School announced that since the Halloween dance had to be canceled due to the storm, they're rescheduling for February 14th. Valentine's Day. Oh, joy. It was a last-minute decision, leaving us with only two weeks to prep, but I suppose anything is better than nothing... to most people. As much as I actually do enjoy dances and beautifying myself for a single night, I really haven't been feeling it this time.

Since Bryson has been absent from school, my life has been depleted of all thoughts of romance. I have no one I'm trying to impress anymore, and because of that I've found myself drifting further and further into this ugly, careless state. In a way, it's freeing. I can dress and act however I like because I have zero concern for the opinions of anyone watching. The downside is realizing just how fake I'd been when Bryson was around.

And then, of course, there's also the downside of poor hygiene and a lazy appearance. The fact that no eager, passion-hungry boys have approached me is proof of just how low I've fallen... though, I can't say I was being approached much before all this either. The worst part about it? I just don't give a flying poop nugget. I look like trash and nobody is bothering to hide the fact that they think so.

"Hey there, Booger," Chloe greets me brightly as I saunter into school in sweat pants and a black marshmallow coat.

She claims I look as though I've been freshly picked from someone's nostril and then crumpled up into a soggy tissue. It's quite cruel, really, but I laughed when she explained the new nickname to me the first time she muttered it a couple of weeks ago. Rather than using a generic description, she put the effort into creating her own. I don't look like crap; I look like a booger. A fresh one at that. She put thought into her word choice, meaning it's absolutely true.

Doesn't help that it seems to be catching on with the rest of the student body.

"Hi, Boo!" Cooper shouts from the other end of the hallway, using his nickname of my new nickname.

"Hi, Poopy Coopy!" I holler back, rolling my eyes before grabbing Chloe's arm and pulling her down the hall toward him.

I wouldn't say the two of us are back to normal, but I finally decided I was done giving Cooper the cold shoulder. Trust still hasn't bloomed back to life, and maybe it never will, but we are friends. I love Cooper. I always will. But there is no way on earth I'll ever share the same feelings he has for me. Even if he'd never broken my heart, he's just not my type. Unlike Claudia, I prefer less goofy and more sweet in my men.

"You look ripe this morning!" Cooper says, looking me up and down with a wide grin stretched across his face. You'd think he'd just given me a compliment based on his expression, but that's not the case.

Lifting an arm, I take a whiff of my pit and frown.

"I don't stink," I defend.

"Didn't say you did," Cooper shrugs. "Just that you look like you do. But hey—" He lifts his hands in defense. "—you do you. I kinda like it. Looks like you literally rolled out of bed and then didn't stop rolling until you got to school."

Chloe starts laughing and I try to jump in with an insult of my own, but Cooper cuts me off.

"But—" he points a finger at me in warning to stay quiet. "But... somehow you still look stunning. Beneath the bird's nest and layers of filth and yellowing teeth and trash-bag T-shirts, you're still quite breath-taking."

"Yes," Chloe agrees, "because the smells you're radiating literally take my breath away."

Now both of them are laughing as I stand unamused with arms crossed over my chest.

"You're both idiots," I gripe, running my hands through my hair a couple times before pulling it up into a fresh ponytail. "If you must know, I took a shower last night."

"Really?" Claudia gasps. "How in the world do you look like a homeless dog in just one night? I'm actually quite impressed."

"I'd be careful," I warn. "You two keep making fun of me and I might just sneak into your room tonight, cup my lips around your entire nose, and breathe my homeless dog breath directly into your lungs."

I swear Cooper nearly hacks up his stomach as laughter blasts from his throat. Chloe simply lifts an eyebrow—looking genuinely impressed—and then nods in defeat.

"You win," she pouts, clapping her hands limply together. "You win."

"Yeah," I grin. "That'll teach you not to mess with the Booger again."

I'm feeling smug, chest puffed up and arms crossed, as I wallow in my victory... and then I see him.

"Holy Crap!" I breathe, ducking to hide myself behind Chloe's frame. "He's back. Why today of all days! I look like a booger and smell like a homeless dog and he chooses today of all days to return! Why would he come back today?"

"Hate to break it to ya, Ev," Cooper says, slapping me sympathetically on the shoulder, "but he could have returned last week and nothing would have been any different. You still would have been Booger, the homeless dog."

"I think..." I pause to ponder my words before lifting my eyes to meet Cooper's. "I think I genuinely hate you right now."

He laughs, shrugging as if he assumed as much.

"Ev," Chloe says, turning me by the shoulders to face her. "In all seriousness, you don't look that bad. In fact, you smell kind of amazing... like, what body wash have you been using because I want it. Appearance-wise, you do look a little haggard, but it could definitely be worse. Just..." she glances around the hall in Bryson's direction. "Just slip into the bathroom really quick and try to wash off some of whatever that is." She points an unsure finger at my mouth, trying her best to hide her disgust.

"Right. Yes." I quickly sidestep my blue-eyed friend and make a beeline for the girl's bathroom. My friends are jerks, but they're also the best kind of people. Their honesty only stings for a moment, but I know they've got my back... at least Chloe does. Cooper, I'm still not too sure.

When I return from washing the dried drool from my cheek, I find Cooper chatting it up with Bryson. Chloe's leaned against the wall tapping away on her phone, attempting to look distracted even though I can tell by the slightly glazed look on her face that she's not looking at her screen at all. She's looking through it. Because right now, the only things working are her ears.

"Hear anything interesting?" I whisper, sidling up beside her and glancing across the hall where the two boys are talking. Neither of them seems to realize we're even within hearing distance.

"Uh..." Chloe tucks her phone into her back pocket and turns to face me, concern woven into her brows. "Yeah, kind of."

