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Trigger Warning: The first section of this chapter might be very triggering for some readers. If you don't think you can handle it, I encourage you to click away or skip to the next section. Please see the story description for an updated list of warnings.

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June 28, 2012 at 2 PM, Montreal, Quebec: Rob

Sixty-nine. Seventy. Seventy-one. Seventy-two. Seventy-three. Seventy-four. Seventy-five. Seventy-six. Seventy-seven. Seventy-eight. Seventy-nine. Eighty. Eighty-one. Eighty-two. Eighty-three. Eighty-four. Eighty-five. Eighty-six. Eighty-seven. Eighty-eight. Eighty-nine. Ninety.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

The third tower is finally done and I can move on to the next project: the wall. I scroll through the list of materials in creative mode and my eyes land on Netherrack. That could be interesting. It wouldn't match the pattern on the rest of the castle, though. It would be distracting. Maybe I should stick to stone bricks. Their texture is in three parts on six identical sides, just like everything else. I need to keep the symmetry intact and the number in threes or the entire project will be for nothing. It has to be perfect.

I move out from the front of the castle by fifteen blocks and mark the length of the wall – it will be exactly thirty-three blocks long and nine blocks high. It will have three perfectly symmetrical and equilateral sides, which will be nine blocks away from the towers at the narrowest point. No one can tell me this isn't perfect: they would have to be blind not to see it.

'But they are blind, aren't they? They never see the details like you do.'

'They won't appreciate it. You know that.'

'They don't need to know. They don't deserve to see.'

'Keep it to yourself. They will laugh at you, just like Darryl did.' I pause the game and lift my arms up to stretch, glancing over at the clock. It's 2:16. Sixteen can't be divided into threes. I can't leave yet. I look over at the Skype call on Procyon's screen and see that even our call is in three parts: Jerome is typing away on an e-mail, Preston is scowling while he murders players on COD, and I'm looking at myself on the screen. Mitch still hasn't logged back on.

'They can't know. They would think you were crazy. Jerome and Preston would fall apart, and Mitch would call Dad to take me back to Portail. They can't know. I don't trust them.' It hurts to know that I can't share what I've learned, that I can't show them how perfectly everything fits together. Why doesn't anyone comprehend how important this is? Even Preston wouldn't be able to appreciate it. He wouldn't understand.

The clock finally turns to 2:18 and I slowly leave my office and shut the door behind me to keep any noise from reaching Sirius's microphone and LeetFire's ears. I creep out into the hallway and peer into the front of the apartment. Mitch is hanging upside down on the living room couch with his vile feet resting on the back pillows where people put their heads. At least he had enough sense to lay in the middle one with an empty cushion on each side of him. I know he only did it by chance, though; nobody else has figured out the answer yet. His eyes are closed and the top point of his hair is only centimeters from the floor, his face partially hidden behind the coffee table. I silently move to the left side of the hallway and go into the bathroom, peeking out through the doorway to see if Mitch is still oblivious. When he doesn't move, I carefully close and lock the bathroom door and open the medicine cabinet, grabbing the bottle of antidepressants before searching under the sink for the little slot behind the drain plunger.

I grab the tiny, hidden blade and quietly wash it off in the sink before drying it off on a clean, black washrag, watching it shine in the light as I move back over to the large, orange bottle. It feels like I'm a cocaine addict staring at a baggy full of cheap crack; the high will never be as amazing as it would be with my scalpels, but it's still so tempting to indulge. There's no time for this now. I pull my eyes away from the dull shard of metal and I shake three pills out and line them up on the counter. I grab the razor blade and cut each pill in half, swallowing one small piece before I quickly return the others to the bottle before Bitchy Mitch the Babysitter can catch me. A half of a half dose is just enough to keep me afloat without causing me to zone out and lose myself. I took the last half pill yesterday, and I had spent all day trying to find the best opportunity to do this without the supervisor breathing down my neck and questioning everything I do. He acts like I can't take care of myself.

'At least I won't have to worry about doing this again for a couple of days. Mitch would have a shit fit if he caught me with another blade. I'm surprised he lets me shave my own face.' I wash the pill cutter off again and dry it before returning it to its home under the sink, blood-free and thirsty. I put the bottle of pills away and turn the light off, stealthily opening the door and sneaking past the living room to the kitchen to find something to eat, doctor's orders. The clock on the stove silently screams that it's 2:24 with its angry red numbers, and I catch myself smiling at the perfect timing. Everywhere I look, I find more evidence and the rule of threes grows stronger. I grab the leftover half of my sub sandwich from yesterday from the fridge, listening to it humming its never-ending song in the kitchen as I go to sit in the armchair next to Mitch's couch. He must smell the food because he wakes up shortly afterward, his eyes widening in panic when he sees me.

'Do I scare him that much? How funny.'

"Hey, Mitch."

"Hi dood. What are you doing here? I thought you were keeping our little friend entertained." He starts to sit up, but decides against it and flops back down near the floor.

"I was, but I needed to get some fresh air. I could still smell your feet in there and it's even making my trifecta of computers sick." He scoffs and looks up at me with his usual snotty grin, crossing his arms in mock offense. "How is it going on your end?"

"Very, very slowly. We really screwed up this time."

" 'We?' Are we speaking French here, monsieur?"

"Oui. I lost two hundred thousand subs in less than four days. It will take more than a couple of hours before we can recover from that. The plan is coming together now, though."

"You know that isn't what I meant. How are you holding up?" He rubs his eyes and sighs, nodding gently and causing his spikes to brush the wooden floor.

"I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we've been better. I have never felt so... Betrayed. Helpless. Alone. I don't know. I know it was stupid and I wish it could have turned out differently, but Jerome and I both knew it was coming. At least I got to go out with some honor."

"That you did, Benja, that you did. I know you'll figure something out. You always do. Look what happened when Aiden banned you from his server – you found a way to build The Fridge. Do you know why that is?"

"Hmmm?" He looks amused, but I catch him staring at my sandwich. I quickly take another bite before I answer.

"Like the Bacca always says: 'you're the best a-round! And nuthin's gonna bring Benj down!' " He laughs under his breath and he looks happier now than he has all day. I make sure to chew six times before I swallow, wondering if he noticed when he pauses.

'How could he have noticed?'

"I thought you were going to start singing that god awful Christmas song again."

"Why would I sing a Christmas song, bro? I'm Jewish."

"Who knows with you. That's what happens when the Rob-a-Dob doesn't have a job."

'That nickname... Three parts with three letters and three syllables. Three rhyming words. Does he understand the rule of threes? This has to be a coincidence. Mitch never notices anything.'

'Is that an act? Does he know more than you do? Did he know all along? When did he come up with that name?'

'Distract him. He can't know, not yet. It isn't the right time.'

"Mom used to say that I was mentally interesting. Fine things only get better with time." I try to keep the smile on my face so he won't notice that I suspect him. If he finds out that I know, things will go downhill for me. I take another bite of my food, trying to ignore the small wave of panic gnawing at the back of my mind. I chew six times, careful to keep my eyes on his face.

"It depends on your definition of 'fine.' 'Fine' as in beautiful, or 'fine' as in normal?"

