Young Writers Society

Welcome to Lincoln Wood Private College Prep. This school accepts all students and believes everyone deserves a chance for a great future.

We are looking for both students and teachers! If you want to join, just hit the character section and let's get started.

Lincoln Wood is a school in Seattle, Washington. It's just at the edge of the city, ten minutes out from the center. Students from outside of Seattle are welcome.

The breeze was uncustomary for late July, but it circulated between the crowd of bodies nonetheless as they made their way past the ticket booth. It swept across my skin, feeling like heaven compared to the humidity that'd been settling over Seattle for what felt like the past two years (but in reality was probably only two months. Max.).

I adjusted the black polo that felt tight around my torso. Every time the sun peeked from between the clouds, the fabric of my shirt seemed to soak itself in solar radiation. My skin sweated despite the slight wind, and in response, I just sighed and continued to lean against the counter of the ticket booth. My fingers reached up to fix the brim of my visor, and my eyes nearly closed between customers. It wouldn't have mattered; I was already sleep-walking through the motions. "Ten dollars, please. Thank you. Have a nice day."

"Ten dollars please. Thank you. Have a nice day."

"Ten dollars please. Thank you. Have a nice day."

That was the way the amusement park worked. Parents in Walmart clothing towed their kids behind them and toted big black coolers. The kids were always arguing about which ride they wanted to go on first. That was the way the mornings went. At about two in the afternoon, there was always a break in the incoming stream of customers. And then at three or four, the high school kids would roll up in their dirt-flecked Ford F-150's and Honda Accords, smoking, and sometimes the guys would try to flirt with me. The girls would try to pull them along, or insult me somehow, and then they'd all be on their way.

Besides this mass of general knowledge, I didn't know much. I'd only been there for a week; I was still considered "the new girl"--as Mr. Grantmore, the sales manager for admissions, never failed to remind me. Everyday this week, he came by to see how things were going. "Lookie here, the new girl, handling all of our impatient customers." And then, "Take a break, Carrie. We do have other employees, you know." I wondered why Grantmore wanted so badly for me to take a break. He was always insisting I did so. But I always plowed through shift after shift of my summer job, tucking my frizzy split ends behind my ear and continuing on. He said all of my eagerness and ambition would die down after the first week.

But here I was, on Monday of the next week. And hey, you know what, Mr. Grantmore? You were right. I'm clean out of ambition.

It was the break between two and three, and I tore a slit in the wrapper of an orange Air Head. I liked the color orange; it reminded me of tigers and Aztec-prints and Creamsicles. I sucked on the end of the candy.

I watched the guy on the ladder for awhile. It'd become my afternoon hobby, watching the guy up on the ladder, the one who was nobly repainting the sign at the entrance of the park. There were other guys, too--I guess they were all on the same team. But he was the one closest to the ticket booth, so he was who I watched. He always got there shortly after I did in the morning, set up his ladder, and painted all fucking day.

There was paint on his jeans, and his T-shirt was slung over his shoulder. His body was ripped with muscle; the kind that some girls swoon over. I could see the sheen of sweat on his tan shoulders, and all he did was reach his toned arm up and brush clean strokes of yellow. Up, and down. Up, and down.

He was nice to watch.

At quarter to three, according to routine, I mostly just sorted money and stared at the hairs on my arm. I had just accidentally dropped a dime in the nickel compartment of the cash box when I saw a shadow fall over me. "Hey there," I heard. A deep voice, loud. I glanced up.

It was Ladder Guy. I looked at him, expecting him to tell me why he was standing there. Luckily, he wasted no time. "I was wondering if you had somethin' to drink over here." He was sweating, and his breaths were slightly labored, if I listened close. He pulled an earbud out of his ear. It looks like he had just messily pulled a white T-shirt over his head.

"Nope," I said, since I didn't. I rooted around in the nickel compartment, my fingers toying gently with the coins, searching blindly for the dime. My eyes were still on him.

He smiled; his lips curled up to reveal a mouthful of perfectly straight white teeth. "Well, do I have to pay the admission fee to go in and buy one?" There was a slight joking tone to his voice, but he briefly pointed into the park with his left hand.

Is he kidding me? I assessed him with narrowed eyes. "Do you have to pay to get into the movies to buy a snack?"

