Mild trigger warning for this chapter and any upcoming ones if you're sensitive to self-harm and/or suicide. There's nothing graphic/super descriptive, but continue with caution <3

I tossed my head back in laughter at the story Kenny had just told me of the way his fiancé had proposed to him. "That's insane!" I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief. "I aspire to be that extra."

      Kenny raised an eyebrow at me. "You planning on proposing?"

      My cheeks heated up. "What? No! That's not what I—I mean eventually, yeah."

     "To Lucas?"

     My face grew even redder. "Well of course," I said shyly, casting my gaze toward the computer's keyboard. "Who else?"

      Kenny chuckled at my embarrassment. "You're such a loser, Nate," he said, shaking his head in amusement.

      Kenny and I had FaceTimed almost every night since I came to Natalie's, whether it be a fifteen minute call or a three hour one. I was still so excited to have him back in my life, and I couldn't quite let go of that. Luckily, though, he shared my excitement.

     Despite the fact that I'd seen his face several times now, I couldn't get over how similar to me he looked. Other than his brown, curly hair; his dark eyes; and his slimmer build; we looked the same. The same nose—though his was pierced on one side with a silver ring—the same lips, even the same eyebrows. Of course, he looked older than I did, but not by much. He was like the brother I'd never had.

     He acted like it, too. He joked and teased and gave advice like older siblings do. He told me what to expect from college—after all, he'd gone go NYU just a year before—and how to handle the few homophobes that one sometimes encountered in New York, and what to do if someone was shamelessly flirting with my boyfriend, among other things. His advice ranged from trivial to perspective-changing, and I soaked up every bit of it.  

      One of the things I loved most about talking to him was the weird ability he seemed to have to instantly raise the mood throughout an untrue room just by smiling, because he absolutely lit up when he did—I'd admired that even as a child. Kenny was always happy, and his happiness was contagious.

     "Woah, chill with the heart-eyes, hun," he teased. "This isn't Alabama."

      "Jesus, Kenny," I laughed. "You're so fucking weird."

      As the days passed, I realized that my friend count was quickly growing, now including Kenny, Natalie, and Renaldo.

      Those two, I should add, were pretty damn awesome. We bonded sort of instantaneously, and they felt more like roommates than people who'd chosen to take a poor kid in. I tried to spend as much time over at friends' houses as possible in order to avoid becoming, as Renaldo had put it, "a massive cockblock", but I still spent the majority of my time laughing at dumb cartoons with them in the living room.

      They came in handy, too. Turns out they were both crazy smart, and they helped me study for my approaching exams, doing a better job at explaining the material to me in a week than my teachers had done all year.

     I was rushing to throw on my uniform, already five minutes late to practice and not wanting to do any more laps than I was sure I'd already have to as penalty, when Natalie walked, unannounced, into the room.

     She laughed as she watched me hop around futilely, trying to pull on my sock and put deodorant on under my shirt at same time. As it turned out, I wasn't a good multitasker, and I ended up falling pathetically onto my bed.

       Natalie snorted and bent down to pick up my other sock, tossing it to me and suggesting that I try to put it on like a normal person. Resigning to the fate that I would no doubt receive—that fate being ten extra laps—I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled the sock on "like a normal person".

      I glanced up at Natalie, who was still looking at me like I was a puppy trying to lick peanut butter off of its snout. She wasn't what I'd call "girly", so I was surprised to see that she was wearing a tight burgundy dress, had on makeup, and was holding a purse.

     "Damn," I whistled, grinning up at her. "You look like a million bucks, Nat."

     "Thanks babe," she said with a giggle. "Renaldo is being romantic for once in his life and taking me out to some fancy dinner, and I need your help." She held up two small red plastic bottle-cylinder-things, one in each hand. "Lipstick or lipgloss?"

       I blinked cluelessly at her. "Is there a difference?"

     Natalie rolled her eyes. "God, you're useless," she groaned, sitting down next to me. "Call Lucas."

     "I've gotta get to practice," I protested, glancing anxiously at the ticking clock. "I'm already late."