"Why not both? Can't normal be beautiful?" He doesn't seem satisfied with my answer and he raises his eyebrows and blinks at me a couple of times. "What?"

'He knows now.'

'Can't you keep a secret?'

'He doesn't understand.'

'I'm not sick.'

"You seem pretty optimistic today, even for you. Maybe you should get some sleep, Rob."

"Right before the show is about to start? Don't make me laugh. What's wrong with a little optimism? Maybe you could use a little less pessimism, yourself." I take a third bite of my sandwich and get to my feet, making sure to chew it six times while I lazily walk back to the office. Even if he suspects something, he can't prove anything. He's too blind to see what is right there in front of him, even when it's perfectly obvious.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to get back to work before Jerome starts thinking you're cheating on him with me."

"Pfft. The Bac would rather screw Coco than me. He wouldn't want me if I was the last living thing on Earth."

"Stop talking about Preston like that." He snorts and pulls himself up to his feet, cautiously following behind me and peering around the corner into my office. I pretend not to notice him and sit down in my chair, sliding the left earbud back into my ear while I check the Skype call. Very little has changed. Jerome is spinning aimlessly around and around in his chair with his eyes staring into space, and Preston has faceplanted on the table, tapping his forehead gently on the cheap wood.

'They have the gall to call me crazy. Look at these three: Mitch with his guilt, Jerome with his paranoia, and Preston with his anxiety. This is going to be good.'

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June 28, 2012 at 3 PM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston

I need to stop thinking about Rob but I can't. And I'm not talking about that way, either. He's different now, like he's really weirdly happy all the time. He's been sitting at his computer since our little party last night with that annoying grin on his face like he's having the time of his life over there. What could he be doing that's so frickin' great? Or does he know what happened to me earlier? Did Jerome turn my mic back on so everyone could hear me? I know I talk in my sleep because Mom and Dad make fun of me about it all the time, so I was probably moaning and making all kinds of awful noises. I put my forehead down on the table again and I just stay there until my face isn't bright red like Satan's deep butt crack. I bet he knows all about it and he's waiting for the other two to go to sleep so he can bug me about it. Now Rob's gonna start teasing me all the time, too.

But that's the nicer option. What if he doesn't know about my dream and this's something else? It isn't just his constant smiling that's weird. He's hyper, like really hyper. When he isn't clicking like a hundred miles an hour doing whatever he's doing on his computer, he's sitting there playing with that dumb rubber band ball, taking one off and putting it on, taking it off and putting it on, picking it up and putting it down even if he suddenly throws it down and starts clicking again a second later. For hours now. And he isn't getting tired. It's exhausting just watching him. Is this what Mitch was talking about when he said he starts working nonstop? Does he always do this? Now this's really freaking me out. What if he's been sitting there losing it the whole time and no one noticed because it happened so slowly? When did he start falling apart? Was it early this morning when Jerome started singing that stupid song? No, because he was all jittery before that, just not as bad as he is now. Does he act like this every time he starts cutting? But how could someone who looks so happy wanna hurt himself? Even his derpy Minecraft skin doesn't look as happy as him. What the frick is goin' on?

I click on the tab for our private chat from earlier, rereading the message for the umpteenth time:

Derek: Please don't misunderstand. When the time comes, let me explain before you fly off the handle. <3

What does that mean? Is all this hyperactive, too-cheerful bullshrimp just for show? Is he trying to confuse the hacker? I know they're watching him now, Jerome admitted it even though he looked like he wished he hadn't said anything right after. Is he just playing up his weirdness to catch LeetFire off guard so they can pull off whatever plan they've been working on? That might be what he meant: he doesn't want me to freak out because he's really just fine but he can't actually tell me because it's part of his plan and the Bac doesn't trust me with anything. On the other hand, what good'd him acting like that do? He said he unplugged his webcam and it's pretty hard to hear him being mega hyper. It's like he's dancing to some kinda nightcore dubstep shizz playing in his head.

So what if that's not what he meant? What if he meant something completely different and he really is losing his ish? Can I really trust Mitch to keep an eye on him when he fell asleep during his shift yesterday after he told me he wouldn't? And I just don't trust Jerome. Trust is a two-way street and he doesn't even trust me to give Nooch cash to repair his computer. Can I really believe the Bacca would drop everything and call off the plan to save Mitch just because Rob loses it? Mitch's the only one he cares about, everyone knows that. Rob's just a free place to stay and a pawn to use in his stupid little game. A real friend would've done something by now. I open a new private chat window for me and Mitch:

Me: Is Rob ok?

Donald: i was going to ask you the same thing

Donald: has he said anything to you?

Me: No he doesnt have to, look at him

I minimize the chat window and Rob's frowning at something on his main computer, his head slowly moving from right to left like he's counting something. He's still doing it half a minute later when Mitch writes back.

Donald: he was acting weird earlier when he left to eat, checked the room and he wasnt doing anything too crazy

Me: Does he usually do this when hes by himself or is this not normal?

Donald: hard to tell, i thought youd be the one to ask

Me: Ive never seen him freak out before. Have you?

Donald: not like this, hes never wild like this, usually just tired and depressed, working to make himself sleep

Donald: if nothing happens by tonite ill slip sleeping pills in his drink

Me: k

So it isn't just for the camera. He did it off-camera, too. He's actually losing it. And there's nothing I can do to help him. As bad as the nightmares with Creepy McCreeperson are, this's even worse. And he doesn't even realize it's happening. He isn't punching walls or screaming in tongues, but he isn't him. If he acts totally out of it like this when he hurts himself, does he even feel any pain? Does he know what he's doing when he's trying to kill himself? Who is this guy sitting in Rob's chair?

All I can do is sit here and watch and wait for something to happen. Hopefully it isn't something completely irreversible.

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June 28, 2012 at 6 PM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston

BEEP! I minimize YouTube and go back over to Skype to see what the Bacca wants. I try to turn my mic back on but it won't let me click on the button. Did the hacker get me again?! Did he get Jerome?! I look up at the screen and Jerome has a finger over his lips, telling me to shut up. So he just turned off our mics. Phew. I thought I was screwed again. Not the best word choice, Preston. I need a new frickin' vocabulary. I can hear Skype ringing in my ear and I know what's happening: we're gonna sit here and watch Rob try to deal with the hacker when he's half outta his mind. Isn't there another way to do this? Can't they do something else to end this stupid internet war? Rob grimaces and sighs before he stops clicking and he goes to answer the call. He looks almost angry, but still kinda sad. I wonder if he's gonna lose whatever he was working on all day. I'd be pretty pissed, too.

"Hello?" Now there's the sarcastic Rob-a-Dob-Flob we all know and love. Okay, maybe not the best word.

"Hi there! I was hoping I could get ahold of you. I hate playing phone tag." This's exactly how it started last time, except everyone's in on it now. This guy's gonna get his butt kicked from east to west and back again.

"You aren't Preston. Why are you using his account?" Wait, what? He's pretending to use my account? So... he picks the one he knows we'll always answer, like Mitch with Nooch. And he somehow knew I always let my curiosity get the better of me and answer mystery calls. Well, I used to. That's a mistake I'll never make again.

