~22~

Later that night, I watch as Rylie makes her bed and plugs her phone into its charging cord.

Not surprisingly, I haven't yet been able to rub off today's erupting incident. My hands are still clammy and the skin on my face instantly warms to the touch every time I think back on it. Should I tell Rylie about the fight—er, the kerfuffle? As much as I want to leave it in the past, Rylie had come up in topic several times, and I can't help but feel like she should know.

Plus, the argument had barely answered any of my questions, but rather sent a thousand more into chaotic flurry.

Though now I know that the dislike between Rylie and Amber is mutual, that's for certain.

"A lot of girls like attention. But you clenching your teddy bear while staring at me putting my retainer in is just plain weird." Rylie shakes her head, popping the molded plastic set up against her gums.

"Sorry. It's nothing. I'm fine." I blurt, each stout sentence sounding more suspicious than the one before.

I'm a terrible person.

And an even more terrible liar.

"Right." Rylie temporarily pauses her nightly routine and eyes me, "You're lucky I don't care enough to figure what you're lying about."

I let out a nervous chuckle and toss my teddy over next to my pillow. Taking out my scrunchie, I quickly finger comb through my hair and climb into the cool sheets that fit themselves around the stiff mattress. My tired blue eyes can't help but knowingly glance back up at Rylie with every movement.

"Do you have some sweatpants I could borrow to sleep in?" She asks, pulling her own set of sheets over her legs and taking off the day's pair of jeans.

She usually doesn't have a problem changing in front of me—though I guess I have pretty much been intently staring at her for the last half an hour. That might make someone slightly uncomfortable now that I think about it.

"It's super hot tonight, are you sure you don't just want to wear your usual running shorts?" I double-check.

"If I wanted to wear shorts I wouldn't have just asked for sweatpants, Brooklynn."

"Okay, okay." I raise a hand in surrender, "I think there's a pair at the foot of my bed."

She arches her eyebrow, "Hand them to me."

I purse my lips, more than puzzled by her odd actions tonight. Though she didn't question me on my awkwardness, so I suppose I should leave her's alone as well.

I stretch across the surface of the bed, my head hanging over its edge in search of the sweats. It would probably be easier to just get up and walk over to my pile of laundry, but that's not the Brooky way. I'm determined to both keep my feet under the blankets, and to not fall on my face. A treacherous task, I know, but one I manage to successfully complete.

Chucking the pants over to Rylie on the other side of the room, she puts them on from within the covers. She briefly hisses amongst her shifting, claiming that she has the worst leg cramp. Well, that explains her not wanting to stand I suppose.

I flip off the light switch just above my small nightstand, and Rylie almost simultaneously begins snoring.

I secretly envy her insane ability to so speedily fall asleep, anytime and any place. I'm usually wide awake for at least an hour or two each night, stuck with my own taunting thoughts.

Though frankly, Rylie being unconscious sort of eases the guilt of not telling her about Amber ripping her name a new one this afternoon. Maybe I'll sit down and talk about it with Rylie tomorrow, or maybe I won't.

Like I said, I'm a terrible person.

Deciding to check my phone one more time before settling to sleep, I tap against the dark screen and watch it instantly come to life—temporarily blinding myself. I adjust the brightness, and notice that I have a new voicemail I don't remember receiving. It's plausible that I had missed the call sometime during Oliver and Amber's little confrontation.

I click to see who the audible message is from, but I have to read the three-lettered name at least five times before it finally sinks in.

Mom. Mom called.

The voicemail is from her.

Unrecognizable emotions swirl inside of my chest. What could she possibly want? She can't just simply be checking up on me— she hadn't even bothered to shoot me a text some few weeks ago to make sure my plane had landed safely.

I guess I'll never know unless I listen to the message.

Making sure the volume isn't high enough to startle Rylie, I prop myself up on an elbow and press the speaker to my ear.

