This math teacher is not the most intriguing one I've ever had. A new school, new math teacher, and now new bad habits. I pull my phone out of my pocket, promising myself I'll look over this lesson later on my own time. I slip my phone under the edge of my book so that its harder for the teacher to see.

My finger swipes across the screen, searching for something to do. It lands on Instagram and I start scrolling mindlessly through the app.

It doesn't take long for new pictures to load, but then there is one picture that catches my eye. It startles me so much that I almost pull my phone up and closer to my face but quickly remember that I'm in the middle of class.

Sam is staring back at me, her smile so quickly stopping my heart.

It's been a few months since I found her letter – since my mood went straight to shit and stayed there. But I've done well with it to certain extent. I have distracted myself with school, and now I have the distraction of Beatrice Montgomery. Asher's obsession with her has really brought her close – too close.

I stare at the picture, taking in Sam's appearance. She looks happy.

So does the guy standing next to her. His dark hair is fixed to the side, and his clothes look more expensive than anything I've ever owned. His arm isn't around her, but they are standing so close together that you wouldn't be able to fit a credit card between them.

Is this the reason why she decided never to answer me back? She's hanging out with foreign dude's... in Paris, at the Eiffel Tower? Yes, it took me this long to notice the brightly lit historical landmark standing behind them in the distance.

"Quentin..." I jerk my head up so fast that I'm almost positive I've given myself whiplash. "The bell rang, are you sleeping in the math room tonight?"

Grayson stands at the classroom door, leaning against it in his cool-guy kind of way. He smiles at me with that annoying charm that he has. I will never understand why so many girls swoon over him.

I look around and notice that all the seats are empty. I was so engulfed in my phone that I never even realized the bell had rung. I shove my phone in my pocket, grab my backpack and books, and follow him out of the classroom.

I somehow end up driving myself and the guys back to the barn. I'm only half-listening to their banter during our drive, thinking simply of the picture I had just transported myself into. I shake my head and turn the music up in an attempt to shut my brain up. I barely hear the guys as they talk about the basketball game they plan to bet on tonight.

I pull into our driveway and we all climb out like one big, happy family. As soon as I step inside, I see her. Of course she's here. Why? I ask myself that all the time. There's a scowl on my face and I don't even bother to hide it.

I met her outside her house that day in November, but as far as I know she doesn't remember it. Then, the next thing I know, we're going to the same school and I'm spending all my free time researching and asking around about her family. I haven't found any answers – but then she came into my life somehow.

I can't help the annoyance I feel when she's around. Does she know how evil her dad is? How mindless he can be? She has to, doesn't she? It makes my blood boil just being in the same room as her anymore. The more obsessed Asher becomes with her, the worse it gets.

I stride over to my seat at the table where I empty out my backpack, pulling my math book out to prepare to teach myself what I missed today. Thankfully, I don't mind geometry. I don't pay any mind to the guys as they play their video games and act like they can't hear each other over their own loud voices.

I try focus on my math book, but all I can think of is my phone in my pocket. I wonder what else she's posted since she's left. Unable to contain my curiosity, I pull out my phone and open it to Sam's page again. There, I scroll down through it. Only one other picture has been posted since she left, and it's of her mom and dad at what looks to be their house, sitting by a Christmas tree.

I read her caption to myself: Merry Christmas! My heart is so full.

I can feel the happiness through the picture on my phone, but it somehow still breaks my heart. My own selfishness never ceases to amaze me.

The next thing I know, I'm being knocked to the ground by a pillow thrown at my head. It catches me so off-guard that I fall right to the ground. Asher and Ben are cackling like idiots, and I even catch Bea smiling. I roll my eyes and toss the pillow back at them. The next thing I know, a lamp is being shattered and Asher is the one growing frustrated by them.

It most likely stems from the broken record he gained not too long ago. I collect myself off the ground, unfazed by what happened, and make my way into the kitchen for a much-needed drink. The guys don't know how often I sneak down here for some of Brody's beer, and I plan to keep it that way because I can't stand to hear about it.

As soon as I hear them piling into the kitchen behind me, I change my mind and grab a can of Pepsi.

Bea is here too, arguing right along with them about who will win the basketball game and what we are betting. Somehow, it comes to the conclusion of dinner and money will be the winner's prize.

My annoyance only grows stronger hearing them.

I wonder, sometimes, why I stay here. I do love these guys as my family, but I also know that this is what it takes sometimes to follow your dream. Then there's the fact that if I was at home, I'd be miserable knowing that Sam wasn't coming back.

Ben is suddenly beside me. "Hey, Quentin. Come join the party. If you're on Asher and Bea's team you'll probably end up cooking dinner. Choose carefully."

I know it's simple. I know that it's dumb and that I'm just in a bad mood today. All of this is clear to me.

Yet, still, I allow it to eat me alive; and not for the first time in my life.

"I'd rather not," I mumble, feeling my blood boil. "Some people have better things to do than cheat other people." Regret is a funny thing. It's my worst enemy, really. It's not brave even enough to warn me before I say something that I won't want to have said it afterwards. Instead, it sets on my chest after the words leave my mouth, never to be taken back again.

I can't deny the fact that it still feels better to not have those feelings on my chest anymore. Still, I squeeze my eyes shut when I hear footsteps coming my way.

A wise man once said, when you make your own bed, you have to lie in it.

I turn around to see Bea standing in front of me, her chest rising and falling heavily – angrily. I've never seen her get mad.

"What's your problem with me, Quentin? I try to be nice to you all the time and then you act like I'm your enemy! Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it!" Bea exclaims, desperate to hear some kind of answer.

I know that at this point, there is no going back. "Not everything can be fixed, Beatrice."

"It can if you let me try," Bea says slightly calmer.

"You want to know what, Bea?" I clench and unclench my fists. "My brother was murdered when he was seventeen. I was only fifteen when he died." I know Asher is standing beside her, but I only keep my eyes on her.

"How could that have anything to do with her, Quentin?" Asher finally butts in. I drag my eyes over to him now.

"Her dad was our lawyer against the guy who killed my brother. He screwed up the murder case and now the guy is running around, free!" I feel embarrassment creep up, but I can't back down now. Maybe this is where things get solved. Maybe this is where I will feel better.

"Quentin -" Asher starts, but Bea holds her hand up to tell him to stop.

"No, Asher. It's okay," She looks down at her the ground for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching. "I didn't know that." She whispers. I can tell that is has already affected her. Part of me wishes I would have found out more about her and her family before this. There is only a small chance that she doesn't know anything about her own father. Very small.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should..." I murmur, cutting myself off. The next thing I know, Asher has my shirt clutched in his hands and his face in mine, anger clear in his eyes.

"If I were you, I'd stop while you're ahead," Asher seethes, his voice sharp. We share a mutual feeling, finally.

"Yeah, take up for her," I know I'm only making things worse. Why can't I find it in me to care? "She's probably just like her dad, Asher. How can you not see it?" He lets go of me and gives me a shove. I stumble into the counter behind me and catch myself.

He and I both look to see that Bea has disappeared from the kitchen.

"Where'd she go?" Asher asks frantically.

"Probably ran back to her daddy. Wouldn't want to disappoint her liar of a father," I reply.

I immediately regret my words when Asher's fist collides with my face.

"I told you to stop," Is all I hear before Asher stomps out of the house to run after the girl I just used to break my own heart over again.