His eyebrows jumped at my sarcasm, his mouth slightly agape, as if I'd said something particularly confusing. Then he glanced down, and reached into the pockets of his jeans. "I like movies," he said as he slapped a ten down on the counter. His smile returned. I felt the corner of my mouth flinch.

With a wink, Ladder Guy went into the park to buy his ten dollar drink, shirt caught in the back of his jeans. I watched him disappear amongst the crowd and then went back to my work, sorting the coins with leisure. It was the only activity I'd be doing for the next few hours, especially if L.G. didn't come back anytime soon to model-pose on the ladder.

It wasn't ten minutes later that I had another customer. It was a girl in leggings and a big T-shirt, her blonde hair curled around her ears. She was alone, which was strange; there were rarely any people who came by themselves at this time of day. As if unsure how to approach me, she zigzagged up to the ticket booth. "Hi!" she said, with a voice that bursted unexpectedly from her small body. "Is this where I pay to get in?"

I nodded.

"Ten dollars please," I said, flashing a brief and polite smile. She unclasped her purse and pulled out two crisp fives.

I could hear her chewing her gum, and it snapped in her mouth as she said, "Here you are." Then she leaned closer, her blue eyes narrowing. I was taking her money and depositing it in the cash register. "Have you seen another girl come in here? I was supposed to be meeting her." I thought back to earlier, but every customer just blended into one in my head. I couldn't place faces or ages; after a time all I could do was watch as their hands slipped the money onto the counter, and mumble a farewell as they disappeared.

"Maybe," I said, because it was true. Maybe I had.

I shrugged, as if the gesture would compensate for my lack of enthusiasm.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, gesturing to me, looking over my face. "I think I've seen you around at school. This past spring. Hmm..." She fingered her chin. "The volleyball team, right?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, and then with a laugh, "Team Jasmine White." I could joke around like that, about my best friend. The girl seemed to be strangely amused by what I said, and let out an uncertain laugh.

"I'm Dafnie," she said.

"Carrie," I replied. And then, as if contemplating, "Dafnie. That's a pretty name."

Her red-lipstick-lips widened into a smile. "Thanks, so's yours. Well, see ya around, Carrie." She gave me a small wave, and then was off as quickly as she came into the park, in search of her friend.

I was picking at the frayed hem of my jean shorts when the lean figure of the Ladder Guy came strolling back to the ticket booth, straight-backed and tilting his head back to drink his iced tea. In a sexist way, I had always believed that iced tea was a girl's drink, so I was both raising-the-eyebrow and feeling conclusively judgmental when he arrived. It was a bad mood for me to be in; it led to swears and snarky comments. That's what my mother told me, at least.

"Can I get a refund?" L.G. asked as he got closer. "Drink isn't worth it."

I actually raised an eyebrow. "Can you get a refund on--"

"--a shitty movie after it's already half-over," he finished, tossing the bottle into the air. My heart jumped in surprise. He laughed, and said, "I guess that's a no, then?"

I smiled, a real smile at that. I tipped my head to the side, leaning forward to rest my forearms on the counter. Popping the 'p', I said, "Nope."

Riley Trahan


He could feel the humidity on his toes as he swings them to the floor, the heels of his hands still pressed into the side of the mattress. Riley stands up and his black Adidas shorts cling to the backs of his legs. Damn this summer weather, he thinks as he dismisses the idea of donning a shirt just yet. He makes a trip to the bathroom, and then changes into his work clothes—ripped, fading jeans and a white T-shirt, with paint stains of every color all over both.

After snatching his brush belt off the floor of his room, Riley lopes out the front door, lazily smoothing down his hair with his free hand. His brush belt is really a repurposed tool belt, the tannish, canvas type with the pouches. He fills them with the tools of his trade—brushes of all sizes, rollers, stirring rods, and chisels to get rid of any old paint. Riley wiggles his keys before he hops into his old Chevy pickup. Like always, the rusted red truck takes two tries before it starts up with a choppy purr.

The roads are pretty empty at an hour this early. The black pavement is already shimmering with mirages, making it look like there are puddles ten yards in front of Riley, but they always disappear before he can get close enough to splash through them. He is just passing the little ice cream shop when his phone rings. He fumbles with it and picks up.

"Hello?"