"I think we both know why I have Preston's account. Do you have a few minutes so we can have a little chat?" This's different. Is he pretending to hold me hostage? After all this time? Maybe he's not as smart as I thought he was. Rob's just picking at his stupid rubber band ball, snapping a bunch of them off and sorting them into piles by color. Does he always do this?

"What is there to chat about? TBNRfrags is dead."

"Ouch! Why so cold, dude? Don't you care about Preston?" I can hear the jerk smiling and I just wanna find where he is and take a Betty to his frickin' face.

"Whoever you are, you don't know me half as well as you think you do."

"Is that so? What would he think if he heard you say that?"

"Why would I give a shit about what that little greaseball thinks of me? Are you going to run and tell him what I said? Be. My. Guest." I've never heard Rob sound so... cruel before. I know he's just being a sarcastic jerkwad to play along, but if you put his voice in a bottle you could use it to acid wash your pool. I hope this's what he was talking about in that message earlier and he doesn't really think about me like this. But what would I do if he did? And how would I know? Is he really that good an actor?

"I could do that. He's just a couple clicks away, after all. So I have your permission to delete all of his accounts?"

"If that will get you the fuck out of my computer, go for it. He served his purpose."

"So that's how it is. You get what you want and you bail. Have you been waiting for something like this to happen? Just like with Machinima?"

"Is there a point to all of this? I was in the middle of something when you dropped by to sniff your ass in my ear," he answers with a smile, his words curling up at the ends like they always do when he's trying not to laugh. I have to cover my mouth to keep from losing it, too. He's such a frickin' troll! Is he trying to pull a Nooch and tick the guy off so he effs up? Jerome's hacker friends are probably drooling all over their keyboards right now, waiting to strike.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the shower door and forgot their gas mask. You might want to hear what else I have."

"What is it this time? Gonorrhea?" Rob starts putting the rubber bands back on the ball in little triangle star shapes, one color at a time as calm as can be. You'd think he was waiting for a bus with nothing better to do.

"I have his address." Wait, what? He's gotta be bluffing. How could he've got that? The Bac would've told me, right? He has to be faking it.

"Good for you, man. Good for you." There's a short pause as he loudly snaps a big rubber band in place and he looks too happy for his own good. "Did you call me to tell me that you're finally going to send him a love letter?"

"Don't you want to protect your sweet, innocent little friend? Do you want to see him get hurt?"

"Before you can try to blackmail someone, you have to actually have some kind of currency. I'm not going to give you a twenty note for a fiver."

"What kind of currency are we talking here?"

"You're trying to take out Jerome, right?" There's a whole conversation in the pause. "Logically, you would have to have something worse on me than Jerome does, and that's pretty hard to come by." I look over at the Bacca and he seems more than pleased with their little plan while I'm just freaking out over here about Rob losing his mind and some creep having my address. All my stuff could be gone by the time I get home if he posts it all over the internet like he did with Mitch.

"You care more about your own ass than you do your so-called friends?"

"Ob-viously." I trust Rob with my life, but what if this isn't all just an act? What if some of it's true? Is he really using me? He wouldn't do that, right? Why's it so easy for me to doubt him now? "You know, you might be almost as smart as Preston. On the other hand, he figured it out a long time ago."

"You seem pretty confident for someone who uses Microsoft Defender for your antivirus."

"Is that a threat, or are you just admitting that you have nothing to use against me?" He's just taunting the hacker now, trying to get him to do something stupid. I wonder who's gonna do it faster: Nooch or Rob? "You act like you know the rule of threes, man. Don't put yourself so high up on a pedestal when you act so ignorant."

"You aren't invincible, Rob. You should stop trying to make enemies and take a good look around – if you don't cooperate, I'll take you down, too. You'll wish it had been Jerome."

"If this little chat of yours is any indication, there's nothing for me to worry about. I have no idea where you got that reputation of yours from. Did you buy it from someone who actually earned it?" Okay, is there an actual plan behind all this or is he just pissing this guy off so he blows up his computer for him? How'd Jerome even talk him into sacrificing his desktop computer, anyway? Is he gonna pay Nooch to fix it for him? Will he go completely batflip insane if they can't fix it?

"I can see why you and Jerome are such good friends: you're both big-nosed, immature, cocky little bastards. You think you're so smart... You didn't even bother to clear out your hard drive." Jerome gives a little fist pump and I grin, looking back at Rob expecting to see him doing the same thing. He doesn't look happy for once. Wait, what're these guys up to?

"What are you talking about? I have nothing important on this computer. I have nothing important period."

"Really? Maybe you should tell that to blondie over here. He seems pretty happy about the whole thing."

"Are you drunk, bro? Maybe you should stop trying to act cool and just spit it out."

"Is that what you did when you went down on him? Or did you swallow?" I'm totally lost. What the frick is going on here? Mitch looks upset about something, and Jerome looks like he scored the winning touchdown as he cheers with his stupid energy drink in his hand. Rob's face is completely unreadable as he finishes the rubber band ball, looks at it for a second, and immediately starts taking it apart again. Am I the only one who doesn't know what's going on? "You have some pretty interesting pictures on here for someone who has nothing to hide."

"Leave him out of this." This's the closest I've ever heard to Rob actually being angry. I didn't think he could get angry. Is this part of their plan or did something go horribly wrong?

"Touchy, touchy. I wonder what else you have here." Rob lunges at the computer and starts clicking furiously even though he looks completely uninterested. I guess it's a really good thing they took his camera offline – his face would totally blow it. Preston, learn some new words! "Oh, no. You can't delete these. They're mine now."

"Watch me." He's still clicking as fast as he possibly can and I can hear the hacker typing something, probably trying to copy whatever pictures he was talking about. I wonder what Rob could have on his computer that's so important? After a few seconds of concentrated clicking, everything stops. An eerie silence falls over the call and I can't hear anything. I start to wonder if the hacker broke through into our Skype call until Rob leans back and starts snapping his rubber bands again, just like before. His face lights up from the blue screen in front of him and a small chime plays in my ear before everything goes black except for the little square of light from his Mac's screen. He leans over and flips on the light switch, flooding his computer room with light. A bright blue box pops up in the middle of my screen and I have to squint to read the blocky font:

Target has been neutralized.

Thank you for using Triniti 2.0.

"GG, Woof. Did it take your phone down?" Jerome asks as he unmutes our microphones and Rob just nods with a small smile on his face. Why is he acting like this? What just happened? Before I can open my mouth to say anything, he cuts in.

"Of course it did. It killed everything in sight, so why wouldn't it kill my internet tether? Did you post the video?"

"As soon as you answered the call. You told me you didn't wanna be held hostage. Just doin' what you said to do."

"I know. I was just making sure. I would rather have everyone hear it from me."

"Hear what from you? What the frick's going on here, Rob?" He turns his chair to face his Mac, his fingers still twisting the stupid rubber bands. He doesn't wanna look at the screen.

"You should go watch my last video. Everything will make more sense."

"Wait... 'Last' as in you're quitting?" He can't be serious. He can't leave YouTube!