     "Call him—this is an emergency," she insisted, and I gave in, pulling out my phone and calling him. "FaceTime, dumbass—he needs to see me."

       I gave her the phone, figuring she'd manage better on her own. "Woah, you're not my boyfriend," Lucas said upon answering.

     "What gave it away?" Natalie teased. "Anyways, important question."

      "Important answer."

      She handed me the phone and stood up, making me act as her cameraman as she showed off her outfit and held up the lip-wear so he could see. "Lipgloss or lipstick?" She asked.

     "Hm," Lucas hummed, pursing his lips in thought. "Nate, move the phone so I can see her shoes." I fought the urge to roll my eyes into oblivion and angled the camera farther down. "Lipstick," he decided.

      She grinned triumphantly at me, and I stuck my tongue out at her. "I like your boyfriend more than I like you," she said, and Lucas raised his eyebrows smugly. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out another lipstick, holding it up and asking, "Satin or matte?"

     "Matte," Lucas said without hesitation. "For sure."

     "Can I go now?" I whined; at this rate, I'd be running laps all of practice.

      "Fine, fine," Natalie said, standing and shoving her lipsticks into her purse. "Go be a jock and shit." She waved through the phone at Lucas. "Thanks for the help, love."

      He grinned. "No problem. I'm sorry my boyfriend is so hopeless when it comes to important matters."

     Natalie laughed as she left, and I glared at Lucas. "Fuck you," I said.

      He laughed. "I love you," he cooed, making a kissy face at me. I couldn't help but laugh with him.

      "Love you too," I said. "But seriously, coach is gonna grill my ass if I don't go now."

Fifteen laps. Not exactly worth it, but I'd done worse in the past.

      When practice had ended, leaving me sweaty and exhausted and in need of a good shower, I walked with Trevor to the parking lot. It was only when he pointed it out that I realized I did, in fact, have the wrong ball tucked under my arm. Instead of grabbing my own, I'd taken one of coach's.

      Which would have been no big deal, but coach was a stickler when it came to his equipment, and if I'd thought fifteen laps today was bad, I didn't want to find out what would happen when he realized I'd taken one of his balls.

      That said, I didn't hesitate to turn around and jog back to the field, over to the toolshed where he kept all of his shit. I quickly swapped his ball for mine, and would have left after that if my curiosity hadn't been stirred by the smell of smoke coming from my left.

     I followed the smell, walking around to the side of the shed to see Shawn sat with his back against the navy-painted wall, a cigarette between his lips. He was staring ahead sort of blankly, though there was nothing to look at other than the small form of Donner Road in the distance.

     "Since when do you smoke?" I asked him. Shawn did a lot of dumb stuff, but I'd never seen him smoke. Not tobacco, at least.

      "Get off my dick," he said without looking at me.

       I raised my hands defensively. "Just trying to be a friend," I said. Shawn laughed humorlessly, taking the cigarette from his mouth; I screwed my nose up at the strong smell of the smoke.

     "When have we ever been friends?" He asked, lifting his chin to look at me. I shrugged, trying to conceal my surprise at the random inquiry. "I'm just being real," he said. "Not that I blame you."

      I wanted to ask where all of this was coming from, but I was stuck in a weird realm between caring and not. Looking at Shawn now, after what Lucas had told me, I didn't know what to think about him. "I don't get you."

     His lips quirked slightly. "Yeah?"

      "You know you're awful, but you don't do anything to change," I mused. "Weird."

      Another dry laugh. "You got me. Down to a T."

      "Is that what you use as your excuse for why you treat Lucas the way you do?"

      The question seemed to startle him, because he fumbled for a moment with his cigarette before taking another drag. He didn't answer.

     "Yet you don't let anyone hit him," I continued, thinking out loud more than anything, and Shawn narrowed his eyes.

     "He's my brother."

     "Bullshit," I said, taking him by surprise again. "You've done way worse than hit him."

    "You got an issue all of a sudden, Jean?" He asked darkly.

     "I've got a lot of them, actually. Seems like you do, too."

     Shawn whistled in agreement. "Amen to that," he said with a chuckle. Then he changed the subject rather abruptly. "Say, where are you going to college again?"