"Ri, it's me," a soft voice says. Danny. Riley immediately gets worried. The last time Danny called, he was using his one phone call from Juvie. He had decided to call Riley, begging him to come help him out, just this once, and he'd pay him back, of course. Riley braces himself for bad news.

"Hey, Danny. What are you doing up? It's seven-thirty on a Saturday," Riley says. His brother was never a morning person, and he never failed to complain every school morning. Riley was pretty sure that Danny slept for a day and a half straight last week. Riley hears him sigh.

"Well...I dunno." Another sigh. "I'm not...at home."

"What do you mean, you're not home? Where are you?" Riley asks, wary of the quiet, slow voice that Danny uses when something's up. He had used that voice when he confessed to Riley that he had gotten in to drugs. He had reassured his older brother that he hadn't enjoyed them one bit, but the only group in school that didn't harass him everyday was a bunch of druggies. The pressure soon became too much. After all, Danny had said, I can't go losing the only friends I have. When did we stop being friends, Riley wanted to ask him, but he didn't. He just spewed the typical older-brother warnings; It's not worth it, don't be stupid, you're wasting your intelligence. It only got worse from there.

"It's my friends. They're askin' me to do all this stuff, a-and, I just can't, Ri. I don't know what to do," Danny sputtered, his voice gaining volume. "What am I supposed to do?" he asks, whispering now. Riley pulls into the amusement park parking lot and shuts off the engine.

Riley exhales. "Look, where are you? I'll come pick you up—"

Danny cuts him off, almost sounding like he's talking to himself. "God, I have to do it. I gotta go. I gotta—" The connection breaks. Riley drops his head back against the cracked pleather seat, wishing he knew what was wrong with Danny. He hops out of the truck, shoving his phone sloppily into his front pocket. He ties the tool belt around his waist with practiced ease.

The fumes hit him as he gets closer to the entrance sign. Paint fumes. Riley breathes in deeply, relishing the scent of his work. The other guys in his crew have set up some ladders and opened some buckets, and one guy comes over to tell Riley that he's to work on the top of the sign, on the "Come Back Soon!" side. Riley nods his recognition to the assignment. He glances down at his feet, noticing the way that the morning dew flicked little drops onto the toes of his work boots, the way the water turns the dried red paint a darker crimson color.

Riley pulls at the gray earbuds poking out from the neck of his shirt, and puts them in his ears. He opens up Spotify on his phone and starts his playlist with Growing Up by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis. Wagging his head to the rap, Riley climbs a ladder with an open yellow paint bucket hooked onto the top. As he starts to paint, customers start trickling past him into the amusement park, forming a small line at a ticket booth on the opposite side of the walkway.

As the hours drag on, the temperature goes up. And up, and up. Almost all of the guys on the crew have removed their shirts, and are covered in a thin layer of sweat. Riley has his white shirt hanging over his left shoulder, and has yellow paint smeared in blotches on his chest and stomach. He has had to move his ladder about every half hour, and climbs down to do so again, for the seventh time today. He goes to hum to Delicate by Damien Rice, but his dry throat lets him know that it's not gonna happen. Craning his neck to see Rick—the head of the crew—past the sign, Riley says that he's going to grab a drink. Rick nods his approval. Riley wonders briefly if he has to pay to get into the park, just to get a drink. He decides to head over to the ticket booth and ask.

He pulls his shirt back over his head, mussing up his hair. The girl running the booth looks bored, with her elbows on the unpolished wood and her chin in her hand. She's pretty, in a sharp, quiet kind of way. She's looking down as Riley stops in front of her, his shadow blocking the sun from lighting up her face.

"Hey there," Riley says, wanting to see her eyes. He wonders whether she would have those cold gray eyes, or playful green eyes. Oh for two. When she finally looked up, he found himself sinking into the oceans that were her dark blue eyes. He drags himself to the surface, remembering that he had come over to ask about a drink. "I was wondering if you had somethin' to drink over here."

She half-squints at him for a second with her calculating gaze. "Nope," she says, not breaking eye contact.

Riley can't really tell if she's into him. She has a way about her, like she knows a lot more than she's letting on. He gives a little grin.

"Well...do I have to pay the admission fee to go in and buy one?" Riley asks. He really means it as a joke, figuring she'll smile at him, glance conspiratorially around and say, "No, I guess not. But it'll be our little secret," or something flirtatious and dexterous like that. So he's surprised when she strikes him with a retort as snarky as the one she delivers.