"Brooklynn, dear! How are you? I am currently heading into a meeting for some big projects, which I'm sure you'll hear about soon enough. But I wanted to check in on how your semester is turning out so far. How are your grades? Do you think you could send me a few pictures and the measurements for one of the pieces you've designed? I had the idea to mass produce one of your very own school assignments. Oh, the media would just eat that one up! Let me know what you think, and call me back as soon as you can— preferably between the hours of two and six p.m., either tomorrow or next Wednesday. Thanks, baby girl. Bye bye!"

My heart sighs as the recording cuts off.

Of course she wants something, she always wants something from me. Apparently she cares more about the next big marketing plan than my well-being newly living across the country— but I already know that. I always knew exactly how she would continue on once I left, because even when I lived with her, it was like I was gone.

At least now that I'm actually on my own, I am no longer suffocating in the repercussions of her money. That is enough to be grateful for.

Though now a new panic intertwines itself within my minute of self-pity— Mom wants to see a fashion design from her daughter whom is actually a music major.

I'm screwed beyond screwable.

My phone lights up again, with another incoming call. Really? Who is trying to contact me at ten o'clock at night?

And more importantly, why am I so popular all of a sudden?

I'm just as shocked to see Oliver's name on my screen as I was with my Mom's, if not more so.

I'm very tempted to decline the call, just roll over on my pillow and try to forget about life for the scant eight hours until my alarm goes off— but a small part of me more strongly wants to answer, and that nagging instinct wins over any logic. Perhaps I'm just looking for some kind of justification as to why he started what he did earlier.

Reluctantly slipping from out of my warm blankets, I answer the call, stepping into the bathroom in hopes of not disturbing my snoozing roommate.

Heavy breathing on the other side sets staticky fire to my speaker.

"Hello?" I talk softly.

There's no response except for more exaggerated breathing.

"Oliver? You're creeping me out."

The breathing becomes more rapid now.

"Look, I'm just going to go."

"No!" Oliver demands almost frantically, "Just talk." His voice sounds even coarser than normal, and he inhales irregularly, like he had just sprinted an entire marathon only seconds ago.

I uncomfortably rub chapped my lips, "About what happened today—"

"No, no. Not that." He wheezes, his words messily slurring into one another.

I dryly cough into the phone, pacing back and forth on the small bit of cool tile flooring. "I don't know what exactly you want from me, or what you even want me to talk about. Or why you called me in the first place. I should be asleep right now and—"

"Please, Brooklynn."

I frown, my expression concealed by the darkness around me. I lower the toilet lid and slowly take a seat on top of it, racking my brain for something to say. I attempt to remain quiet for a couple of minutes, but his panicked breathing tickles at my sympathy and causes me to feel sorry for the guy.

"Well, okay, um." I start, "I still sleep with a teddy bear, his name is Yellow. Which is probably not the best name for him, considering he's brown. But I almost named him Chalk—so give or take. Naming stuffed animals is harder than people make it look, or maybe I'm just indecisive." I allow the irrelevant words to crumble from out of my mouth.

Oliver mumbles something that I can't quite make sense of.

"I think my feet are claustrophobic." I continue, "I hate socks, but I hate pulling my feet under the covers even more. It makes me feel like I can't breathe, so basically, I'm doomed to forever have freezing cold toes."

I am not graced with any reply. Tough crowd.

"Um, I started writing something new over the weekend. I was thinking I might use this melody for the chorus—"

He swallows.

And just like that, I begin singing, completely alone, on the toilet, in my pitch-black dorm bathroom.

Sometimes the road to following your dreams has its peaking moments, and sometimes, it doesn't.

I sing the half-constructed lyrics into the phone, humming in places I hadn't yet filled in the blanks. The rhythm is gentle, and the mood of the song rests heavily in emotion. Since I haven't written much except the chorus, I repeat it on through once more, my voice remaining hushed in my growingly sleepy state.