       "NYU," I told him. "You?" I didn't particularly care where he went to school—as long as it was far away from me—but I felt obligated to ask.

      "Pace University."

      The answer, as casually as it had been delivered, left me trying not to gape. Pace University—or at least one of its campuses—was in Manhattan. "Isn't that a private school?"  I asked, not fully believing that a guy like Shawn could get into a school like Pace.

     "I'm not all that dumb, you know," he huffed. "Plus, I kick ass at soccer. One way or another, I got in."

"Didn't know you wanted to go to school in NYC," was my lame way of trying to figure out why the hell I would have to live within fifty miles of him.

He seemed amused by my lack of subtlety, and for once he saw through me just like his brother did. When his gaze was so analytical, he looked a lot more like Lucas, and I got the same uncomfortable, twitchy feeling I'd gotten so often at the beginning of the year whenever said boy gave me that look. "Don't worry," he said, his eyes twinkling. "You won't ever hear from me there."

"Planning to keep your distance?" I guessed; in all fairness, Manhattan was one of those places where you could live one floor away from someone and never see their face. The exact opposite of Nowhere, Nebraska.

He shook his head. "Not going," he said instead.

"Then what are you—"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You're staying here?"

"Jesus, I feel like I'm at a job interview," he chuckled. "You want me to just give you my autobiography?"

     Shrugging, I shook my head. "Nah. I just want to know why you're wasting your time with drugs and shit when you've got so much going for you. Pace is a pretty good school, and like you said, you kick ass at soccer. Who knows where you could end up? But you're not gonna get anywhere if you skip out on university and spend your time smoking behind equipment sheds. You could do so many epic things, and instead you're gonna throw away your life."

     He absentmindedly tossed what remained of his cigarette to the pavement. "Yeah? And who would care if I did?" With a short, he said, "You?"

"Maybe; maybe not," I admitted. It was always hard to feel sympathy for a guy like Shawn, but when he was plotting his own destruction . . . It suddenly became hard not to. But what was I supposed to say to him? We weren't friends, and there was no point in lying and telling him I'd mourn if he crashed and burned. "But the people who knew you before you became the person you pretend to be now definitely will."

     Shawn only rolled his eyes, so I continued.  "Your mom," I said. "Your dad." I stepped on the cigarette, putting it out under my foot. "Your brother."

Not knowing what else to say to him, I turned to walk away.

"By the way, thanks," he said, causing me to glance back over my shoulder. "For helping Lucas back when he had his allergy attack. I never thought I'd actually say this to you, and I guess it's kinda random now, huh?" he mused, "But I guess I might as well, since we're being the closest to real with each other that we've ever been in the however many years we've been 'friends'. You did what I couldn't, so yeah—thanks."

"You make no sense, Shawn Morgan," I said, then I walked away.

As one week moved into the next, I could feel the energy increasing throughout the school in anticipation for summer. This was most obvious among the seniors, who couldn't wait to blow this place.

Emotions weren't all high, though. Ever since Lucas told me about what had happened with Damien, I couldn't find it in myself to treat him the same way. I never instigated anything serious, but I was constantly pissy with him—more than usual, which was saying something—and I wasn't sorry for it. It took all of my self control not to smack him into another dimension every time he looked at me; I had no effort left to put toward being nice, or even decent, to him.

Not to mention, he seemed to get more obnoxious as the end of the year neared. Every comment he made had my eyes twitching. All he talked about were the girls he wanted to screw with before he left, and one of them—the one he brought up most—was Lilliana. I think he had extra fun sexualizing and objectifying her because he knew it pissed me off, since she was a good friend of mine.

Even worse, he'd been extra horrible to Lucas lately. Whether it was to his face or behind his back, he was constantly making comments about him, and I'd taken to snapping at him for it, not caring what he thought of that. I found it hilariously ironic, because I was positive he still wanted to get in Lucas' pants, and would if he could. That was too bad, though.

       I'd been restraining myself, taking Lucas' words to heart and staying out of trouble. My grip on myself was slowly unraveling, though, and it didn't take much for me to nearly let go entirely.