"What? Spit it out."

"So, the dance is in two weeks. The Valentine's dance."

I nod, obviously aware of this information.

"Well," she pinches her bottom lip between her fingers and gives me a worried look, "it seems Claudia asked Bryson to go with her."

"To the dance?" I whisper-yell. "Seriously? Why would she do that? She knows that—" My chest feels tight, like it's filling with steam. I'm going to combust and I can only hope that Claudia is nearby when it happens so I can take her out with me.

"Hey," Chloe soothes, "you might wanna go get some air. You look like you might snap a neck soon."

"Yeah," I nod, muttering under my breath. "Claudia's neck."

"You want me to come with you?" she offers as I start down the hall.

"No, thanks."

I push my way through the crowd and out the main entrance. It's freezing outside, but the cold seems to be exactly what I need right now to douse the flames blazing beneath my chest. Jealousy is an ugly thing. It brings out the worst in people and I hate that Claudia has the power to bring it out in me.

It's not like Bryson belongs to me in any way. She has every right to ask him out. They even have the freedom to date, get married, and make babies together if they want. I have no say. And yet, I'm utterly devastated that neither one of them seemed to even consider my feelings when they agreed to go to the dance together.

My goodness, I've become such a whiny, sappy, sucker. None of this has anything to do with me, but somehow I've managed to make it all about me. It's a silly dance. That's it. It's not like she proposed to him. Though, if I don't step in and make my intentions known, their relationship could very well grow into one of those 'I married my high school sweetheart' scenarios, and I'm not at all ready for that.

But, not right now. I'm too pissed off to do anything right now. I'd only make myself look like a fool. I might even start crying if I approach Bryson about how I feel. So, for the time being, I'm just going to sit back, relax, and hide my hideous, dog-smelling self from Bryson's sight. If I have any hope of winning him later, I absolutely can't let him see me now at my lowest.

I let out a heavy breath, watching the cloud of chilled air leave my lips as it drifts away. Turning, I start to make my way back into the building and come to an instant halt. Every single nerve in my body goes into panic mode and I find my hands fumbling to smooth down stray hairs and iron out wrinkles in my sweatpants. Even my feet are trying to figure out what to do as they shuffle idiotically beneath me.

"Bryson," I croak, almost choking on a nervous laugh.

"Hey."

If he thinks something's off with me, he doesn't show it. In fact, the smile on his face might even indicate that he's happy to see me. Why on earth would he be happy to see this mess of a human being?

"Chloe mentioned you came out here," he explains, though he doesn't elaborate as to why he felt the need to join me.

"Oh," I mumble, clueless as to why Chloe would even send Bryson after me when I look like a freakin' booger. Doesn't she understand that I need to protect my pride and watching Bryson watch me is killing my self-worth.

"It's been awhile," he says, coming to stand beside me as he faces the parking lot. "You never came back to my place after that one visit."

I turn, quirking a brow at him. He tilts his head down, lifting his lips into a lazy grin when he sees my expression.

"Did you—" I clear my throat. "Were you hoping I'd actually come back?"

"Yeah," he responds without any hesitation. "Of course. I mean, I felt like we'd made progress." His tone turns passionate, borderline frustrated as he continues. "I've always considered you a friend, but these last few months since the... you know, tornado, I've found myself thinking about you. Wondering what your opinion about something would be. Or wondering what you might be up to or if you'd be willing to just hang out with me. I was starting to think of you as a real friend. Someone I could really talk to. Someone I could trust and open up to. I've needed that, especially from you. Because even though you don't know what I've been going through—with my back and head issues—you understand what went down in that basement. The fear, the hopelessness, the bonding. You're the only one who understands that." He sighs, running a hand down his face. "I needed you."

I stare at him for several long seconds, my world spinning at the realization of what he's just confessed. While I'm over here sulking about Bryson going to the dance with Claudia, he's been mulling over our relationship to a point where he can't contain himself anymore. It's like he had an emotional bomb ticking beneath his chest and it just exploded all over me.

Blinking, I reach for Bryson's forearm, dragging his attention away from the parking lot and back to me.

"Seems you've needed to get that off your chest for awhile," I tell him, laughing softly.

He chuckles as he nods. "I guess so."

Taking a step away from me, he leans against the wall beside the main doors, his attention riveted to me as he rubs his knuckles along his jaw.

"Sorry," he mutters. "I didn't mean to blow up like that, but every word is true. I'd really love to keep getting to know you. All of this drama has made me realize what kind of person you are and somehow, through all of this, you've become really important to me."

"That's, uh—" I cough, a smile twitching at my lips. "That's really nice to hear."

He nods once. "Good. So we're on the same page? No more avoiding each other?"

"Sure."

"We're friends now," he tells me. "You can't hide from me anymore. I don't care what happened down in that basement or if you feel humiliated about anything that was said down there. We are friends and you're not allowed to abandon me."

It's then that I recall Bryson's worst fear. How he hates being alone. And I can't help but wonder if that's how he's felt these last couple weeks. His parent's work constantly and he's just stuck at home with no one but a robotic tutor who's only there to do her job so she can get paid and then leave. Was I the only one who made an effort to visit him? The thought makes my insides quiver in pity.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, voice caught in my throat. "I'm really sorry."

Before I can think twice about my actions, I'm stepping toward him and wrapping my arms around his waist. For a second, he simply stands there, arms limp at his side, before he pulls me into him. His left hand slides into my hair while his other hand caresses my lower back. It's the warmest I've felt in weeks, even with the winter chill biting at any inch of exposed flesh it can reach. When Bryson has me in his arms, no part of me can even feel the cold...

... except for my heart.

Because it's a cold, cold feeling to realize you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back.