An undetermined amount of time drifts by, but I decide to stop when a squeaky yawn takes control over my throat. The night air is now consumed by silence again, and I notice that Oliver's breathing has somewhat calmed.

Suddenly I can hear him shuffling, then running water swells in the background. Gulping noises bounce off of my eardrums one at a time, before Oliver finally lets a deep and effective exhale escape his lungs.

"Thanks, princess."

I confusedly nod, for no one but myself, "Sure."

"Goodnight," he bids.

The line dies.

I continue to sit here for a minute or two, completely dumbstruck.

Did I seriously just sing Bulldozer a lullaby?

•••

Trying to kill the last few minutes of my free period, I explore some of the hallways in MACC that I had never wandered along prior. Despite all of the strange occurrences surrounding yesterday and last night, I had eventually been able to fall asleep not too long after returning to bed. But now that I'm awake and fully functional again, my brain is desperate for a declutter.

I've never been good at distracting my one-track-mind. When something eventful happens, I can't stop thinking about it until I know the exact reason behind it, and precisely how it makes me feel.

Though speaking of feelings, I don't think I'm actually mad at Oliver anymore. Or instead, my previous anger has been tucked away by worry. Our phone call last night was too peculiar to ignore. I want to make sure he's okay.

And my wish looks like it just might be granted when I catch a glance of his jet black hair somewhere behind a crowd of oncoming students.

"Hey! Oliver!" I attempt to get his attention.

His head swivels and he makes eye contact, a pair of vibrant green orbs studying my pale blue ones. I watch his chest rise and fall as he thinks for a moment, seemingly hesitant to approach me. He then walks beyond me, barely missing my shoulder as he briskly passes.

What was that about?

I had only meant to check up on him, but maybe his exhausted complexion and the puffy circles weighing down his under eyes provide enough of an answer for me already.

I just don't understand him, I haven't since the first time we crudely met. One day the Bulldozer hates me and destroys my personal property, and the next day he wants to make music together. Then he goes as far as to defend me against something of a bully, and calls me in the middle of the night, only to ignore me the next morning. Who would knowingly do such contradicting things towards another person?

And why do I care?

"What's up, Brooklynn?" Another voice cheerily interrupts my frustrated thoughts.

I turn and quickly sprout a smile, recognizing my second favorite dancer at this school, "Hey, Zach."

"You're friends with McCally?" He lifts an eyebrow.

"Kind of?" I answer, frankly unconvinced myself. I have no idea what our relationship would even be categorized under.

"I mean, I've only been here for a couple of weeks and I have already heard a lot about him. He was kicked out of his last school, you know?"

I nod. I had heard that rumor before, but I've never actually brought it up in conversation to find out whether or not it's a true statement.

"Alright, you do you. Just be careful, yeah?" Zachary says. His tanned neck glistens like he has just come from either a workout or rehearsal, and damp blonde strands fall against his attractive face.

"I will. Oliver's just a complicated and moody partner, that's all."

"Tell me about it. Rylie is cranky, bossy and all over the place. It confuses me—but it's also kind of hot." Zachary chuckles.

I toss him a strange look, surprised by his sudden compliment.

He shrugs and laughs again, "Don't judge me for my weird kinks and I won't judge you for your questionable friendship choices, deal?" He extends a hand out to me.

"Agreed." I giggle, grasping his hand and giving it a small shake, "I've been meaning to ask you how the duet is coming along?"

"Great! Or good, I should say. The dance itself has developed into something really insane. I'm excited for you to see it on performance day, but—" He pauses, appearing to stumble around for the right way to communicate the other side to the story, "Rylie keeps getting this leg cramps." Zachary pulls out a pair of finger quotations.

"Yeah, she had one last night too," I say.

"For real? Because I feel like it's mostly an excuse. I've been screwing up my step timing lately, and I think it's really irritating her. I just don't want to let her down." He cups a hand around his opposite shoulder.