"No, of course not. It would take a lot more than one hacker to make me leave YouTube. Just go look at my channel and you'll see." I nod and open up a new browser window and search for his channel, scared to see how the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny really ended. He posted a new vlog called 'Before the Rumors Start' and it's only about three and a half minutes long. This can't be good. I click on the video and I see it already capped out at 301+ views with the ratings hidden from the public. Whatever happened here can't be taken back.

"Hey, what's going on guys? It's Woofless here and welcome to another vlog except... this one isn't anywhere cool or exciting! Yeah! Anyway, we are going to be doing something a little different today, and I hope everyone will stick around long enough to hear the whole story." He looks nervous under his usual carefree mask and I can see him playing with the sleeves of his dumb blue sweater right below the bottom of the frame. He recorded this after he started getting jittery. He wasn't all there when he made this video Jerome posted for him. What were they thinking, letting him be their press agent?

"There have been a lot of really hurtful things said about SetoSorcerer, BajanCanadian, JeromeASF, Skydoesminecraft, and a lot of other amazing people in our community. I am by no means claiming to know what happened with Team Crafted or any of that, and I'm not here to point fingers or lay blame on anyone's heads. What happened happened, and I'm sure eventually everything will change for the better. But that isn't what I brought you here to talk about.

"As I'm sure all of you know, Jerome and Mitch are two really good friends of mine and we work together a lot, along with the NoochM and PrestonPlayz. I'll admit that I don't like how the problems with Team Crafted have been handled on either side, and neither did Preston and Mat. The three of us stepped back from the situation, and we had absolutely nothing to do with SetoSorcerer taking a break from YouTube or any of the other arguments that broke out.

"But someone dragged us in, anyway. That wasn't the right thing to do. It wasn't the kind thing to do. It wasn't even a helpful thing to do. It was completely unnecessary and all it did was cause more hurt. Mat and Preston now have to pay a ridiculous amount of money to fix their computers, even though they were never involved in the conflict, and what they did to me... no amount of money can fix that.

"I made this video because I wanted all of you to hear it from me first, before they got the chance to try to use it against me. I hope you can understand that this is hard for me to say, and I never wanted it to come out like this. No one should have to spill their secrets all over the internet because someone hacked into their computer and stole their personal information. They... I... There is really no other way to say it. I am bisexual, or pansexual would probably be a little closer to the truth. I like some guys, some girls, and some people who don't see themselves as guys or girls. I just want to love someone, no matter how they identify themselves. I don't want to live in fear of anyone finding this out, and I don't want to act like loving someone is a crime or a sin. It isn't. I just want to be me, and if that means that not everyone will back me up... I would rather not have those false friends.

"Like I said before, I'm not here to point fingers or spread hate. I just want all of this to stop – today. The ones who did this know who they are, and I hope they're happy with how their childish little game turned out. I won't let this bring me down, and I don't want it to bring any of you down, either. So that we can make sure that at least one good thing comes out of this, when this video is released, I pledge to donate five hundred dollars to the Trevor Project to fight bullying and intolerance toward the lesbian, gay, bisexual, trangender, asexual, pansexual, intersex, anyone-one-needs-help community. Together, we won't let acts of cyberbullying like this hurt anyone, even the ones who tried to promote it.

"To end this... I guess it's a vlog? To end this vlog off, I just want to thank each and every one of you for your support and understanding. I hope that we can still be friends and go back to having good times together. I hope this doesn't change your opinion of me or my friends, but if it does, I hope it's for the better. More than anything, I hope that this video can help someone else out there who is trying to cope with bullying or is having a hard time coming to terms with their identity. Don't let anyone else dictate how you live your life: this is your life, not theirs. Thank you again for being the strongest, kindest, loveliest group of people I have ever had the pleasure to meet. You really are amazing. Take care and I will see you next time with something a little less sappy and, hopefully, more exciting. Woofless out!"

When the video fades out and the list of recommended videos shows up, I still can't look away. I can't believe what I just watched, on so many different levels. Is this what Jerome meant when he said beating Rob down was like breaking a glass window with a baseball bat and blaming the window? They might've got into his computer, yeah, but he just saved the BenjandBac's hides and stabbed someone somewhere with a butt ton of broken glass. Okay, not the best way to say that. But someone just lost a load of subs to a guy who's pretty much untouchable now and is losing his ish. It's like being 720-no-scoped in a game of elimination by someone who wasn't even in the same room as the TV. I've never seen anyone pull the martyr act better than Rob the Flower King.

But he also just punched himself right in the face. And hard.

Whose bright idea was this, anyway?

I close the window and turn back to the Skype call. Mitch looks like he's still watching it, and Jerome and Rob are waiting for us to finish. He's still messing with those stupid frickin' rubber bands like he's just having a grand ol' time over there. What were Mitch and the Bac thinking, letting him do this to himself? Well, going by the look on Mitch's face, he must not've known what the other two were up to. And you can't really hold Rob accountable for what he did – I mean, look at him! So Jerome did this. He made Rob skewer and roast himself so he'd have something good to feed Mitch. I don't think I've ever hated anyone as much as I hate him right now. Who in the hell does he think he is?!

"Everyone good now?" Jerome asks as he swivels back and forth in his chair with a smile while Mitch just blinks. Out of everyone here, the Bacca's the last one who deserves to be happy about anything right now. I just wanna punch him right in the face and snap his giant frickin' bird nose in two.

"No! No one's good now except you! How dare you!" The Bacca looks amused and Mitch looks taken aback, like he hadn't expected me to say something. Rob's confused and he finally looks up at the Skype call, his right eyebrow raised. Doesn't he understand what he just did to himself?

" 'How dare I' what? I didn't do nothin' but set it up. It was Woof's plan from the beginning." Okay, I hadn't expected that, but that still doesn't change much. Rob's not capable of watching out for himself right now, anyone can see that.

"Do you think that matters? Do you really freakin' think that makes a difference?! How could you let him do that to himself?! There must've been a hundred different ways to kill the hacker without throwin' Rob under the bus!"

"He chose to jump in front of the fuckin' bus. If you have a problem with his decisions, talk to him about it. He's sitting right there." I look over at Rob and he's staring back at me, his rubber band ball finally sitting back on the desk.

"Why? Why did you let this happen?"

"I didn't let anything happen, Preston. I chose to do this. It might not have been the only way to solve the problem, but it was the best way."

"How in the hell was this the best way to do anything but kill your channel?! You told me how scared you were to come out! You told me how much it'd hurt your reputation if you did! Why would you-"

"Do you even realize what I did today? Do you know how many problems this solved?" He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, like he can't believe he has to explain the plan to me when everyone intentionally left me out of the loop. "With a three-minute video and a handful of edited, G-rated photos of me and my boyfriend from college, I helped Jerome and his people destroy the hacker, I got positive publicity for my channel by donating to a major social movement, I mutilated someone else's reputation beyond repair, and I saved your ass. Most of all, I don't have to hide anymore. I can finally be free and not worry about people using my sexuality against me. Do you know how hard that is, not being able to be yourself because you are always afraid of what everyone else will think about you? I don't have to deal with that now, or ever again."