      It was the next Tuesday—two weeks away from the end of the school year. I was walking Lilly to class, laughing at something she'd said, when he stopped in passing her to smirk and say, "Hey, freak, when you gonna let me in?"

     Lilly scowled. "You're disgusting," she said. Before she could pass him, he stepped in front of her.

"Fuck off, Damien," I snapped, but he ignored me, stepping closer to Lilly only to have her step back.

"I know you're lonely," he said, clearly mocking her. "Give in and I'll be the first good thing to happen in your fucked up life."

     With every word he said, I was fairly certain I lost at least six neural connections. Damien Diggory was straight up stupid, and the sad part was that he didn't even realize it. The poor boy had no idea how unbearably dumb he sounded each time he opened his mouth.

"Get away from me," Lilly hissed. Her gaze held strong, but I could see in the twitch of her face that his words had at least annoyed her. She didn't like when people brought up her home life, and he was throwing it at her as if it would coerce her into having any interest in him. He stepped forward again, forcing her back into the lockers.

"Seriously," I said with an annoyed sigh. "Fuck off."

Damien didn't so much as spare me a glance; he just continued staring intimidatingly down at Lilly. "Don't be such a bitch," he said lowly. "Give me an hour and maybe for once your life won't seem so fucking worthless."

The expression on her face made me let go, just for a moment, of the grip I had on myself. As mindless as he was, he was still hurting her, trying to make her feel horrible so that she would then feel vulnerable, and then be his for the taking. It was disgusting, even more so now that I knew he'd done it before.

"You think it's okay," I said, half to myself at first. Damien, surprised by my tone, turned to look at me, still standing between Lilly and I, and I gave her a pointed look over his shoulder. She took the message and turned to leave just as the bell rang, forcing entertained spectators to hurry on to class.

Damien cursed as he realized I'd distracted him, snatching his opportunity. "Jesus, Nate, you're such a prick sometimes," He fumed, moving to storm away down the hall, now empty save for the two of us. But I wasn't done yet.

I grabbed his wrist, forcing him to turn back around, and got in his face a little. "You think it's okay," I repeated, louder this time, "to degrade people and make them feel like absolute shit, and then have your way with them. You are, in all definitions of the phrase, a horrible person. Tell me, have you ever once in your life tried to build someone up?"

He smirked infuriatingly, mockingly holding his hands up in surrender. "No need to lash out, Jean. You think I don't know why you're doing it?"

"Be quiet," I snapped.

He laughed a laugh full of menace. "Your boy-toy put you up to it?"

     I felt something in me constrict, unnerved and startled.

     "Don't take it out on me," he continued tauntingly,  "just because you're mad I fucked your little boyfriend before you did."

     I was more than a little shocked at how brash he was being. But it seemed to me that he'd known that I knew about him for a long time now, just as I, somewhere, had known that he knew about me. It was infuriating that he'd chosen to use that against me—trying to provoke me with Lucas' past, trying to make me jealous just because they'd had sex. That's all anything was to him, ever. Sex.

    Maybe he, just as I, had been keeping a hold on himself, censoring his words and actions, up until this point. And so he, just as I, was—at least temporarily—releasing.

"Shut the hell up, Damien," I said, hearing my own anger slip more and more into my voice with each word.

"You're just pissed," he said, that smirk still plastered onto his face, "because you know what I did, and you're still not over it. You know I was the one to point out to Shawn that you dropped Lucas home everyday, and that you were always at his house—among other things. You know I told your dirty little secret."

     I felt my fists clench, tight enough to hurt when my nails dug into my palms. That was, though upsetting, not surprising in the slightest—Damien, it seemed, had a knack for starting rumors. If only he had the mental capacity to realize that those rumors could be turned back on him so easily, it was almost funny.

     But Damien was a Grade-A Idiot, so of course he didn't realize that. Instead, he continued, menacing and oblivious as ever.

     "You're mad that I could go to Lucas' house anytime and call him a fag and he would still spread his legs for me like the little whore he is."