"I don't know what's wrong, but don't be too hard on yourself. I may not be an expert, but from what I've seen you're crazy talented. Rylie will come around. And you're cute too, which helps." I attempt to encourage him.

His cheeks instantly flush a subtle pink shade as he melts back into an adorably cheesy grin, "Thanks Brooklynn, you're the best."

Ready to spit out a sarcastic response, I barely realize someone placing a soft tap against my arm.

I turn to meet Cassandra's freckle dotted cheeks, "Can we talk?" she whispers.

I offer Zachary a short wave goodbye and curiously follow Cassandra into the women's bathroom. It's one of the smaller bathrooms inside the school, with only two currently vacant stalls.

After sparing a few glances to make sure that we're completely alone, Cassandra anxiously rubs her chin and spins to face me, "I just wanted to apologize for everything that went down yesterday."

"It's okay, really—"

"No." Cassandra objects, the girl's tone the most stern-sounding I had ever heard from her, "Let me apologize, on behalf of Amber, because I know she'll never do it herself. The things that she said, she shouldn't have. It wasn't, and still isn't, okay."

I awkwardly fidget, unsure of what to say.

"But, I also have to defend Amber."

"What?" I can't help but ask. Just simply resurfacing this conversation already has me a little shaken.

Cassandra sighs, "No one was ever supposed to find out that Hawklins is my mom. I knew that it would cause a lot of problems for both me and my music if it ever got out. But I suppose, what I want you to know is that Amber is not my friend to get the perks or whatever of the principal's daughter. Amber has been my best friend for forever, before my mom even had the job."

"I understand," I say, "but to be honest, this is all my fault. If I hadn't accused her, she wouldn't have gotten angry and outed your secret." I admit.

"Don't blame yourself, Amber is the one who practically yelled it out for the whole school to hear. It almost feels like she broke the last strand of trust in our friendship." Cassandra scratches at the top of her scalp, ruffling her short hairstyle, "If anything. It's my fault."

"Well, you were just standing there so—"

"No, no. It's my fault for still trusting Amber in the first place. She's been slipping for over a year now, further and further from the girl she used to be. She's lost herself, she doesn't know who she is anymore. Maybe his whole thing is a wake up call, because I know, I know deep down in my heart that I don't want to be associated with her anymore. But she's always been a part of my life, she's familiar. She's safe."

"I get it, I really do. It's scary to let go." I bite my lip, watching Cassandra's broken expression.

I could ask her right here and now what started all of this. Why Amber is who she is today. I could find the answers I've been looking for.

But I can't force Cassandra to say anything more, not when she looks as through she's about to break down into tears.

I want to give her a hug instead, but I'm not confident that the action would make her feel any more at ease. She tends to keep everything to herself—her body, her words, her thoughts and her feelings. I'm honored that she feels comfortable enough around me to have told me what she just did.

"You know that I won't tell anyone about you and your mom, right?" I assure her.

I understand the situation better than she knows, because I've been keeping my mom's identity hidden from everyone as well.

"I know." Cassandra gently smiles. "You're the best."

"So I've been told." I let out a lighthearted chuckle.

•••

I've made up my mind. I have to talk to Rylie.

I practically race towards our dorm room as soon as the last bell of the day sounds. I'm aware that I might beat her there, but I can't take the chance of missing her on the way to her after-school-practice.

I'm too drained by all of this high school drama, I can't do it anymore. I just need Rylie to answer a couple of questions. Maybe then the air will clear enough to be able to breathe again.

Determinedly, I swipe my keycard to unlock the door. I don't have any proof that she's even in the room yet, but as soon as my fingers envelope around the knob, I'm already calling out to her, "Rylie, we need to have a serious talk—what the?"

"Shit!" She screams, frantically throwing a blanket over her bare legs.

My eyes widen while the muscles in my face contract, trying to wince at the same time.

Frick.

I definitely was not supposed to see that.