Plink. Plink.

I step out of the washroom, the sound of something being thrown against glass getting to me.

A small stone appears outside my window, but the attempt to hit it completely backfires. It's at least three inches away from the glass, before it falls back towards the ground.

Well then.

I walk towards the window and shove the ledge up, peering out of the empty space into the open space below. Clarity stands there, her forehead creased in concentration as she aims for the opening. This time, her shot's surprisingly accurate, and it flies in a beautiful arc...

Until it's smooth surface hits me.

I stagger backwards, muttering curses that seven-year-old's should not hear under my breath as pain blossoms in the form of a bruise on the bridge of my nose.

"I'm sorry!" Comes her scream.

"It's okay," I say back, but I'm not sure she can hear me. I can't even hear myself over the pain.

Soon enough, the pain ebbs and I rush back to the window. "What are you doing here?"

"Um...could you come down first?" Clarity stares at me with her big eyes.

"Sure," I say, and head downstairs, before rounding the side of the house towards Clarity.

She twists her hands together nervously. "Lukey's become angry again, so Daddy and Mommy have taken him to see the doctor. They told me to come here..."

Without further hesitation, I wrap my arms around Clarity and pull her into a hug. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, but Lukey's scary when he's mad," stutters Clarity.

I want to say I know how she feels, but in reality, I don't, so I keep my mouth shut and focus on stroking her hair instead.

"It'll be okay. Do you want to come inside?"

Upon her nodding, I take her by the hand and lead her into the house, and into the kitchen, where Blake sits, solving some crossword puzzle while chewing on an apple. The moment his eyes land on Clarity, he puts down everything and engulfs her into a hug, before reluctantly letting her go. She sniffles a little, swiping at her nose.

"What happened? Who hurt you?" He questions immediately, puffing out his chest adorably.

"No one," Clarity replies, her voice still unstable from crying.

"Don't lie, Clarity. Who hurt you?" Blake holds her by the shoulders. "Was it Irabelle?" He shoots me a death glare.

"I'm okay, Blake. It wasn't Irabelle."

Blake's suspicious glance doesn't fade as he crushes Clarity to him. "If anyone's bullying you, you have to tell me, promise?"

Clarity beams at him. "I promise."

"Good." He looks over at me again, his arm still wrapped around Clarity. "So why is Clarity crying?"

"It's nothing, Blake, but she's going to stay here for a while" — Blake's face lights up instanteously — "until her parents come back for her."

Blake frowns. "Why can't she stay here for good?"

The logic of seven-year olds.

"Because," I reply.

"Because?" He pushes.

"Because." I roll my eyes.

"Can I use the washroom?" Clarity interrupts our miniature fight.

"Go right ahead," I say, pointing her in the direction of the toliet. Once she's out of sight, I tell Blake, "I'm going to go upstairs, so don't let Clarity get hurt. If you guys need me, call me."

Blake mock-salutes me, before sticking out his tongue. "You think I'll let Clarity get hurt?"

I sigh, and ascend the stairs instead, choosing to ignore him.

Pulling open a drawer, I retrieve an envelope and peel it open, fishing out the paper inside. After we had made the Bucket List, Lindsay had made it a point to make several copies of the List and hide it in different places of my room, just in case.

I stare at the smaller, neater version of my List, recalling how proud I'd been of the List back then. I find the next task I have yet to complete.

MAKE NEW FRIENDS, my handwriting screams back at me.

Huh. That seems possible — are Clarity and Luke considered new friends? — since now I'm back to square one. It's not that I don't have any friends, but they're the type that run away at the mention of me needing help.

But now I remember why I put this on my List. They always say that the Queen Bee is an antisocial person who cares more about makeup and manicures than friends and socializing — unless it's for certain benefits. And by certain benefits, it usually points to the bedroom with a huge neon sign.

"Irabelle?" Someone knocks on the door, yelling my name.

