*.*.*.*.*.*

September 20

As September draws to a close, I busy myself in college applications with the rest of my friends. The student body, however, breaks out in a humdrum of gossip. Between football games every Friday and deadlines to submit applications to early action colleges, most people forget to eat or sleep.

I don't forget, though. I love food and sleep too much.

What can I say? I'm a primal instinct sorta person.

Nonetheless, Riley pesters us to accompany her to watch Carlos' football practice. Racheal spends hour after hour getting us to review her personal essay. The rest of us oscillate between the two. For Marla, the decision of which college she wants to apply to is simple. She's going to Boston U to be with Hashir and -- despite their age difference -- her parents don't have a problem with it. They know she's either going to go to university for him or elope. As absurd as it sounds, though, Hashir's a great guy. Not only does he have good grades, but he's also got his eyes set on the Senate after completing his masters in law.

"Do you want to apply to Yale? The deadline is November first." Racheal points out as I type, delete, and retype my personal essay.

I scoff incredulously. "Are you kidding? We all know I'm not getting into Yale or Harvard or whatever," I say. "Only geniuses get into those universities. Geniuses like ... I don't know, Shane Gray, maybe?"

The thought of him comes suddenly to me and I don't filter it out before speaking. Heat creeps up my neck at the realization that I've been thinking about him quite frequently over the past few days. It doesn't make any sense for me to do that, really, since he hasn't given me any signal he hasn't given anyone else. Just because he's been nice to me thrice now doesn't mean we're friends or something. He doesn't even know my name. Besides, he's nice to everyone.

After breaking his leg -- or fracturing his ankle -- Shane has tried to stay as far away from football as possible. Although he still sits at the same table as before, with Carlos and the rest of his football friends, laughing and joking, he's never there during the games anymore. The Friday after the one I found him in the library, I went there again. I told myself it's because I like the library, but in reality, I want to meet him again without people wondering why. He wasn't there, though, and after two weeks, I gave up.

I don't know what I was thinking. We're not friends because I found him in the library and he was polite enough to not tell me to leave. His absence after that tells me he wasn't looking for anything more than a brief hello. He probably doesn't even remember my name.

Nonetheless, I can't hate him. He's a nice guy with nothing to particularly dislike. You can't hate good people even if you try.

Unless you're an asshole, of course. Then you can hate whoever the fuck you want.

"Hmm," Racheal hums, picking at her nails. "We're not getting into something great, are we?"

"Nope," I answer, keeping my gaze fixed on my Washington State University application. I'm hopeful I'll get into it since the university is pretty high-ranked -- 166th according to the information leaflet its representatives handed me at the education expo -- but a part of me hopes I make it. No harm in trying, is there?

It's not fair, as far as I'm concerned, how someone can be so academically gifted and athletically inclined at the same time when normal people like myself are average to mediocre at best. Okay, my grades are mostly As and B+s and I played for the school's badminton team in sophomore year before realizing I'd rather write cheesy poems and send them to the editorial team of the school newsletter and magazine. Shane Gray, however, is not only the star player of our football team but also a high achiever with his face -- with his signature smile and flyaway hair -- plastered on every single notice board for being the 'pride' of Gordon Blake High.

Leaning back in my seat, I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands to make the dancing letters before my eyes go away. I've been staring at the screen so long I'm pretty sure I'll go blind if I don't stop already. I know taking a while to think about my application and write a professional essay before applying will be a better idea. It's not like I have to make the early action deadlines. I can always apply with the February batch of students.

Slamming down the lid of my laptop, I roll my eyes over to stare at my friends who are each busy with their own lives. While Marla asks Hashir what to write where in her application, Riley stares at the other end of the cafeteria. Her hazy eyes remain fixed on Carlos who is once again busy with his friends. Racheal is playing with her nails. Once I'm sure nobody is noticing, I slide down in my seat and throw back my head to stretch my neck.

Honestly, I don't care how much it damages my spine. Sitting without slouching just isn't sitting at all.