"That's all fine and dandy, but you're missing the point! You didn't need to do it! How did you save me?! He was lying!" Rob shakes his head and Jerome facepalms while Mitch just looks on in disbelief. How much of this did they tell him before? Did they just let him mope around and have his pity party and eat himself into oblivion for three days?

"He wasn't lying, P. Paul found the e-mail in your old inbox and forwarded it me," the Bacca says from behind his hand.

"Did I frickin' ask you?! No, I didn't!"

"Preston, please just listen. He did have your address, and it wasn't the one to your apartment, either. He was threatening to post your parents' address online where anyone could get it and hurt your family. I couldn't let that happen." I can't even think. My mind is just blank. I know I look like a complete idiot in the Skype call, but... How didn't I think of that? That account was so old I didn't think the hacker coulda got anything important from it. I didn't think it'd hurt anything. That's it: I didn't think. I never do. All this is my fault. I sat around like an idiot while I forced Rob to knife himself right in the gut so he could save me.

And he did.

He always does.

And I always let him.

This's my fault.

"Just think about it logically for a second. Which one is more important: one person's career and online reputation, or eight people's lives and their home? If worst comes to worst, I can move back home for a little while until this calms down and I can get my views back up. Notch knows it won't be the first time that has happened. My channel is replaceable – your family isn't."

"I know it doesn't look like it right now but it was the best plan we had, Lava P," Jerome adds as he spins his Monster can on his desk.

"So you did have other plans? Why didn't you do something, then?! You told me not to use people?! Well, look who's talkin'!"

"It isn't using someone when they're the one that comes up with the fuckin' plan!"

"Yeah, like he's in any position to be makin' decisions like that! He's outta his frickin' mind!"

"What's that supposed to mean, Preston?" Rob asks so quietly I almost don't hear him over my own yelling. His arms are crossed and he's glaring at me like I shouldn't be questioning his judgment. I'm so sick of him hurting himself so everyone else can be happy. Why does he hafta be so masochistic all the time? "You don't think I can make my own decisions?"

"Of course you can! Just not when you're acting like you're on speed!"

"You're a dumbass. Him being wired like a fuckin' roller coaster's just a side effect of him being off his meds. He did what he had to do. He knew what had to be done and he's a team player, unlike you." Rob double facepalms and bends over to hide his face in his hands. Apparently the Bacca wasn't supposed to say anything about that. What else's Rob been trying to hide from me?

"You... You guys let him go off his meds? You risked him getting hurt so you could save Mitch's YouTube channel? What in the hell is wrong with you?!" My voice starts out low but it gets louder with every syllable as I get angrier and angrier. How could they risk their friend's life for their stupid channels?! How could anyone be so pathetic and evil?!

"Jerome, did you...?" It looks like this's news to Mitch, too. Is Jerome the only who doesn't know why Rob's on pills in the first place? Is that why he got away with it for so long? So Rob played all of us, yet again. Where does he get off?! He's just as bad as the Bacca!

"He kinda suggested it, and when I asked him he said he could. What harm did it do?" Jerome replies, finally setting his stupid drink down. It just doesn't sink in with this guy! His priorities are all kinds of screwed up!

"Are you frickin' kidding me?! Of course he said it was fine! It's Rob, for frick's sakes! Would he've told you no?!"

"Preston, I'm right here. Nothing-"

"Shut the frick up, Robert. I don't even wanna hear it from you right now."

"You can't tell me what to do, bro. You aren't my mom."

"Watch me!"

"I wouldn't have done it if Mitch wasn't here with me. I know my limits."

"No, you obviously don't! You don't even know how out of it you are right now! You've been twitching like you're getting electrocuted all day and you just spent like nine hours counting things on your computer screen! Something's wrong here!"

"It's Minecraft. Counting is a useful skill to have, in case you haven't noticed. I feel fine. There's nothing wrong with me."

"Go take your pills, Rob. Now."

"I will when we get done here."

"No. Now." He just looks at me with that sarcastic smile on his face as he snorts in disbelief and crosses his legs defiantly to show me he isn't moving from his stupid rolly chair. This guy's gonna drive me crazy, too.

"Rob, you really should-" Mitch tries to say, but he doesn't get to talk, either.

"And you! You can't even stop sleepin' long enough to keep an eye on him when the Bacca's got him running around without his meds!"

"What are you talking about, dood?"

"Yesterday! I'm talkin' about yesterday after you told me to go to sleep! You went in his room and put your empty frickin' head down on that nasty, smelly foot bed and went the frick to sleep while Jerome's over here tellin' him to jump off a freakin' skyscraper so the bus can run over him easier! Now your career's safe so you suddenly start caring!"

"I wasn't sleeping! I was trying to come up with a plan to save all of our asses once these two found a way to get rid of the hacker! Someone has to fix the damage all of this caused! New subs don't just suddenly appear out of midair!"

"Now ain't that a fresh load of bull honky! I caught you and you won't admit it!"

"I would never think of making him do this! I didn't know any of this was going on! Do you know how many times I have had to watch this guy? Do you have any idea how many trips I have made to his apartment in the middle of the night to see if he's okay? Don't try to tell me that I don't care about him! What the fuck have you ever done for him?" He looks like he's having a hard time keeping it together, like the stress of all this's finally getting to him. Okay, maybe I misjudged Mitch a little bit. But I'm still beyond pissed at Jerome.

"And what about you? What's your excuse?" The Bacca just snorts and leans back in his chair like he's still playing his stupid little game and he thinks he's got a better hand than me. I wanna deck him right now and wipe that smirk right off his face. I don't even care anymore – I just wanna make him hurt as much as possible.

"Took you long enough to grow some balls. You were startin' to make me wonder about you."

"Here we go," Mitch mumbles as he shifts in his seat, crossing his legs on his rotten foot-and-food-couch to get slightly less uncomfortable. Rob just keeps hiding his face in his hands with his elbows on the desk. Looks like this might take a while.

"Shut the fuck up, Bitchy Mitch. No one asked you," the Bacca responds with the last ounce of his humor.

"That's cute. You're gonna sit there talkin' about my balls when you've been using all of us as meat shields to protect your little empire with Mitch? You even let 'em go after Nooch. Is it ever gonna be enough for you, or are you really so much of a psycho you don't care about hurting anyone else?!" Okay, now that struck a nerve. He sits up straight in his chair and his eyes are burning and his nostrils are flared. He looks like a bull getting ready to charge and he's aimed right at me. If it'd been any other time, I might've regretted saying it. But he deserved it.

"You think I don't care about Rob? Or Mat? Or, God forbid, you?"

"You think you do?! Funny way of showing it!" Then he goes nuclear.