"Yeah, I'm here," I say, quickly shoving the List into its envelope and rushing to the door. Upon unlocking it, I find Blake standing there, pointing at the stairs.

"Someone's looking for you."

"Okay..."

"She says her name is Connie, and I don't want to let strangers in, so..."

The doorbell cuts him off, and I hold my breath. Connie Bellingham was a fellow cheerleader, the most enthusiastic in the whole squad.

More often than not, she would attempt to complicate matters and once even caused a team member to break her arm — she insisted that we all try a new move she had created while leaping off her kitchen table.

I sighed and headed down the stairs, over to the door where Clarity stood, jumping up and down, trying to peer through the peephole — but her height made it almost impossible for her.

"Who's there?" She called through the door.

"I told you already, my name is Connie!" Connie's squeaky, yet irritated voice reached my ears and I cringed.

"Are you from Neverland? Have you met Cinderella? Blake said—"

"I'll take it from here, Clarity," I gently interrupted her, unlocking the door and pushing it open in one swift motion.

Connie stood on my doorstep, her neon blue hair piled on top of her head. She uncrossed her arms and straightened when she saw me.

"Hey, Irabelle," she said.

I acknowledged her with a nod of my head while Blake and Clarity tried to get a glimpse of her, squeezing their heads between the gap between my waist and the door.

"What's up?" I tried to act nonchalant, but when your daredevil team member was standing way too close to your brother, who also happened to be a daredevil, bad things were bound to happen.

"I received a letter from your parents," she replied, "but I need to talk to you about it in private." She raised her brows at Clarity and Blake.

I winced. That was going to be pretty hard, to be honest. Blake liked to know everything, and he was definitely not going to walk away without some answers.

"Why? Are you going to kidnap Irabelle?" Clarity hugged my legs. "Lukey said that we should never let—"

"I'll be fine, Clare. Just go in with Blake, alright?"

Clarity nods, tugging on Blake's hand. His reluctance is visible, but he still follows without hesitation.

Connie looks at me seriously after they have left. Her next words make my world stand still.

"I've heard you've been looking for me. I'm Contessa, and I think you should know some things about your parents that I don't think they've told you."

LUKE'S POV

"Alright, Luke, I'll see you again next week."

I lean back in my chair and fold my arms. "I thought you said I don't have to come back weekly anymore."

My therapist pinches the bridge of her nose. "I've explained this many, many times already, Luke. That was before your relapse."

"I'm fine now."

"But we need to keep constant tabs on you. We're trying to help you, Luke. Please let us."

With that, I stand and walk out the door — my session is over, anyway. It doesn't matter that she doesn't listen, that no one listens, but I know I have it under control. Today's episode was just...an accident.

I run my hand through my hair in frustration. Why do I keep screwing things up?

My parents, who have been waiting outside the room since I was dragged in, get to their feet worriedly. My mom, unlike my dad, knows from experience not to approach me directly after a therapy session.

"How did it go, son? You okay? When do you have to come back?"

"Dad, stop."

He shuts up, and his face heats up. I feel embarrassed for some reason, and upset at myself for causing all this trouble. My therapist was right — everyone but me is trying to help me.

I give him an abrupt side hug, before pulling away just as fast. "I'm sorry. I'm just a bit edgy."

"Nah, it's all good, son."

My mom then slowly approaches me, which I actually hate because it makes me feel as if I'm a feral animal. Upon discovering that I'm not going to hurt her, she wraps me in a big hug, resting her head against my shoulder, not saying anything for a long time.

I suddenly feel extremely awkward, standing in the hall with my mom hugging me way too tight for a normal day. It's when she pulls away that I realise she had been crying.

"Mom, I—"

"Shh, let's go, we need to pick Clare up." She walks briskly towards the door, and my father and I have no choice but to follow her.

I mentally punch myself. I didn't even comfort her. Murmuring a curse under my breath, I run my hand through my hair in aggravation.

Looking up, I realise both my parents are staring at me.

