Remember smiling?

Those are the two words that pierce my brain as I trudge into the blinding sunlight at the end of school. All around are smiling faces, laughter, people living their lives, and then there's me. I rub my bruised eye and shoulder, grunting a quiet "Oww."

The sea of students rushes out from behind me, making me trip and fall flat on my face. "Loser!" Says a voice from above me, grabbing my stuff out of my weak grip and running away. I don't bother looking to see who took my backpack. Only a few people acknowledge I actually exist and Rodrick Walsh is the only one who does it to torture me.

I sit up, rubbing my throbbing head. My jeans tore open, revealing scabby knees. People filter around me as if I'm not even there. No one even asks if I'm okay, why would they? I'm pathetic. Everything is pathetic.

Walsh likes to call me his personal wimp. I'm the only one he beats up and he's the only one that beats me up. It's like a relationship. He's true to beating me up on a regular basis and I sit there and take it like the "man" I'll never live up to be, on a regular basis. I force myself to stand, walking toward the iron gate that leads out into the city.

How will I explain it this time? Black eyes are always harder to deal with, but I can work with some scratched knees and elbows. I could easily have fallen on my bicycle. The same bike sitting in the way back of the garage that I haven't ridden for...about a year, three months, and sixteen days give or take. It doesn't even matter anyway, even as I come up with excuse after excuse to hide the fact Walsh beats me up, my parents never ask about every black eye, bruised lip, twisted ankle, and scraped skin.

I walk down the marble steps, scanning my card to open the gate and step out into the city. I stare at the school sign for a moment, reading the golden words that essentially mean "nerd school": West Imperial Mountain Preparatory School. A school that shouldn't have a fuck up like me.

Cars honk in the street only a few feet away and I can't escape the feeling they're honking at me. I need to get out. Get out of this place and flee to someplace I don't know either. People push past me, grunting annoyances about me not moving out of their way. My breath catches in my throat and I fall against the school sign, stars dancing before my eyes. Not now! My stomach growls and my hands start shaking. I have to get up. I need to get the fuck up.

Pushing through the spots in my vision I rejoin the stream of pedestrians. Just as the entrance to the metro station appears through the thick crowd, a hand comes crashing down on my shoulder.

"Dude!" The owner of the hand says, "I've been looking for you."

I turn around slowly and pull my shoulder free of his hand. I force my gaze up to look into his dark almond shaped eyes. "Hey Ben..."

I give him a weak smile.

Ben raises his perfectly sculpted eyebrow, which is about the only hint of an expression he has on his perfectly sculpted face. He looks me up and down my face, analyzing all my imperfections, probably finding so many it overwhelms his operating system (I'm still convinced he's a robot sometimes, he has the emotional capacity of a toothpick). "Who did this?" He gestures to my black eye, pulling my arm and walking toward the metro.

Excuses don't work on Ben. Unlike my parents, he actually asks about all the scraped knees, black eyes, skipped lunches, and long sleeves. "Oh uhm...I took a wrestling elective?"

The eyebrow goes even higher and he yanks me down the metro steps so I can't get a look at his expression. Not that he ever has much of one. "A wrestling elective in the middle of the semester?"

"Did I say elective? I meant club, yeah, a wrestling club. Just started. Today..."

"Who did this to you?"

He scans his metro pass and I follow after him, jogging to catch up with his annoyingly long strides. The sounds of the crowd channeling into the trains. My stomach roars again, spots coming back. The wind rushes from my lungs at the effort of keeping up with Ben and I groan, doubling over. You're almost home, you'll be home soon. And when you're home you can go into your room alone with no one to bother you, I tell myself over and over and over.

"Dude, who did this to you?" Ben's voice reverberates through my skull, echoing from miles away.

"No one!" I wheeze, stepping onto the train and collapsing into a seat that looks like someone had unprotected sex on it.

"Tell me," Ben sits next to me and I can finally look him in the eyes. Or I could look him in the eyes if I had the nerves. Instead, I look at my hands, fidgeting with my fingers.

"It's just the usual, happens to everyone."

"Not me," Ben deadpans.

Of course nothing happens to him. If someone tried to hurt him he could run to his father who designs nukes for the government or something and his enemies would be the next test subjects for his latest "does this blow things up in a horrific and gory way" experiment. Or he could have them expelled with how much money he has. AND on top of that he has muscles. He's tall and strong and anyone who tried to mess with him would be stupid. I, however, am not so lucky. My workouts consist of someone yelling "Hey, it's the little freak" and me running away as fast as my legs can carry me.

"Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to find out some other way?"

I don't know what "some other way" is and I really don't want to find out. I try not to choke on my own breath. I finally dare a glance at him, still fidgeting. He looks like he always does, sitting perfectly straight, the only hint of annoyance is a tiny downturn in his full lips. Definitely a robot. "Look," I finally speak, "I don't know what you want from me. There's nothing to say."

