Fletcher had arrived at school earlier than anticipated.

Usually, he'd sleep late and wake up the next almost about to miss the bus on the way to school. However, last night, it was unusually quiet — one of the rare times his parent hadn't fought and kept Fletcher up with their constant screaming. Maybe his mum had a good day at work or perhaps both of them were just too tired for another storm.

Either way, it was one of the most decent sleep Fletcher's ever had. His eye bags weren't as heavy and he'd managed to take the early bus on the way to school. Because, the farther away from home, the better.

The hallways were empty, with the only sounds coming from the ticking clock at the centre of the hall. It was, after all, 7:05 a.m. in the morning and school started at eight sharp.

That is, until two minutes later, Fletcher heard footsteps coming from the other end of the hallway.

He couldn't see who it was right away since he was seated on the floor, his back touch the History room's door — his first class — waiting for Mr. Patel to open the room with his keys and let him in. But from the angle he was in, Fletcher could see a slender figure standing in front of Thea's locker. They stood there, silent for a moment, before opening her backpack and taking out folded piece of paper, which they gently slid it in between the gaps of Thea's locker.

Then quickly they left, their Dr Martens shoes clacking against the pavement as they passed by the History room, barely noticing the ginger haired, green eyed boy sitting on the floor. Fletcher had caught a glimpse of a girl's slick black hair and dark eyes as she walked away, a thought immediately passing through him the instance he found out who she was.

Since when did Gabriella Matsumoto give a damn about Thea Banks?

—

Mrs. Cuthbert kept casting quick glances at Fletcher during English class. He pretended not to notice and, instead, tried to focus his attention on the notes written on the board.

Things had gotten weirder when she called for him after class ended. At first, Fletcher thought he was going to be scolded for his grades like last time so it certainly caught him off guard when she asked him about Thea.

"You were friends with her, yes?" Mrs. Cuthbert was looking at Fletcher right in the eye, her irises filled with pure  curiosity. "I've seen you two together a couple of times in the halls. And if I remember correctly, she brought you along to Brews after we won our debate?"

"Yeah, that was me," Fletcher replied, voice scratchy and wary. The gears in his head were running — because how the hell would he explain whatever relationship he had with Thea? The guilt he had because of her? So, his answer came hesitantly. "Me and Thea — I mean, in a way, we were —"

"And did she ever seem depressed?" Mrs. Cuthbert peered. The look on her face was like a detective's, not one of genuine concern. A look that just wanted to know the answers but not want to understand them. "Did she tell you about what was going on or talk how she felt...?"

Fletcher lowered his gaze, unable to look into his teacher's eyes anymore. "Mrs. Cuthbert, I'd rather not —"

"Right. I'm sorry," she retreated. "I know. It must be hard to talk about. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Then she casted him a weary smile. "Enjoy your lunch, Fletcher."

Fletcher only nodded as a response, head still down, before silently heading out of her classroom.

So he hadn't noticed Sam Gibbins, leaning against one of the lockers near the door, until he spoke first.

"You know, you're a lot of things, but I never pegged you for a liar."

Fletcher turned to Sam, momentarily surprised, before he quickly gained his composure and looked away. "Whatever," he said, walking towards the library.

He heard Sam's footsteps trailing behind him. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I heard you and Mrs. C —"

"Ever heard of 'mind your own business'—"

"—and the audacity you had to lie about your so called 'friendship' with Thea was just low. Even for you —"

Suddenly filled with irritation and rage, Fletcher turned around. "You're the one to talk. You were never there."

At that, Sam faltered. His shoulders slumped and he clenched his fists. The expression on his face was all too familiar — it mirrored the same guilt Fletcher carried everyday.

And, knowing that, made Fletcher's blood boil. Because how dare Sam judge him when he too was equally as guilty.

"Tell me," Fletcher took a step closer, daring Sam to test him. "If you were really Thea's friend — like you said — then how come she never mentioned you? How come she had nowhere to go? You go on about how I push people away when you're exactly the same —"

The glint in Sam's eye was dangerous. "You're wrong —"

"If you were really Thea's friend," Fletcher went on, his words escaping his lips so fast he couldn't catch them in time when he said, "you would've made her stay."

Something inside Sam snapped. Fletcher could see how, for a fleeting moment, his eyes went blank, as if the life was suddenly sucked out of them. Then he took a step back and, in a low voice, Sam said, "Go to hell, Greenly."

He scowled one last time at Fletcher before walking past him to the other end of the hall. But, what Sam didn't know was that, as he passed, Fletcher caught the wave of grief flood through his eyes. How its tides were powerful enough to knock down his walls and send Sam collapsing under its weight. And, in that instance, Fletcher desperately wanted to kick himself.

God, what had he gotten himself into?