"Don't you get it?! I never asked for this! I never asked for any o' this shit! Do you think I wanted to spend my life like this, playin' watchdog and scaring people shitless all the time?! I hate this! I hate it so much I could just scream and cry and punch a hole right through my fuckin' computer screen! If I had any other choice, I'd make a run for the hills and churn fucking butter for a living and never come back! But I know if I left all the buzzards would descend and destroy everything we've been workin' so hard to build up here! But why do I even bother?! You're fuckin' selfish!" He points at Mitch. "You're fuckin' crazy!" He points at Rob. "And you're fuckin' stupid as goddamn shit!" He points at me. His face is so red he looks like he's gonna suffocate in his own rage. Mitch's eyes are wide in horror and Rob just looks resigned, like he hadn't wanted any of this to happen. That idiot's probably blaming himself for all this right now. Why do I like these people again? "I hate all of you for makin' me into this... this monster, but I love you too much to just leave and let the hyenas get ya! I hate that I love you, and for some sick fuckin' reason I'm willing to sit here and be your guardian and your punching bag and your stooge! So don't you dare give me that shit about me being your enemy! If I wasn't on your side and behind you every step of the fuckin' way, you never woulda been here in the first place!"

"You never once...! What?" I start talking before the end of his rant sinks in. What's he talking about? He just stares at me with his beady little eyes and huffs, turning away from the computer in disgust.

"God, you're fuckin' stupid. Look at this guy! Is he serious right now? Is he fuckin' serious?!"

"Preston, I wasn't even the one who asked you to record with me the first time. Don't you remember?" Mitch asks with a trace of an annoyed smile on his face. Great, so now he's turning on me, too! Why can't we all just go back to being mad at the frickin' Bacca?! He's the one who screwed up here!

"Yeah!" Jerome screams, redder than ever as he starts counting things off on his fingers. "When this guy wouldn't touch you with a fifty foot pole, I'm the one who vouched for you and talked him into giving you a fuckin' chance! I'm the one who messaged you and invited you to record with us the first time! I'm the one who made you smooth everything over with Rob so he wouldn't just walk away from all your self-centered bullshit! I'm the one who protected your ass when the war broke out! I'm the one who hired and paid the guys who fixed your computer and reclaimed all your accounts! I'm the one who sits up all night, every night trying to keep people from stealing your footage and ruining your brand! I'm the one you come crawlin' to every time you do something stupid and you need someone to bail your ass outta trouble!

"And I don't even get paid for any of this shit! All I do is get blamed every time something goes to hell! So don't you sit there and tell me how much I don't care about you! I can't stand your ass ninety-nine percent of the time and sometimes I'd like to take a pipe and beat your big, stupid bacon-flavored neanderthal head in, but I'm just about the last person who'd screw you over! You don't know shit about me!" The call falls silent for a while after Jerome stops yelling and he won't even look at the screen. This can't be the same Bacca I know.

"Can we all agree that we made some mistakes this week? We can't sit here fighting about this: that's exactly what they want to happen," Rob says as he plays with the sleeves of his stupid freakin' blue sweater. Why does he always have to be the calm one, even when he's halfway to crazy? Just thinking about that ticks me off all over again. Mitch nods a little and I just look at Jerome, who's pretending no one even said anything. "I made a stupid decision-"

"Like you're capable of makin' any decisions! You haven't slept in three freakin' days, Rob! You're twitchin' like you're on drugs! You can't sit still for more than three seconds without buildin' something and takin' it apart again!"

"Preston, please. I made a stupid decision to stop taking my pills, but it had to be done and I lied about it. A lot. You made some bad decisions, but you didn't know what else to do and you apologized for it." Jerome snorts again and I start to say something but Rob cuts me off. "Mitch tried to do the right thing, but it backfired in his face every single time. Jerome tried to do his job and hold everything together, but he always ends up looking like the bad guy. Everyone screwed up and everyone was wrong, but it all worked out in the end. We need each other now more than ever, so let's just put the past in the past and figure out what we're going to try to do with the future." I can't believe this.

"So you're just gonna let 'em keep walkin' all over you like you're a doormat? Real friends don't do stuff like makin' someone give up their meds." Rob takes a deep breath and puts his senpai face on. It won't work this time.

"This was my plan from the very beginning, so if you want to blame someone, then blame me. I made that decision while I was still on my pills, and I don't regret it. I would do it again if I had the chance. It's my life and my choice. We can get through this, but only if we stop trying to pick each other apart. We have to do this together because we're all we have now."

"We have to stop fighting each other, especially you two," Mitch adds as he moves his finger between me and the Bacca. "Who is the real enemy here? It isn't Jerome, and it sure as hell isn't Rob. If you absolutely have to have someone to point your finger at, Preston, point it at me. Go ahead. I'm standing right here."

"Mitch..." Jerome looks exasperated, like he's watching Team Crafted fall apart all over again. Mitch really would do anything for the Bac.

"Go ahead and pin this whole thing on me. I caused all of this to happen, no matter how you look at it. Come on, I'm waiting. Everyone else is doing it, so why not you, too?" Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Canadians? They do all kinds of stupid bullshrimp, then they sit there and give you big, sad puppy dog eyes so you feel bad about being mad at 'em. Freakin' passive aggressive syrup suckers.

"Can't we just call it a draw and let it go?" Rob asks as he rolls his rubber band ball over and over in his hands.

"Amen, dood." Mitch gives a little smile and Jerome barely nods so you have to squint to even see his head move. "Preston?" I sigh and cover my face with my hands for a few seconds. I can't believe I'm doing this.

"Yeah. I'm in."

---------------

June 29, 2012 at 10 AM, Montreal, Quebec: Rob

Something somewhere is making a thumping noise, but I don't care enough to get up to investigate. The noise restarts the roaring fire in my chest and I'm wide awake again, like I just drank an entire pot of coffee. I pull the blanket up over the top of my head and try to go back to my calm, quiet, formless, dreamless sleep. The pounding continues and I grab a handful of the soft, grey fluff and bunch it up against the side of my head in a weak attempt to stifle the sound. For a moment I think it might have worked, until I hear loud footsteps hurrying across the floor and the front door opening next to the kitchen. I sigh and force my eyes closed, hoping Mitch can handle it, whatever it is. I hear him saying something in the doorway before he shuts the door, his fetid feet stomping across the wood floor. He has to be doing this on purpose.

"Hey, Rob." I ignore him and pretend to still be sleeping, even though the idea of sleep is completely ludicrous at this point – I feel like I'll never have to sleep again. "Hey, Rob. Hey, Rob. Hey, Rob." He can make fun of me as much as he wants; I'm determined to go back to sleep. I hear him snort and walk away in defeat, the sound of him rustling around in the kitchen again echoing throughout the apartment.

'Does he ever give it a rest?' I sigh and close my eyes again, hoping against all odds that I can somehow go back to that peaceful nothingness. Not even a minute passes before I feel the blanket being lifted up off of my head, and I look up, expecting to see Mitch eating his second or third breakfast of the day. Instead, Mom is standing there, her kissy lips only centimeters away from my face. I jump and instinctively pull away, hiding my face in the corner of the couch to escape from her trademark glower and her vanilla perfume. She pulls away and I can hear her huff behind me.

"Now is that any way to greet your mother?" I peek over at her with a smile and she rolls her eyes before she pulls my feet off of the couch and sits down next to me, her arms crossed. "You really are Darren's son. To think I used to have my doubts." The guys must be getting a laugh out of this. I slowly sit up and put the blanket to the side, running my hand through my messy hair while I yawn. She watches me with her head tilted to the side, a spark of amusement dancing in her eyes.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had to work today."