"Do you have to pay to get into the movies to buy a snack," she deadpans. Riley feels his mouth drop open, as he wasn't practiced in responding to something like that. Finally, he reaches into his back pocket, opens up his wallet, and, severing their interlocking gaze for the first time, pulls out a ten.

Smacking it down onto the counter, he says, "I like movies." He winks and smiles, seeing her almost return the latter, but not quite. Riley turns to the left and strutts into the park. He doesn't look back, but figures she was watching him leave. Every girl watched him as he left. He wasn't sure in that moment whether that was because he was worth watching, or if it was because he was always leaving.

He finds a kiosk selling drinks after walking past at least eight ring-tossing, dart-shooting ones with stuffed animals of various sizes hanging from invisible little hooks. As the afternoon sun beats down on his shoulders, Riley gets a drink for four dollars. Snapple. He was never really a lemonade person, and the young guy running the stand announced with guilt and a tentative voice that they were all out of soda. So iced tea it was. He glances up at the roller coasters and their screaming riders as he walks the hundred yards back to the ticket booth. He passes the steady stream of customers coming in; a family of red-heads, a group of moms and their preschool-age children, and a blonde girl in a T-shirt advertising a band and tight black pants. She gives him the standard up-and-down, and he watches her bright red lips curve up into a flirty smile. He lifts a corner of his mouth and lowers his chin in a similar fashion. They pass each other without another word, probably never to meet again.

As he's walking past the girl with the ocean eyes, Riley asks, "Can I get a refund? Drink isn't worth it." He tosses the Snapple bottle up and snatches it out of the air, as she raises her right eyebrow. She purses her lips and glances away from his drink, sweeping her gaze up to his face.

"Can you get a refund on—"

"—a shitty movie after its already half-over," Riley interrupts, finishing her sentence as if they rehearsed it. He sees her left eyebrow join her right one in the middle of her forehead. "I guess that's a no, then?" Her head tilts to the side, she leans forward to push her arms onto the chipped red paint of the booth, and gives a genuine smile. Riley is smiling, too at this point.

"Nope," she says, the 'P' coming out as its own miniature syllable as she levels her smiling gaze at Riley. He feels a grin spread onto his face. He pushes the bottom of his tea into his thigh, shoving his other hand into his pocket. He turns around, toward his ladder, and looks back, seeing her smiling eyes still on him. The smile doesn't leave Riley's face until he's settled up near the top of the sign. The sun is getting lower in the sky as the end of his workday draws near, casting orange rays onto the yellow paint. He fits the lid back onto the paint bucket and carries it down the ladder. The crew takes turns at the hose, spraying off their hands and brushes, trying their best to contain the inevitable spread of paint across all their possessions. Riley finishes with the hose, hands it to the guy behind him, and puts the bucket in Rick's truck.

When he gets in his own truck, Riley calls Danny. The phone rings four times before going to voicemail. He doesn't leave one. Tossing his phone onto the passenger seat in frustration, he pulls out of the packed-dirt parking lot of the amusement park. He sees the sun's rays forcing their way past the top corner of the ticket booth as he backs out, eighty feet away. He wishes his brother would talk to him like he used to. He wishes the summer would last forever, so he could see the ticket-booth girl every day.

He wishes he could drink the oceans in her eyes instead of finishing this awful iced tea.

But then he remembers. Drinking salt water will only make you thirstier.

Bash


I looked around at the gathered Varsity Lacrosse team. We were all hanging out at the local burger Joint, Trevor's. Kyle bit into a double cheese burger, as Luke made a gagging sound." I can almost feel my arteries getting clogged." Kyle said, as he took another bite." Dude, that looks so disgusting." Luke laughed as he took a sip of water. He turned towards me." All right Bash. Floor is yours."

I cleared my throat." As you all know, Summer is here." There were a few assorted whistles and claps, but eventually the team settled down." A couple of the boys are heading to college this fall, such as Duke and James." The named players gave dramatic bows as the guys booed." Anyways, as a bit of a good bye party, I got permission from my dad to use his yacht to throw a going away party for them." This time everyone cheered and whistled.