"You okay, Luke?"

"Yeah."

"Then what—"

"It doesn't matter, come on." I pull open the car door and get inside before slamming the door closed, successfully dodging a weird conversation with my parents.

As we pull up outside Irabelle's house, I see her standing in the doorway, her blonde hair let loose, dressed in an oversized jersey, and some shorts.

But that's not what catches my attention. Connie Bellingham from the cheerleading squad is standing outside her door, talking to her as Irabelle grips the doorframe stiffly.

The part of me who is the school magazine reporter aches to snap a few shots and write an article, but I hold myself back.

"I'll go get Clare," I say before any of my parents can claim the job before me.

Stepping out of the car, I walk up the Beaniestein's lawn and towards the door. Irabelle's eyes are fixed on Connie, so concentrated that she doesn't even notice me.

Well, until I'm a few meters away from her. Immediately, both Connie and her go silent as they turn to me in unison. Connie's face immediately turns to one of relief, while Irabelle turns pale.

"Don't do that!" She snaps. Immediately I'm ticked off by her behavior. I didn't even do anything!

"What?" I retort. "Can't I pick my sister up? Is that against the law, Irabelle?"

"Beanie, is that Luke?" Clare's voice comes drifting from upstairs.

Two pairs of feet come thundering down the stairs and Blake and Clarity both try to squeeze past Irabelle, who lets them.

Clarity comes jumping into my arms and I pick her up without hesitation, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Hey! You can't kiss Clarity!" Blake calls from the ground, and I look down.

"She's my sister," I roll my eyes, balancing Clarity on my hip.

"Yeah, well, she's my..." Blake fumbles for a word, "she's my...best friend!"

I laugh.

"Sure, buddy, sure," I put Clarity down and let her hug Blake one last time.

"Bye, Blake!" She sends him a toothy smile and a wave. His face lights up instanteously as he returns a wave just as enthusiastic.

Just then, another car pulls up in the driveway and Irabelle races towards Blake, immediately grabbing his hand. She looks over at me anxiously.

"Go," she says, looking over at the car.

I raise my brows in question, but make my way back to my parents' car nonetheless.

And that's when a loud yell pierces my ears.

"Irabelle Beaniestein, what do you think you're doing?"

Irabelle freezes in the middle of the lawn, and shoos Blake inside the house. He goes without question, and that's how I know that Irabelle is in deep trouble. Clarity runs towards my parents' car.

Steel gray eyes meet mine. "What are you doing here, Luke Skywalker?"

Irabelle's father spits my name like it's poison.

•~•

"Do you understand that, Irabelle?" Irabelle's mother stares at her intensely, and I can feel her tension radiating off her in waves.

"Yes." Irabelle's answer is short and clipped, like it has been for the past hour.

"You're not even listening, are you? What is wrong with you? We've told you this so many times but it seems to me that you're a mental defect of some sort."

"Excuse me?" Irabelle raises her voice. "Oh wait, I understand now. You're talking about yourself. I only got half of your DNA. It seems to me that you have double of my defectiveness. Congratulations."

The slap comes hard and fast. "You will not talk like that to your mother." But it isn't that that makes my fist clench so tightly my knuckles turn white. It's his next sentence, "I believe the problem here is Luke Skywalker."

Red-eyed and shaking, Irabelle defends, "he has nothing to do with this."

"Shut up." Surprisingly, it is me who says that. Irabelle's gaze flickers over to mine.

"I appreciate it, but I can speak for myself." I send her a tight-lipped smile. Then I turn to face her parents.

"I'm sorry if you see me as a bad influence on your precious daughter, but in fact, it was not me who decided to make the Bucket List. And I also believe that the Bucket List is just another excuse for you two. You could tell the media that your daughter is misbehaving due to the Bucket List, when in fact it's because none of you actually understand her.