He turns his head to me, frown deepening, brows furrowing. I swallow hard. He's mad.

The metro comes to a screeching halt before he can speak. Then more noise erupts like a volcano, passengers leaving and getting on and talking to one another. The metro screams again, zooming off as people swing right then left as it turns at the speed of sound. Despite the loud noise, the silence between Ben and I hangs like a dark cloud. "Where's your stuff?" He finally asks, voice oddly quiet for him. He's usually more cheerful.

"Oh shit," I say with as much gusto as I can muster. "Wherever could it be?"

"Why are you being so sarcastic?"

"I don't know."

"Justin."

He doesn't need to say more, summing up an entire paragraph into one word. He's always so straight to the point. How he can get away with half an expression and minimal words, I don't know. "Fine," I grumble, knowing he won't ever let it go. "Walsh took my stuff and gave me this," I gesture to my eye. "But don't do anything, okay! I can just copy your homework."

"I'll beat that little shit into a pulp," he growls.

"No!" Don't do that. "I just...please don't. It isn't worth it."

I can't look at him any longer. Ben wants to protect me, I know. Ever since...well since I stopped smiling, he's been this way.

"I don't care if you don't think it's worth it, I'm going to-

He stops. Ben never stops. Not for anything. I perk up, moving my gaze off my sticky old shoes and follow the direction of his stare. His eyes are focused on someone who just stepped on the train. Rodrick stands with his back to me, a cloud of smoke trailing up over his head, covering the anti-vaping poster on the wall. But Ben isn't looking at Walsh, he's looking at someone next to him. And the guy next to him is, well, he's staring at me.

Our eyes meet for a moment and he holds up my backpack. His expression lights up as we lock eyes. No one looks happy to see me. Ever. Not even Ben looks very happy to see me most days. He walks towards me. With every step closer, my heart beats a little faster. Ben is glowering again, probably analyzing the new guy's face for imperfections and insincerities too.

Then he's right in front of me, hand outstretched with my backpack dangling from two fingers. I reach out, just barely, letting it slide from him to me. "You're Justin Ivanov, right?" He asks, still smiling.

"Y-yeah, how'd you get my stuff?" Stop stuttering.

"Rodrick. He told me what happened and I said it wasn't cool to do that so I made him give it to me so I," he licks his lips and smiles again, "could return it to you."

"Thanks," I try to stop fidgeting but his icy eyes won't leave mine and I'm not really one for eye contact. "What's your name?" I hear myself saying before I can think better of it.

"Griffin Fiergang," he winks at me, turning his head back to glance at Rodrick who looks as pissed off as Ben. Griffin hands me a slip of paper, turning back to Walsh. "See you around."

And then he's gone in all his dimpled glory. What just happened?

I sit frozen for the rest of the ride, not even thinking coherently until Ben pokes me in the side saying, "This is our stop."

I follow him out the metro and up the steps into the station, and we walk to Ben's car. He isn't allowed to drive in the city yet and our neighborhood is far outside the city. The car ride is pure hell. Silence hangs over us, tortures us. Or at least me, Ben probably doesn't notice. At last he stops in front of my house, putting the car in park and turning to me. "Are you okay? You look like your dog just died."

"It wasn't a dog." I say and open the door, about to get out and slam it in his face when he grabs my hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean...I thought you were doing better."

"I am. This is better." I poke myself in the chest and get out of the car, slamming the door in his face.

I don't wait around for the guilt to set in, instead I run into my house as fast as humanly possible, dashing up the stairs two at a time until at last, I'm alone.

I plop on my bed after kicking my shoes off, taking the note Griffin gave me out of my pocket.

A phone number. Ten digits followed by a little heart with a "G" encased in it. Now I know why my stomach won't stop sinking and my throat closes up, making breathing impossible.

No way Griffin could know! I just met him today! Yet there is the heart, in red ink against the black. He took the effort to use two separate colors. The red heart leers at me, laughing at my pitiful display. Griffin should know better, if he hangs out with Rodrick he should know! Walsh doesn't just beat up anyone for no good reason.

I stare at the loopy print, not realizing I'm holding my phone in one hand.

I can't.

Yet I am.

My fingers have already put in his number.

This is someone you know. You go to school with this guy! What if your dad finds out, huh? What if Ben finds out?

My thumbs hover over the keyboard, a message appearing in front of my wide eyes. I quickly hit send and toss my phone onto the mattress, looking away. What have I done? I pick up my phone again and stare at the words, heart joining my stomach in freefall.

To: Griffin F 4:42pm

How do you know?

Almost instantly I get a text back.

From: Griffin F 4:42pm

Come to Rodrick's party with me tmrw and find out