(song: "We Can Hurt Together" - Sia )

11 Months Ago . . .

     I waited outside of English class with my hands in my pockets. Cassie sure was taking her time in the room with Mrs. Livingston. How long could it take to talk about a paper?

     Finally, Cassie emerged and she looked really upset. She began to walk past me. Did she forget that she asked me to wait for her?

    "Hey! I'm still here your know," I reminded her.

     She turned to see me with tears running down her face. She threw out her arms and held onto me to cry into my shirt. I didn't know what to do, my hands awkwardly patted her back.

     "It's just one paper, Cassie. You'll make it up easy," I said.

     Cassie sniffled and her eyes were all pink from her tears. "It's not that Toby, it's—"

     "Cassie! Are you okay?" Greg to the rescue. She got one look at him and let me go to retreat to his arms instead. He wiped away her tears with his thumbs and kissed her nose lovingly.

     That was the right way to comfort someone.

     Why had she even asked me to wait? If she wanted Greg, she should have asked him to wait.

     I turned on my heels and left to go out to my car. I felt bad for not being there when Cassie needed me, but she already had someone to pick up the pieces for her.

Wednesday mornings are the worst.

     I keep myself propped up against my car. I'm at school way too early, ungodly early. I'm never this early, but today I just feel like waiting for Kristen to arrive so I can see her before classes start.

     I see her little blue honda arrive and she steps out of it with an exhausted expression on her face. She sees me and I casually try to look like I'm not waiting for her.

     "Toby? You're really early," she says all wide-eyed.

     "You know what they say, the early bird catches the worm." I sound like an idiot.

     Her pretty eyes watch me and I just hope she doesn't see under my cover. "You weren't waiting for me, were you?"

     Crap! Abort!

     I snort. "Why would I wait for you? What sense would that make?"

     "Do you want to walk into school together?" She asks.

     "Whatever." I play it cool.

     The two of us are an unlikely pair walking up to the school entrance. A few people whisper, I'm sure they say the same stuff about us that they said about Cassie and I. That we're so different, and that she's such a nice girl, why is she hanging out with a jerk like me? I'd heard it all.

     Kristen, just like Cassie, didn't seem bothered by any of it.

     "What do you make of the whole thing with Mrs. Livingston? It's so hard for me to take her seriously in class now." Kristen opens her locker and inside I can see all the accolades she's won from ballet dangling against the door.

     "Same here." I break the unspoken code of personal space to reach my hand inside her locker and touch a few of the pictures to see them better. She doesn't seem to mind though. One photo in particular shows her in a ballet leotard and tutu at age four.

     "I've danced ballet since I could walk," she explains. "It's all I know. If you could see how my feet look they're horrible. There's so many things I haven't been able to eat thanks to ballet."

     "One day, I'm going to take you out to eat and it's going to be greasy and carb-heavy and you're going to love every minute of it," I promise.

     "Maybe. One day . . . when I'm not dancing anymore."

     "Or maybe next week," I say.

     She scrunches up her nose. "Yeah, right."

     I smile at her. "Definitely, next week."

     "No Toby." She closes her locker and makes me remember that I haven't even put my books away for the day. "Go put your books away."

     "Maybe a Friday," I continue.

     "No!" She says, but she's smiling.

     "So greasy-fried-foods on this Friday then?"

     She laughs brightly. "God, you really don't listen, do you?"

     "Chapman, there are few things in life that human beings can truly enjoy: sex, love and food. You're denying yourself of all three of these, you need to at least claim one of them."

     Kristen gets flustered when I mention sex. It gives away the fact that she must be a virgin, it's not a bad thing, just a difference in behavior.

     "Food, Kristen," I stress. "I'm saying you need to claim the food one, not the sex or love."

     "Fine, Friday," she agrees.

     "Friday."

     The day drags on. In the moments where I'm not distracted by watching Kristen's back, my thoughts drift to thinking about Cassie. I know that we won't receive the next postcard until Monday and it's driving me crazy to wait so long for the next piece of the puzzle.

     Cassie warned us not to do more than she requested, but how can I follow that request?

     Mrs. Livingston stands in front of the class, pretending to be a respectable teacher and upstanding citizen. She almost does a good job of it, but I can remember her desperately throwing herself all over a married man. All I have to do is question her and maybe I can jump ahead a few steps and figure out what is going on with Cassie.

     Kristen gets out of her seat and looks at me. I give her my best smile, but my attention is on our teacher.

     "Mrs. Livingston, can we talk for a second?" I ask as the room clears out.

     Mrs. Livingston slips her glasses off and tucks them into an eyeglass case. "Of course, what is this about?"

     Kristen opens her mouth and I know she wants to tell me that this is a bad idea, but she can't. She resolves to leave the class along with the other students. I wait until it's just the two of us.

     "I know what you and Cassie talked about in this class room eleven months ago," I lie. "I know about your lover too." Okay, maybe I am going too far.

     Mrs. Livingston looks beyond mortified. She closes the classroom door to make sure no one can hear us and her nice disposition is completely out the window. "Are you trying to blackmail me? You do realize that would be illegal. And you're too late, because Cassie pulled this card on me already. My husband already knows and he is filing for divorce. I told Cassie everything I know about Becker & Long. It's not my fault that she's run away."

     Becker & Long? I want to ask her questions, but that would give away my lie. "I'm not blackmailing you, I'm just letting you know that I know . . . so now you know."

     She thins her eyes at me and points at the door. "Get out of here Yates! Go focus on getting up your grades, they're suffering."

     I waste no time in getting out of that classroom. I close the door behind me and silently just cross my fingers that Mrs. Livingston doesn't flunk me all together.

     Beside the door Kristen is waiting in the same spot I used to wait for Cassie at. It's giving me flashbacks to eleven months ago.

     "You waited for me?" I feel constantly surprised by Kristen lately.

     "I thought since we walked in together, we should walk out together." Her voice is so low and quiet. Her shyness used to annoy me, but now? Now it doesn't seem so bad.

     We walk together down the hallways past more condemning whispers. They bounce off me because I'm made of rubber and they're glue, that whole stupid phrasing.

     "Did you get any answers from her?" Kristen casually asks.

     "Maybe. Something about a Becker & Long."

     "The attorneys?" She says with a few confused blinks.

     "You know them?"

     "No, I just have seen their billboard up in Norfolk."

     This is much deeper than I thought. I still don't know who David Walters is or how he's connected to Cassie. If attorneys are involved too it'd make sense why Cassie didn't want anything mentioned to the police. What could Cassie have done that was so bad she had to run away? Why didn't she tell me? Why didn't she trust me? Why do I have to do this?

     All of the questions are like loud, angry bees buzzing in my head.

     "Toby? Are you okay?" Kristen's voice silences the bees.

     "Want to come over to my house?" I quickly ask her.

     "I have ballet practice."

     "Great, can I go with you?"

     "Um . . . I guess so?"

     "Cool. Let's go."

     All I want is to get some answers.

     Sadly, those answers are also the thing I'm most afraid of . . .