Luke spoke up." You know Bash, we could throw the Senior Summer Bash there. It's for all the incoming Seniors for next year. It's supposed to be a secret but it obviously isn't that much of a secret." I shrugged." Don't see why that should be a problem. Alert the townsfolk!! Party this Saturday. Port of Seattle, Dock 12 A." The guys all cheered one last time before dispersing."

I turned to Luke." Well, guess I'll have to make a couple calls. I'll see you guys tommrow at workout?" He nodded before climbing into his jeep. With a smile I walked over to my Challenger, fixing my hair while looking in the mirror. I jumped when my phone rang. I answered it quickly." How's my favorite brother in the world?" I asked cheerfully. Lorenzo laughed in the other side." I'm good brother. Anyways, I hear you've got some big Whigs from Duke and Syracuse are dropping by Friday to meet with you?"

I let out a chuckle as I opened my car door and got in, transferring the call to Bluetooth." You've heard correct big brother." I could almost hear the pride in Lorenzo's voice." I'm proud of you baby brother. All of us. Pete and Hank especially. They've been like uncles to you. And I know for damn sure Michael would too. If he were here with us he'd be leaping with joy. And you know mama and papa are the proudest parents in all of Seattle. No. The world!! Anyways, I've got some business to take care of. Some pipsqueak. Anyways, see you later." The line went dead and I shook my head. Lorenzo was probably ruining someone's life.

Shaking off my thoughts, I told my phone to call someone else. The line was answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

I hid a smile." Hey, it's your favorite Italian lacrosse player, who also has an impeccable sense of style." I hid a grin when I heard the snicker of contempt." Bash, your mom probably picks out your clothes for you."

"I'm hurt Isabelle. Didn't our first conversation go somewhere along the lines of, oh let's see, that's a nice shirt?" I smiled as I took a right towards my house."

"Oh get bent Trapani. I was merely making conversation. A hobo dresses better than you." Isabelle laughed. I hid a smile." Oh, now that's just making it personal." I said. Isabelle laughed again as she moved around some more. I cleared my throat.

"Anyways, the whole lacrosse team is throwing the Summer Senior Bash, and we're holding it on my dad's yacht this Saturday. Thought maybe you'd like to go." I asked, noticing the pause." Are you asking me out?" She responded. I smirked a bit." You're cute Iz. But what I lack for in style, according to you of course, I make up for in class. So no, I'm not asking you out. I just want to know if you'd like to go. You saved my ass from that end of the year test we got from Davidson. I feel like I owe you."

There was another pause." I'm not sure if I should be offended or relieved." She said. I laughed." Well you could be both if you really put your mind to it. I am kidding with you, but I'm seriously just asking as a friend. A well dressed classy friend." She laughed." Your a dork Trapani." I smiled. For you my friend, I am."

"Let Phillip know as well." I said." I can send you the directions and time when I'm all comfortable in my lair. Your lovable man is always welcome at Laceosse events. Hell, I'm sure Luke may take a pass at recruiting him." I listened as Isabelle muttered something about Luke, who was her old science lab partner and also happened to have a crush on her. I pulled into my garage, turning off the car." And go ahead and invite your cousin. What's was her name? July? No. April! Ya. She's welcome too."

I shifted the call to my phone as I got out of my car." Well, I've gotta go, so I shalt hear from you soon. Farewell oh sweet princess whom my heart yearns for." I said. Isabelle laughed as she hung up. With a grin I sat my phone down as I threw down my workout bag onto the ground. Collapsing into my couch I sighed as I turned on the TV.

All of a sudden my phone went off. With a sigh of annoyance I got up and picked it up, surprised at the caller ID. Pressing the answer button I spoke up." Now you are someone who I didn't expect to call. What do you need?"

Adrian


I woke up next to Jessie in a hotel room, our bodies were swathed in sheets. Looking under the covers, I realized I was naked and she was too. Then the memories came flooding back.

She and I... slept together. More than slept. I wasn't a virgin anymore. Once I remembered, I smiled the biggest smile I had ever smiled in my entire smiling smile career.

Jessie rolled over just then.

"Hi there," she whispered, and I kissed her nose.

"Hi." I grinned wider.

"What?" she asked.

"I, Adrian Christmas Beaumont, am not a virgin anymore."

"Your middle name is Noel, not Christmas."

"They mean the same thing," I said defensively. I wasn't used to joking and laughing, I was usually quiet and reserved. This wasn't me.