"That's one of the best things about being the boss – not that you would know anything about that, Robbie." I glance over at the Skype call and, of course, Jerome is grinning like a gremlin and Preston is doubled over in laughter. I hesitate for a second before I unmute the call, wondering if this is a good idea.

"Mornin', Mama Woof. How've you been?" Jerome acts like such a charmer when the 'adults' are around, and everyone's parents adore him. If only they could hear him behind the scenes, with his cursing and his threats. It seems like four years on the debate team taught him how to argue and act.

"I'm just fine, Jerome. How are you, honey?"

"Life's good. I can't complain." Mom catches me rolling my eyes at him and she turns and glares at the side of my head, silently scolding me for picking on my friend.

"Behave yourself, Robbie, or I will call your dad."

"I was always more afraid of you, anyway. Dad would just laugh and give me a dollar so I wouldn't tell on him."

"Why does that not surprise me? Aren't you going to introduce me to your new friend?" She beckons to the computer screen and I can see Preston flush pink, his hand automatically moving up to fix his hair.

"Oh, right. You have already met Mitchell and Jerome, and this is Preston. All four of us work together on YouTube with Mathew."

"Enchantée, Preston. I am so sorry that my son has absolutely no manners whatsoever. He gets that from his father." As always, she has to be the stereotypical troll mom and humiliate me in front of everyone I have ever met and ever will meet. If it's even possible, Preston turns redder than me.

'It's too bad Darryl doesn't have a sense of humor; he could lighten the load a bit.'

"Huh? Oh, no! He's the nicest guy I've ever worked with! Rob's awesome!" Preston rambles to Mom's delight as she reaches over to try to fix my bed head, her fingers pulling at the stubborn curl that always stands up on the left side.

"That isn't saying much for the rest of you." I can hear Mitch cackling in the kitchen as he watches us over the mini wall next to the fridge. He looks exhausted – he must have stayed up all night so he could make sure that I actually slept. I feel like such a burden. "Where are you from, Preston? It sounds like... the western States?"

"I'm from Texas, ma'am."

'Now he's laying it on thick, too. At this rate, she will want to adopt all three of them and burn me out of all of her pictures.'

"Really? I flew down to Austin a couple of years ago for a business conference. It was definitely a change of pace – too hot for my taste, though. Thank you, Mitchell." I look up to see him carrying in three cups of coffee, and Mom turns to stare at the side of my head when he sets the cups down. "Once again, I'm sorry my son has no manners. Go help him, Robbie. He isn't your maid." I really don't want to leave her alone with the other two in a Skype call, but her mom glare always makes me feel guilty.

"Do you want me to get you anything else?" I ask as I stand up, and she just keeps looking at me with her right eyebrow raised.

"I would really like a million dollars and a malt beer, but something tells me I won't get either one." We grin at each other and I shake my head as I walk over to the kitchen to help Mitch do whatever he's been trying to do. If he keeps this up, she'll be asking him to marry me – he's a better host than the rest of my family put together.

"You did this to me. I know you did," I say, pointing at him accusingly as he puts his hands up in surrender, an empty paper plate in his hand.

"She called when I had your phone at the grocery store. I wasn't going to hang up on your mom and cause another world war." He digs a small box of cupcakes with blue frosting out of a plastic bag on the counter and starts putting them on the paper plates, his usual smirk glued in place.

'Mitch is a better brother to me than my actual flesh-and-blood brother. Maybe that's why Mom is so enamored with him.' I grab the plates and carry them into the living room, laughing when her eyes widen in mock surprise.

"He actually got you to do something? Wow, that's a first." Mitch walks in a few seconds later with two small gift bags and a huge brown box, setting them down on the coffee table behind my Mac. I go back to my seat next to her and I see that Preston is picking at a banana split and Jerome is munching on another little bag of Fritos. They were obviously in on this, too. I was wondering what they were doing while I was asleep. Mitch starts eating the frosting off of his cupcake before his ass ever reaches the armchair, his fingers carefully peeling the wrapper off of the bottom like a crime scene investigator trying to preserve a vital piece of evidence. Mom leans over and grabs one of the bags before she lunges over and kisses me on the cheek before I can move away. "Happy birthday, Robbie."

"You guys really didn't have to do any of this."

"Just shut up and open it." She pushes it closer to me and I can feel my face heating up as I pull the tissue paper out.

'How can I have so many amazing people in my life?' The first thing I notice is a preorder card for Assassin's Creed III with Dad's hieroglyphic handwriting along the top, his loopy scrawls trying very hard to wish me a happy birthday.

"He wanted to drive up for the weekend, but the firm needed him to sit around and count pennies instead. You don't know how glad I am that you didn't sell your soul to Scrooge Corp. like him."

"I'll call him tonight when he gets home. Speaking of which, I should really go get another cell phone today."

"What did you do to your other one?" she asks, her eyebrows raised expectantly as she peers over her dark purple glasses at me.

"I really don't think you want to know," Mitch snickers as he picks the remaining crumbs off of the inside of his wrapper, his cupcake nowhere in sight.

"I probably don't. My hair is white enough already. What else is there?" She points down at the bag with the beginnings of a little grin on her face, and I start wondering if this is something I should be opening in front of my friends. I look down in the bag and see that, whatever it is, it's wrapped meticulously with dark blue tissue paper. I glance over at her and she doesn't look particularly evil. I pull the squishy, blue lump out of the bag and carefully unwrap it away from the camera, remembering the screaming book she had bought Dad for his birthday two years ago that had nearly caused him to have a heart attack. The dark blue, galaxy print hoodie unrolls on my lap and I immediately lean over and throw my arms around her. As always, she sees right through me like I'm made out of glass.

"Thank you so much. You are absolutely amazing."

"Aww," Mitch coos, reaching over to my side of the table and grabbing my cupcake. Even Mom rolls her eyes at his ridiculousness this time.

"For my little astronaut."

"Mom, stop."

"Robert Aaron Latsky, don't you get smart with me! I get to be cheesy for three days a year, and this is one of them. But I'm glad you like it, sweetie. You are so picky with your clothes." She hands me the other bag, and Mitch and Jerome both start smirking. I warily pull the staple out of the top of the bag and look inside before I take anything out, knowing that I am physically and virtually surrounded by trolls. The first thing I see is a three-pack of blue, 'new car' scented air freshener trees, and Mom immediately covers her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

"You know, Mitch... This might actually be the best gift anyone has ever given me. I don't think you bought enough, though." I rip open the top wrapper and a wave of cool, strong air flows out of the package. I take a big breath of it and promptly throw the little tree over at Mitch. He flinches when it lands on his lap, then he grabs it and hangs it on his left earring.

"We got you something else," he laughs while he adjusts his new accessory, the blue cardboard twirling as he devours the poor cupcake. I look back in the bag and see a little yellow Post-It note stuck to the bottom, with the letters 'IOU' written in huge, sloppy black letters, like he had traced it over and over again with a ballpoint pen. "We can stop and pick it up when we deliver Mat's computer parts in a couple of days. He had to have the motherboard shipped to the store, and you live a he- a heck of a lot closer to it than he does." I laugh at Mitch's lame attempt at censorship and Jerome bobs his head up and down, apparently in on the plan.

