, the one that is sitting in Miss Vaughn's storage closet. The canvas with nothing but shadowy corners and the very beginnings of what I just know will be a rose in the very center. It's always a rose, isn't it?

I can picture it now, what that rose will become. So pretty and full and blood red, with a stem as green as summer itself. So healthy and alive, unmarred by the world around it.

But the shadows get to it, of course. They always do. Those corner smudges that I painted long ago will make their way into the middle eventually. I can see them already, creeping their way forward with the subtlety of evening changing into night. The shadows creep and creep and creep towards that rose, and then suddenly they meet.

And there's blood. And there's fire. Yes, that's it! Fire. How the flames will devour that red beauty, licking their way up the stem and fusing with the petals until the fire burns itself out, leaving nothing behind but a charred lump of ash and black death, with maybe the slightest hint of scarlet from the blood.

Rose's blood.

Oh, what a beautiful way to die.

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

Sam

Dan and I hear them before we see them.

We come out into the front of the school where there's no one, but too many voices are coming from the side of the building to not make us suspicious.

We creep up silently. We hear laughing, but also the panicked urgency of crooks trying to get a job done fast, before they're caught. We peek our heads around the corner, and at first, all we can see is the backs of a crowd of boys. But they're surrounding something. What are they all looking at?

Suddenly, I have a very bad feeling. My entire body grows ice cold from fear, and despite Dan silently urging me to stay hidden, I can no longer help it. I jump out from behind the corner and rush to the other side of the crowd to see what they're surrounding....

And I do see. At the very same moment, they see me.

There's a loud panic, a scattering of bodies, and I think I turn into a monster.

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

Rose

An inhuman shriek rips me from my imagination, and suddenly I can breathe again.

I'm confused as to why I couldn't breathe before until my eyes fly open, and I find myself on the ground with tons of people around me. WHAM, reality slams into me like a hammer and I remember where I am, as well as what was just happening. My face is wet, my lips are stretched, my mouth is dry and hurting from sick abuse. As the realization of what just happened sets in, I feel the tears start to fall.

But I was found, that's the only reason why it's over. Somebody saved me, and that same somebody is beating the shit out of two of the boys while the rest scatter. But my rescuer has an equally-violent friend, and I don't think any of the boys get far without being hit at least once.

I can't tell though. I'm still curled up on the damp grass, shaking.

"Hey, hey, shhh. It's okay. It's over. Are you okay?" A soft voice is saying near me.

I look up. My vision clears and the pale face of none other than Daniel Albright comes into focus. I've never seen his eyes full of anything but humor or spite, but now they're filled with nothing but concern. "Are you okay?" he asks again.

I can't answer that. I don't even know what okay means anymore. Hell, I'm not even sure if I've regained the ability to talk.

But Daniel's here. That must mean....

I roll over slightly and focus on the second person standing a few feet away, repeatedly kicking someone on the ground. The fallen person is unmistakable. I'll never forget his face, and I can still smell his cologne from here. As for the person kicking him....

WHAM. "FUCKING!" WHAM. "DISGUSTING!" WHAM. "PIG!"

I half expect Dan to tell Sam to take it easy, that he's had enough. But he just stays by me and watches with a satisfied expression on his face.

After one last hard kick to the face, Andy looks to have fainted. But Sam doesn't stop there. He crawls on top of the kid and fucking wails on him while he's passed out, still crying and muttering obscenities.

"Hey," Dan brings my attention back to him. "I know you might not be okay, but I need you to tell me if you need to go to the hospital."

Still not finding a voice in my throat, I shake my head.

"The police? Anyone?"

I shake my head harder. No, not the police. I don't want to talk to anyone about this, least of all people who will make me recount the story a billion times. I just want to forget that it happened.

Eventually Sam makes his way over to me, only because he's worn himself out, I presume. When I see him up close, I notice how bruised and bloodied his fists are from punching. Then I look at his eyes, and in them I see nothing short of horror and despair. I can't decide if that's him I'm seeing, or my own feelings reflected back to me through our matching irises.

"Rose," he whispers. "I'm...." But he can't say anything else because his voice breaks off and he collapses on top of me, sobbing with a force that I never knew he had in him. He hugs me tight.

I hug him back even tighter, and the force of his crying makes me cry in earnest. "I'm sorry," he keeps saying. "I'm sorry."

I hear his words, feeling their genuineness in my core. I want to say I'm sorry, too. But I still haven't found my voice.

A part of me wonders if I'll ever find it again.