[it's about time I finished this]

I ended up pulling out ten weeks to fully heal. Nobody knew it, but it was only because I dropped six heavy textbooks and all seven Harry Potter novels directly on my knee after the cast was removed for a day or two during the seventh week. That set me back a happy three weeks, and then I was under supervision for a couple days in case I pulled some shit again. People had realized what I'd done, and I wasn't allowed around a substantial amount of textbooks for a while.

But the ten weeks were nice. Pete had drilled it into my head that if I went away, nothing would be the same when I returned. We had a nice long talk about that, and decided to ease back into a nice healthy relationship with open minds and lots of patience. That was a relief.

All in all, military school wasn't that bad. I didn't really learn anything, and I sure as hell weaseled out of nearly every exercise activity I didn't want to do by saying my back hurt from the car incident. By the third week, all I had to do was run discipline laps. The only habit I was trained into was waking up five minutes before the alarm sounded at half last four, because in the first week I'd jumped out of fear and fell from the top bunk to the ground. The one thing everyone knew for sure was that I was not meant to be there. Dallon really had succeeded.

Coincidentally, he'd turned into an absolute fucking monster, the complete opposite of himself from when I'd first met him. He sent letters every now and then, once or twice a week. The first week, he'd seriously lost his marbles, nearly got busted for sprinkling red ants into Tyler's sock drawer, tried to smoke twice because the first time went horribly, and passed out on a park bench in another town, which was actually all in one night. In another letter, he told me he almost shoplifted and attempted to hot-wire a car another night.

I was also mailed a picture from Pete of Dallon holding up a pair of spiky boots from the thrift shop we went to a while back. He'd bought them because they were cheap and I prayed to everyone that he wouldn't ever wear them, but when I returned I only ever saw them on the shoe rack in his garage. The leather jacket found a permanent home in the back of his closet. The jeans he tore though while trying to skateboard were washed six consecutive times and donated to charity. The blood didn't come out all the way.

A handful of days after learning about every other illegal thing he'd done, I received another paper, filled out front to back with a mental breakdown. It wasn't anything major or deeply concerning; it was more of separation doozies and concern for himself than therapist-worthy thoughts. Spending ten weeks together with little to no time without the other was a significant part as well. I missed him too, but I hadn't totally snapped. I told him that, and also the importance of calming down and not being a danger to society. He quit pulling risky things after that.

In all honesty, I'd blocked the whole nine weeks from my memory. Some nights, it all sounded like an upsetting dream instead of the past. It wasn't exactly a nightmare, but it was enough to wake me up in a cold sweat at least once a week. Dallon slept through it after the first twenty-ish times, when I had to tell him it wasn't a big deal and freaking out was far from an appropriate reaction. He felt bad for apologizing so much afterwards, and then it felt like he hadn't graffitied the side of Tyler's house four separate times.

Carmen Green got arrested after video footage leaked of her dealing hardcore drugs under the school bleachers. Tyler moved on to ruining somebody else's life. Josh was still blissfully oblivious to Tyler's antics. Pete started to settle down and take it easy. Patrick didn't really change, but I did hear he started carrying a bottle of febreeze everywhere after finally realizing the taunting scent of cabbages was wafting from Pete in general.

As for Dallon and I, nothing really changed. We'd both mellowed out and preferred to sit around and do nothing as opposed to skipping classes and pulling weird shit. I had the weird feeling that somehow, being separated for just over nine weeks was beneficial. We never fought over anything but where to buy food, any genuine conflict was resolved easily, and he generally quit rebelling against nothing after I came back and let loose a little from perfect straight A's. It was an odd exchange of personalities, but it all worked out in the end. I never really stepped out of line after everything. I did once or twice, but it was only to get Dallon out of trouble every now and then. There was no way he couldn't sit down and be perfect again, not after he'd had that little addictive taste of revenge. It didn't happen often, but every now and then there would be more graffiti on the Seven-Eleven downtown, and every time we'd sit down and have a talk. I never thought I'd have to lecture Dallon on appropriate behavior.

Maybe I did change.