The next day, I was slumped against one of the dying trees outside of the school yard when Dean and Phil passed. Dean noticed me sitting by myself and stopped, nudging Phil not-so-surreptitiously with his elbow.

They walked over and sat next to me, throwing their bags a few feet away with mine. Phil rested his head on my legs, smiling up at me. "You're an enigma, Daniel, you know that? Why on earth would you choose to be outside, alone, in such frigid weather, when you could be inside with your friends?"

"I didn't know where you were," I shrugged, picking at the grass. It felt strange to hear Phil call himself my friend. I suppose it made sense, however; he didn't seem to have very many of them.

"In the library, of course," Dean said. "The librarian doesn't mind if we're in there after school, as long as we stay near the books to pretend like we're going to check something out, and it's always warm. Sometimes uncomfortably so, in the summer, but still."

"Has everyone else gone home already?"

"Uh, no," Phil answered, "Shane went with Ryland, but I'm pretty sure Tom is in some sort of club. Cooking, maybe?"

"No, cooking doesn't start until the tenth." Dean said, "You know, with the rest of the normal ones. I think he's at game design today."

"Oh, cool," a sudden burst of wind made me shiver. Like an idiot, I hadn't bothered to bring a coat. "Who's Ryland?"

"Shane's boyfriend. Dan, you're shivering. Do you want my sweatshirt?" Phil offered.

"No, I—"

Phil ignored me and reached for his bag, pulling out a large MIT sweatshirt. It was actually quite warm, though about a size too big on me. The pockets held several empty candy wrappers, and one stale mint that I gave to Dean. "Whose is this?" I asked. Phil was my height (both of us were over six feet, and both of us were probably direct descendants of Slender Man), so I assumed he wouldn't get a sweatshirt in such a large size.

"My brother's," he answered, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "It's big, I mean, you're practically drowning in it, but it's warm, right? It's my go-to pajama shirt in the winter." He stared at me for a moment, as if thinking, then added, "You can keep it. I can just get my brother to give me another one, and besides, you look cute."

"Er, thanks," I blushed. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. It can be your go-to school shirt, so you don't freeze out here again. It's no big deal, really."

I thanked him again and quickly changed the subject. "So, how are you guys getting home?"
"Dean and I are walking. We just figured we'd wait with you until you could leave."
Dean grimaced. "Oh, Phil, about that..."

"Don't tell me. Jack's giving you a ride?"

"I didn't tell you," Dean joked weakly. "I'm sorry, Phil, he just offered last night, and Anthony's throwing a party...You know you can always come, but you never seem to enjoy them, seeing as how you always go off to the roof."

"It's fine. It's not like I've never had to walk alone before."

"Aw, c'mon Phil," Dean frowned, running a hand through his short hair. "Don't be like that. What if Dan walked you home? I'm sure he'd be better company to you. The enigma rather than the...the axiom, right?"

"Oh, Dan wouldn't—"

"I'd love to, actually," I interrupted. "Where are we going?"

"I have to stop at my father's restaurant. Mango's, you know. But that probably isn't even near where you live so I wouldn't bother you with that." He rambled, flushing a bit.

Just then, a boy ran up and slid onto the grass next to Dean. He was blond, with laughing eyes and thick black glasses that had been taped in the middle, which, oddly enough, didn't make him look weird or nerdy. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Hey, Dean, Phil," he greeted, "who's this?"

"Dan," I shook his hand. "Do I know you?"
He laughed. "Probably. I'm Jack. Why are you three out here so late? The party is starting soon."

"Well, it's not my fault you were being so slow," Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, about the party, do you want to go, Dan? It should be pretty fun; Anthony's parents are gone, and they have a big pool."
I knew that already. Anthony had been a good friend, at my old school. My closest friend. I'd even been the one to help him plan the party that they were talking about; we'd made it exclusive, so people would have to suck up to us to get on the guest list.

I had been hoping that, without me there, he might not actually go through with it. But since when did Anthony Padilla pass up a chance to get drunk?

"Nah," I said, standing and grabbing my bag from the pile, "I'm not really that much of a party guy. I'll see you later, Dean and Jack. You ready to go?"

Phil nodded and started down the road, waiting for a car to pass before sprinting across. I followed not far behind.

We walked for a while in a silence that wasn't awkward, but hesitant, both of us wanting to speak but not quite knowing whether we should. It was the silence of newfound friendship. Finally, I said, "Jack seems...nice. Do you know him well?"

"Not really," Phil said carefully, "but he's Dean's friend, so I guess he must be okay."

"How long have you known Dean for?"

"Since we were kids. Our mothers were good friends, since college, I think. I'm pretty sure they wanted us to be gay so we could get married. We used to be really close. When my father opened the restaurant, Dean and I were the first workers. I remember we'd always get huge tips because people thought we were cute, at that age. Now I work my shift alone, since he's always out with Jack."

There it was: that same tinge of bitterness I had heard earlier. "I kinda get the feeling you don't like him all that much."

"Wouldn't you feel the same if he stole your best friend?" Phil snapped. He stopped walking for a moment and shook his head. "Sorry, I just...he's Dean's friend, but he's so infuriating sometimes."

"No, I get that," I assured him. "It's fine, really. I'm sorry I was being so nosy."

"All good friends are," Phil smiled. "We're here."

I followed him up the steps of a small, orange shop squeezed between a shoe store and a ski rental place. I couldn't explain the use of the latter; the earth here was completely flat, and the nearest ski mountain was about an hour's drive away. It had two picnic tables shaded by colorful umbrellas out front, both of which were empty.

The inside of the store was just as quirky as the exterior, with four tvs on the walls playing a video of a rock concert, a bar-style counter with different smoothie flavors displayed on a chalkboard behind it, and a small blue cabinet filled with a random array of sweets. Most importantly, the shop was warm, and I finally stopped shivering.

"This is your dad's place?" I wondered, slightly impressed. Sure, it was a little weird, but

a good way. It was the kind of place I would go after school to get an ice cream and study, or maybe where my friends and I would meet up before a party. Small, safe, comfortable.

"Yeah," Phil said proudly, "he's owned it for about ten years now. Business is decent, mostly a few teenagers and families, but everyone always comes back because they love my dad. Do you want a smoothie?"

"No, thanks though," I was still focused on the tvs. "What band is that?"

"Uh, The Killers, I think." He grabbed a remote from the counter and turned up the volume on the tv. "Cool, I was right."

"Do you listen to their stuff?"

"Some of it. Mostly Muse and MCR, that kind of thing." He held up his hands mock defensively, "I'm not emo, I swear."

"Ah, too bad, because I am," I laughed. "I've never met anyone who actually liked them, besides me. Or, at least, admitted to it."

"What kind of horrid place did you go to school to?"

"A hellish one," I said solemnly. "One to which I will never return. Hopefully."

"Don't be such a drama queen."

"Too bad," I fell against him dramatically, "I am." I stood and checked my watch. It was brand new, a gift from my mother because I was always absurdly late to literally everything. "I guess I should be going. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I guess you will," Phil waved goodbye. I started toward the door, but he stopped me, draping something over my shoulder. "Your uniform," he explained, "if you'd like it."

I grinned, "When do I start?"