We all rose and began walking towards the gym so the boys could finish out their practice with a few minutes of free throws or knockout or whatever else they wanted to do with basketballs.

When we reached the gymnasium, I spotted Alex out of the corner of my eye, walking up from the boys' locker room, cradling his left arm close to his chest. It was apparent the moment he saw me, for he dropped his arm quickly and threw on a bright smile, the first I had seen out of him that day.

"Hey, want to play knockout with us?" Xavier asked Alex, seeming to have just noticed his presence on the court.

"Sure," Alex replied, and ran to stand in line with the others.

"Hey, Al, don't you want to take off your hoodie?" I called to him. The large gray piece of clothing not only looked bulky and hard to manage, but incredibly warm to be playing basketball in.

"I'm okay, Ash," he called back. I was about to protest that he would overheat, but he threw me one of our 'twin looks' (That's what Daddy calls it when we communicate with each other without speaking) that said, clearly, to drop it. I grudgingly did so, vowing to myself that I would ask him about it later.

"Hey, Ash, you playing?" Landon asked, still not fully Landon but in a much better mood than before.

"No, thanks," I replied as I watched Evelyn and Sofia join the game.

I stayed in a corner, thinking about Alex. I had noticed little things before this, like moments when he would become completely lost in thought or frequent trips to the bathroom in class that I found strange but had never brought up. However, I had never seen him without a smile on his face for such a long period of time before.

He had also never, ever left his hoodie on when engaging in sports before, either.

***

"That was a good game," I remarked to Alex as he drove me home. Evelyn had gotten a ride from Luke, and Sofia rode with Ashton.

"Thanks," he said, his cheeks flushed red, sweat dripping down his face. "How much better am I than those brats that call themselves a basketball team?"

"So much better," I replied, smiling at him. I waited a few minutes, rallying my nerve, before asking, cautiously, "Al, what's been up with you lately?"

His hands tightened on the steering wheel and he set his jaw in a straight line. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, everything. I looked at your grades when you left the computer open - you're failing a class. You've never failed a class before in your life, Alex! And then there's the blank expressions and the gazing off into space and the bathroom and then today, with your hoodie! You're just different. Something's off."

"I'm fine, Ash," he said, so convincingly that I almost believed him. "Really."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he responded, kissing my forehead softly. "Come on, let's talk about something else. You don't need to be worrying about me, especially when there's nothing wrong."

"Yeah...okay. If you say so."

***

Later at home, I was in my room listening to the Hamilton soundtrack for about the five hundredth time, when there was a loud, abrasive knock on my door.

"Come in!"

Harley popped his head into my room and said, "Hey, Mom asked if you would do the laundry for her. She's busy making dinner and Dad has to handle Rose."

"What'd she do, anyway?"

"He caught her sneaking out last night."

"Oh, wow. Poor Rosie."

"Yeah, no shit."

"Harley! Watch your mouth!"

"Sorry, Mom," Harley called back, chuckling.

"Alright," I said, getting up from where I was laying on my bed slowly, stretching away the creakiness in my limbs. I unplugged my stereo and found the built-in handle it had.

"Are you seriously carrying that huge thing to the laundry room just so you can listen to your Hamilton CD?" Harley asked, shaking his head and laughing.

"Yes, I am. Just because you're an uncultured swine that doesn't like musicals doesn't mean you can hate on those of us who actually have good taste," I sighed tragically. Harley grinned, still laughing a little bit, as he left my bedroom, probably to go help Mom with dinner.

I skipped to the laundry room with my stereo and closed the door behind me, humming Non-Stop, my favourite song from Hamilton. I began to dance as I threw everyone's dirty clothes into the washer without really looking at them. However, just before I tossed it into the growing pile, something in my peripheral vision caught my eye, and I paused to look at the long-sleeved white shirt in my hands, one of Alex's.

Several large, crimson bloodstains were obvious on the sleeves of the shirt.