"You really don't have to get me anything. These," I hold up the air fresheners, "were the only thing I wanted."

"Oh, give it up, Robbie. Let people be nice to you for a day. Open this one so we can get on with our lives," Mom sighs up at the ceiling as she grabs for the large, brown box. "Neither of us know what this is – it was sitting outside your door when I got here."

"What?" Jerome says, his dark eyes narrowing in suspicion while Preston just looks confused.

"Oooooh," Mitch all but whispers, his eyes wide as he realizes what had happened. He and I look at each other in shock, his lips frozen in a little O shape.

"That's a real bright idea, Benj. Bringin' strangers' big packets in Rob's apartment without him knowing," the Bacca rants, facepalming in exasperation while he tries to keep the humor light.

'He doesn't want Mom to know what has been going on. There could be anything in that box, and it could be from anyone. Did someone manage to track down Mitch and send him something disturbing, or possibly harmful?'

"Should we open it?" I ask as I carefully set the box back down on the table, examining the sides of the package and the label for anything suspicious.

"Why wouldn't you open it? It says it came from Amazon," Mom laughs lightly, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. She knows something is up, but the very last thing I want right now is for her to get hurt.

"What do you think, Jerome?" I ask and I can already tell that his answer is no, just by looking at him.

"Robbie, what is going on here? Are you in some kind of trouble?" She looks concerned now, like she thinks I might be involved in drug trafficking, or that I might be building explosives in my walk-in closet.

"Wait a minute. I know what that is. Was the shipping date yesterday?" Preston asks with his head cocked to the side, and everyone turns to look at him questioningly.

"Yeah, it shipped yesterday from the warehouse downtown. Did you send this?" He nods and turns bright red, stretching his arms behind his head and pretending to yawn so we can't see his face as well.

"Well, now that we know it prob'ly isn't a dead cat, you've gotta open it. I wanna see what Pressy got you." Mom gets her troll grin back again and she flutters her eyelashes at me teasingly, and I just huff and look away.

'Now I have both her and Jerome pestering me about me liking Preston. I was hoping this day would never come.' I carefully open the box, peeling away the layers of stringy brown packing tape, wishing Mitch would allow me to touch sharp objects; this would be so much easier with a butcher knife. After almost two minutes of awkward struggling, I finally manage to get the top of the box open. There's something big and fluffy made out of soft black and white fabric, a small yellow foot poking out at the bottom of the box. My mouth recognizes it before my brain does.

"Oh my god. It's Günter." Jerome squints at the screen for a few seconds before he makes a pouty face, looking personally affronted that I had gotten a giant stuffed penguin but he hadn't. Mom looks completely lost and glances at me before looking over at Mitch and the computer screen to see if someone would give her a hint about what was going on. Mitch has his lips clamped together, trying not to burst out laughing, and Preston has his face buried in his arms on the table in his hotel room, his deathly red forehead barely visible over his forearm. Even I have never seen him blush so hard.

"I don't get it. It's a what?" Mom asks as I pull the giant penguin out of the box, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she runs her hand over its soft, white belly.

"It's Günter the penguin. He's a character from one of the TV shows we watch. He's the servant of the crazy Ice King in Adventure Time," I explain as I watch Preston curl in on himself more and more with every word. I can feel my own face getting hot now and Mitch cackles as he gets to his feet and walks over to the kitchen. I can barely hear him opening the cupcake box again over Jerome's snickering. "Thank you, Preston. He's amazing." Preston just moans and doesn't move from his spot, and Mom starts giggling, her hand rubbing little circles on my back.

'This is going to turn into a very, very awkward conversation later, I can already tell.'

----------------

June 29, 2012 at 2 PM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston

I pull the rolling suitcase out of my trunk and lock my car, checking around the parking lot to see if there're any freakin' weirdos hanging around outside like there were at Mitch's apartment. I don't see anyone, but I put my keys between my fingers anyways. I hold my car key with my thumb like a switchblade, knowing my hunting knife is folded up in my right pocket just in case I need it. I speed walk over to the stairs and run up to the third floor as fast as I can with my bag bumping behind me, praying there won't be some creep waiting up here around the corner for me and that the door's still closed and locked. I peek around the corner and no one's sitting up here. The door's still shut. I lean the suitcase up against the wall next to the door and I pull the knife out of my pocket, ready to go COD-style as soon as I open the front door. I open it an inch and listen for a second before I kick it open, scanning around to see if anyone's here. The alarm starts screaming and I duck in to turn it off before I look around a second time. Still nothing.

"Well that's a relief." I turn around and drag my suitcase inside and lean it against the closet before I pull the door shut behind me. I carefully fold the knife back up and put it in my pocket again with my keys. It's gonna be a while before I can put this baby back in the junk drawer.

I turn the corner into the living room when the smell hits me.

It hits me like a semi truck

 "Holy frick. What the crap is that?" I grab for the knife again, but as soon as I look in the room I know what it is: it's my freakin' pizza. I can see the green spots from here, and I didn't order it with peppers on it. I pinch my nose shut and walk over to the kitchen, grabbing the trash sack outta the can and holding my breath so I can shove the nasty, spotted thing in. I tie it shut and hurry over to the front door and lock the bottom lock on my way out so no one can get in while I get rid of the body. It smells like a rotten corpse! This must be what it smells like to live in the Walking Dead world. This freakin' sucks. I wish I had some of Rob's air fresheners right now.

Crap. I don't wanna think about Rob. Just thinking his name makes me glow red like I'm on fire and it's complete bullshrimp. I'm not even looking at him or talking to him and he still makes me feel like I'm actually a lava mob. I need to get a grip and get over it. I can't like a guy, period. Even a really nice guy. Even if he's handsome. And gay. Because I'm not. So it wouldn't work. Besides, my family would literally skin me alive if they even found out I might like a guy. I admit it now, okay? There's no point lying to myself about it. But there's no reason to ever talk about it, either. I'm never gonna say anything. I'm just gonna let it sit and stew and rot and maybe someday I won't even feel it anymore. What else can I do? I'm not allowed to love a man, so I won't. I'll just be his favorite other-brother because it sounds like his real brother sucks. He didn't even bother to call him on his birthday or anything, and his mom didn't mention him. I don't even remember what his name was. Jerkwad.

Okay, seriously Preston. Stop, dude. No really. Stahp. Just plant this pizza bomb at checkpoint B and get back home so you can call cable to fix your internet and get back online, then Mitch can get some sleep while you keep an eye on Rob-the-twenty-seven-year-old-ultra-hyper-kid-who-still-acts-like-he's-on-speed. Then you can order a good pizza without the mold and fumes. Oh, crap. I left the rest of this pizza in the fridge. Now I hafta come all the way back down here when it's over a hundred-and-twenty degrees outside. This frickin' sucks!

"Thanks a lot, Rob." I need to stop thinking about him. For real this time. It's only been like half an hour and I already miss his dumb derp face. This is really bad.