Any chance I'd had at regaining my grip fell between my fingers as my eyes blurred with something like rage. He had actually just said that. Before I could tell myself to think, I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him as roughly as I could back into the lockers, satisfied by the loud crashing sound the collision made, and even more satisfied by the way he winced.

"You need to shut your fucking mouth," I seethed in a much lower voice, moving my face close to his so that I could catch every trace of intimidation in his eyes. He'd never seen me like this before, and it scared him. I scared him, and that felt awesome. 

I didn't scare him enough to be smart, though. He leaned in even closer to me, so that our noses were nearly touching. "He still like it rough?" He jeered. His gaze raked swiftly down my form and back up, then down and up again, and I realized that fear and aggression weren't the only things I saw in his expression. There was something else; something less like anger and more like sinister, even smug appreciation. He had the nerve to be checking me out right now, looking a hell of a lot like a predator.

I clenched my fist even tighter, ignoring the sting, because I was fairly certain that I would sock him in the jaw if I didn't give my hands something to do.

"You can't psych me out," I sneered. "You can't scare me by spitting all your bullshit. Nothing you do can scare me. Everything you know about me, I know about you, and I'm not as nice as my boyfriend. He's a great guy—would never out someone. So maybe you can get away with pulling shit like this with him. But I'm pretty damn different from him, and I think you should know that by now. Two weeks, then we're out of here, far from your sorry ass. You give me any trouble between now and then, I will not hesitate to ruin your life like you've ruined so many people's. Once I make my claim, you can't do jack shit against me, and you know it. So make a choice, Damien. For once in your goddamn life, use that brain of yours and do something smart. Leave me, and the people I care about, alone. That includes my friends. That includes my boyfriend. Okay?"

Damien swallowed, but didn't say anything. His jaw was clenched but his gaze was wavering—finally he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a threat. And he took that threat seriously. Rightly so—I would love to ruin him.

He pushed me away from him and stormed to class, leaving me feeling angry, stupid, and a lot stronger than I had in a while.

      Damien didn't say a word to me for the rest of the week, and he only looked at me to glare every once and a while. It was great.

      As fun as it was to know I'd angered him that much, the tension was definitely uncomfortable. Especially since rumors had started floating around before the day was through on Tuesday. Standing tall in the throne room of Listrougth High, I'd been the subject of countless stories and in the middle of seemingly unending petty gossip. I was used to rumors. But these were getting ridiculous.

     I'd heard that Damien dragged Lilliana behind the school and tried to have his way with her, before I'd shown up and threatened him with a pocket knife until he left her alone. Another tale said I'd caught them hooking up in an empty classroom and, overcome by jealousy—apparently I was in love with Lilly now—I'd chased them apart. A third told the story of the time Lilliana had cornered Damien by his locker and begged him to go out with her, and when he rejected her, she'd freaked on him. I, as his friend, had stepped up to defend him.

     There were others, too. Some, I hadn't even heard of until I was sat in Sae's bedroom that Sunday evening, listening to my friends share the worst ones they'd been told.

     "Let's stop talking about Damien," Lilliana said eventually, running an annoyed hand through her copper hair. "He's not worth it."

     "Mhm," Lucas mumbled in agreement, his voice muffled by my neck. He was half asleep, having come not long ago from his classes at North Nebraska Theater Company, where a guest teacher had apparently worked him breathless. He sat on my lap facing me, his arms draped lazily around my torso and his head pressed into the bend of my neck; the only way I could think to describe the position was that I was a eucalyptus tree, and he was a drowsy, oversized koala. 

     "Okay," Halima said, rolling onto her back where she lay spread out across Sae's bed like a massive starfish. "Let's talk finals instead."

      Lucas groaned, which tickled a lot. "I'd rather talk about Damien." Finals officially started next week, which meant that the last two weeks of the school year were bound to be the most stressful.

      "Aw, come on," Eric said. He was sat in Sae's desk chair, spinning slowly around in it and absentmindedly tapping his nose with the eraser side of a pencil. "They won't be that bad."