My gaze passes over the dozens of tables in the cafe, each occupied by a group of students. It's not the typical hierarchical seating arrangement with all the cheerleaders sitting together in frilly pinks and the nerds aren't in one corner discussing video games in hushed whispers. I'm biased but all I see is average people with average interests. Though different in their own essence, each one of us similar in what makes us high schoolers. I even catch sight of a couple of lonely souls, wondering if they don't have any friends or if they prefer to be alone. I'd never cared about them before, but Carter's death changed things. I can't help but see his face in every lonely person I see.

Right after he died, I drifted into a state of denial. My friends thought I was depressed and that I needed to see a shrink. Even my teachers started emailing me to see the school counselor who once reached out to talk to me and help me through my grief process. They didn't get it, though, they still don't. It's not that I couldn't handle losing my brother. It was more about how I hadn't seen him slowly slipping away.

He was the one who was depressed. He'd been the one who needed help. Yet no one noticed, not even me.

I should have known. I should have seen it, heard the cry for help that snuck into his words. I only heard it after he was gone, the theme of death in his jokes, his dark humor, the sadness in his eyes even when he smiled. On days he refused to get out of bed and come to school, I'd thought he was making excuses because he didn't like school. When he said he didn't want to watch a movie with Mom and Dad or go out on a family weekend, we all got mad, telling him he was being antisocial or seeking attention. Why had none of us -- not his parents who had raised him, not me who had been with him even before we were born, not his friends who had slipped away when he slowly stepped away from them -- considered that maybe he was suffering?

Maybe that's the thing about humans. As cliché as it sounds, we don't care what we have until it's gone.

He'd talked about it; how the world will end one day and nothing will ever be the same. Sometimes he talked about how he didn't see what the point of living was. On other occasions, it was about how he wondered what it would feel like to jump off a building. Sitting on the plane on our last vacation as a family, he'd laughed about it.

'Tell me, Tay,' he's said, his eyes glittering. 'Have you ever thought about it?'

'What?' I'd asked, not looking up from my phone as I tried to ignore his presence beside me.

'If I jumped to the earth right now, do you think I would go splat and die instantly like an egg cracks or would I break my bones first and then die slowly?'

I'd lifted my gaze from my screen, frowning at Carter who wiggled his eyebrows.

'You know you're crazy, right?' I'd asked.

Carter had chuckled. 'I don't want a painful death.'

'Maybe you can tell the angel to death to take your soul when you're sleeping then,' I'd said.

Carter had simply nodded, frowning thoughtfully. 'Maybe I will.'

I hadn't realized how serious he was until he actually died in his sleep.

The doctors said the pills killed him. They said he'd taken too many and his nervous system shut down or whatever. Something about the heart slowing down to a point where it stopped. His body refused to stay alive anymore, they told Mom and Dad. I don't believe them though. It wasn't the pills that killed him.

It was depression.

"Hey? You coming? We have class."

Racheal's voice brings me back to the present and I blink several times before I actually hear her. Nodding, I slide my laptop into its foamy case and stand up with it in my arms. Marla's saying goodbye to her boyfriend while Riley rises to her feet.

"I'm not taking the class," she says and we all stare at her.

It isn't like Riley to miss class. Yes, we all bunk sometimes when we aren't prepared for a class test that doesn't really have much weightage in the final grade. Ever since we got into senior year, though, we've all been focused on making a future for ourselves. For me, that involves graduating with a psychology degree and helping people like Carter. I couldn't help my own brother, but maybe I can help others like him.

Riley, though, doesn't meet our gazes when she glances towards Carlos' table. I follow her gaze and see him sitting with his friends. It's not the entire team but Carlos is busy with his phone and I'm suspecting he's the reason Riley doesn't want to attend class. If she's sneaking out with him, though, that means she doesn't want us to know.

Which begs the question: am I losing Riley too?

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A/N: Sorry, but I can't help myself. Here's another chapter, loves! I might give you a whole bunch more by the weekend because I have exams next week so I'll be busy.