"Irabelle just wants people to see her for who she is, and not a rich kid that everyone looks at. I apologize if I sound rude to you, but I was not raised in such a posh environment. My parents aren't rich people — we own a small store in my neighborhood, but we know how to be grateful for what we have. Irabelle's been trying so hard to get you to accept the fact that she can't be the daughter you wanted."

I look over at Irabelle, who's staring at me with her mouth open.

"And in case you were wondering, yes, I have been to the juvenile detention centre more than once, and now my school magazine reporter status is the only thing keeping me in school, but I'm changing. I know so much about your daughter because I've interviewed one of her close friends, Lindsay Carter, and I sincerely hope that you will allow her to carry on with her Bucket List."

Having finished my piece, I lean back in my seat, satisfied. The room is now pin-drop silent, with everyone looking at me.

"We didn't ask for you to speak," Irabelle's mother says finally.

Well, that was a lame comeback. I shrug. "I was speaking up for your daughter because apparently you need some outside perspective."

She shuts up.

Sometime later, when the tension needs something stronger than a butcher knife to slice it, Irabelle grabs my arm and pulls me towards the door.

"Go," she says, her voice barely audible.

"What?"

"Go home, Luke. Don't ask Clarity to come over again," she says, her voice hoarse.

"But I—"

"Please, Luke. Please. For the sake of everyone, just stay away from my family."

"Irabelle—"

She opens the door and gently nudges me out. "Bye, Luke," she says softly before shutting the door.

I stare stupidly at the wooden door. Did she just lock me out of her house?

Yes, Luke, yes, she did.

I trudge back to my parents' car, while my parents and Clarity stare at me from inside, wide-eyed.

The moment I open the door, two pairs of eyes flicker to me and questions come spilling out one after another.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"Is Irabelle fine?"

"Where is Blake? Did he get hurt? He got hurt just now—"

"Hush, Clarity," my mom snaps, and Clare falls silent.

I scoop Clarity into my arms. "Blake was upstairs, safe and sound."

Clarity lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "We were planning to spray whipped cream on you and Irabelle, but the adults came and ruined our fun," she huffs, crossing her arms.

My dad's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror as he pulls out the driveway. "You both okay?"

"Yeah," I reply, avoiding his gaze and looking out the window.

When I get home, the first thing I do is go up down to the basement and look at the wall, trying to figure my life out. I whip out my phone on impulse. Siri's voice reaches my ears.

I groan and switch off the device, lying on my back and glaring at the ceiling. I've made mistakes, and I have to right my wrongs.

I switch my phone back on and dial the number that's been sitting at the top of my recent calls.

"Hey, Lindsay, do you think you can lend me a hand?"

•~•

Irabelle's POV

"Beanie," someone calls from behind me. I turn around to find Blake standing in his room, his door ajar.

"Don't call me that," I say, before turning to my room again.

What's wrong with me? Mom was right. The time I've spent on useless things have changed me so much, so much that I probably don't know who I am.

My mom has been standing on the side of the road opposite me, and she's told me that she has tried to reach out to me so many times, because I don't see what I'm doing to myself, until today.

Even Contessa agrees. My parents have done regrettable things too, but all for my own good. But then again, my mother has also done some awful things that benefited no one but herself.

As I find all the Bucket Lists in my room and lay them out on my desk, Lindsay's words ring out in my head.

"You've been waiting for this moment your whole life, Irabelle. Do it, and don't look back."

I close my eyes and lean my head against the desk. I can't keep the promises I made, and that's ripping me apart from the inside out.

If there's one thing I've learnt, it's that you should never let someone know you completely. It's not for your sake, it's for theirs, so that one day when you're different, you can minimize the hurt you cause.

I never want to be the culprit of a broken life. I never want to be the backstabbing best friend, the cheater girlfriend. I never want to break someone down because I just want to.

But this time, I don't have any other choice.

I stack the papers together and rip them down the middle, crush the torn pieces, and toss them into the waste basket.

I'm not looking back now.