      Lilliana exchanged an eye roll with Sae, who was sat closest to her on the carpeted floor, just across from me and Lucas. "Easy for you to say," Sae scoffed. "You eat IQ points for breakfast."

      Eric, despite how much of an idiot he often could be, was easily the smartest out of all of us. After all, he'd be going to MIT in the fall and would probably have some really high-tech, really pretentious sounding job someday—like an aerospace engineer or something.

      "You'll all do fine," Eric insisted, tossing the pencil up and down in his hand. He turned his gaze on Sae, a sly grin slipping onto his face. "You and I could always study together if you want," he said with a wink.

      Sae made a face at him, and he laughed, tossing the pencil at her and laughing even more at the small shriek she made when it bounced off of her forehead.

     "How much do you wanna bet they'll be together before summer starts?" Lucas whispered to me.

     "I bet they'll be together before the week is done," I countered.

     Eric took another pencil from Sae's desk just so he could throw it at me, ignoring her when she complained about the mess he'd make if he kept it up. "What are you two flaming homosexuals whispering about?"

      "Lucas is saying dirty, dirty things to me in Romanian," I said with a grin. Eric pretended to ponder this for a second, then nodded.

     "Makes sense."

     "Te iubesc," Lucas said into my ear, loud enough for everyone to hear but soft enough to sound suggestive. I could see the wheels turning in Eric's head to try and figure out what titillating words Lucas had uttered.

     "Si eu ye iubesc," I whispered back. Lucas had taught me the phrase long before, after we'd first said the words to each other in English. I love you, too. I felt him smiling against my skin.

      Sae sighed dramatically. "Do you guys ever just look at them," she said, gesturing exasperatedly toward me and Lucas. "And cry a little, because they're so fucking cute it makes you feel depressingly lonely?"

     "Oh honey," Lilliana giggled. "Every damn day."

     "You know, " Eric said, and we could all guess where he was going. "You wouldn't have to feel lonely if—"

     Sae picked up the pencil he'd thrown at her and chucked it back at him, much harder. He half yelped, half laughed when its point shot against his arm.

     "What's the plan for you guys, anyways?" Halima, who'd been pretty preoccupied making a bed-angel, asked, looking at me and the human-blanket that was draped over me. "When are you leaving for New York?"

     "Graduation," I said as Lucas yawned and snuggled back into my neck. "As soon as it's over, we're gone."

     "Damn," Halima said. "Not wasting a second.

      I scoffed. "I'd leave now if I could."

      "It's kinda sad," Eric, who'd upgraded to making a surprisingly impressive drumbeat with two new pencils against the desk, said. "You guys are awesome."

      With those few words, the mood in the entire room shifted drastically to that of a group of friends who were realizing for the first time that their separation was coming very, very quickly. Even Lucas sat up, shifting so that his back was against my chest and he could look at everybody. "Shit," I breathed.

      Halima sat up. "You guys better keep in touch," she said seriously. "I don't know what I'll do with myself if you don't."

     Lucas nodded determinedly. "Let's make an oath," he said, his voice filled with resolve. "No matter where we all end up, we've got to stay connected. We can do those obnoxious giant six-way call things. And we'll all waste money we don't have on the same gaming system so we can shoot each other in Call of Duty when one of us is having a rough day."

     "A road trip," Sae suggested. "At least one, even if it's short, before summer is over so we can drink and cry and shit."

     "We've gotta meet up over breaks," Lilly added. "I want you guys to be the people I force my kids to call 'Aunty' and 'Uncle'."

     "And when we're snobby thirty year olds, we can go to wine tastings and documentary showcases together," I said with a chuckle.

     "And R&B concerts," Lucas added.

      As anxious as I was to move away, leaving didn't seem quite as sweet when I realized that I wouldn't be seeing these friendly faces around me everyday, or every week, or even every month.

     "Thanks, you guys," I said, blushing a little. I wasn't good at the sappy stuff. "For not deciding instantly that you'd hate me when I shoved myself into your circle."

     "Uh, we did pretty much do that," Lilliana pointed out sheepishly, giving me an apologetic glance.

     "Well thanks for changing your mind," I said, and she smiled. We all did.