We laid there for a while and I cuddled her, her blonde head resting on my chest along with half her body.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, absolutely," I replied, kissing her head.

"Have you though about what I asked at the beginning of the summer?" she said, looking up at me. Jessie had asked me to adopt her son, Isaac, as my own.

"Yes. I need to make some more phone calls, though," I replied.

"Why?" she asked.

"I'm applying for a U.S. citizenship. I'm here on a visa right now."

"How do you have a job? An apartment?"

"My Dad owns a group of hotels here, he found a loophole to have me working in the hotel restaurants and he arranged for me to pay rent under the table to my landlord who is a citizen."

"This sounds really illegal." Jessie said, furrowing her brow, "I don't want you to get deported."

"That won't happen, my Dad is too important to the hotel and restaurant industry. Half of corporate America has investment money and stocks from Dad that they need, which the government makes money off of through taxes. If my Dad decided to cash in his stocks and move his business elsewhere, half of the businesses in corporate America that have bases in Europe would not only lose their locations in France, but also lose a reliable silent partner. Who actually remains silent."

"Sounds complicated," she said.

"Not really. Basically, he has all the moneys. And they have none of the moneys." she laughed at that.

"Then why do you live in a small apartment?" she asked.

"Because I make my own moneys. My Dad owes me a favor though, I keep on eye on his businesses. It's hard to find reliable people to do that overseas." Jessie nodded.

"How long will it take you to get citizenship?"

"Ordinarily, six months."

"Six months?!?!?" she exclaimed.

"Yes. But my Dad is a hotel tycoon. He can get it done by the end of the summer."

Jessie sighed in relief.

"So what are we doing today?" she asked.

"You are going to stay here and relax for a few hours. I have something I have to do."

Jessie pouted, "Ade,"

"Isaac is at your Dad's, I just need to go pick him up. You're not doing it because you're always up late taking care of him and letting me sleep. Shame on you." I grinned, giving her a peck on the cheek.

"Okay, fine. But hurry back." she sighed, settling back into the blankets and turning on the TV. I hopped out of bed, taking a quick shower and dragging on the extra set of clothes I had brought.

"Love you," I called, opening the door.

"Love you, too!" she replied.

***

I pulled into Jessie's Dad's driveway. Technically it was Jessie's, too, though she basically lived in my apartment.

I knocked on the door and he answered right away, Isaac cradled in his arms. Jessie's Dad had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as Jessie, though his eyes were lined with wrinkles and his hair line was receding.

"Mr. Gates," I greeted, :May I come in?"

"Adrian, I've been trying to get you to call me Michael for ages," he chuckled and said softly, "Of course you can come in."

I stepped in the house, shutting the door behind me, not wanting to wake Isaac.

"I got all of Isaac's stuff together, he ate earlier and I changed his diaper, he should be due for another diaper change in an hour or so."

"Thank you, but that's not the primary reason I'm here." My palms were sweaty and I wiped them on my jeans.

"Okay, have a seat." We sat down on the sofas as Isaac raised a tiny hand to his mouth unconsciously and he sucked his thumb.

"What can I do for you?" he asked me, staring at Isaac with adoration.

"Well, Michael," I said awkwardly, his first name unfamiliar on my lips, "I would like to ask your permission for Jessie's hand in marriage. I love your daughter and I love my son and I want to do things right."

"Oh. Wow." he paused, clearly floored. "Well I figured this was coming in a few years from now. My daughter is 18, she's still very young. You two have been dating for six months and you want to rush into marriage?" he seemed to be debating with himself.

"Adrian, I would love for you to marry my daughter, when you two have spent some more time together and she has had a chance to mature more."

"Sir," I said, "respectfully, Jessie is very mature. She's raising a son all on her own and she's practically living with me. She's asked me to adopt Isaac. It would be a long engagement, we don't want to rush. But this would be good for Isaac and it would be good for Jessie."

"Isaac won't remember whether you two were married right away or not,"he replied.

"He will if Philip takes custody."

"I'm sorry?" He seemed puzzled.

"Jessie asked me to adopt Isaac because she's afraid Philip will realize his rights and take them to court. I'm not a U.S. citizen yet, if I marry Jessie I will become a citizen and be able to adopt Isaac and also, even if I get my citizenship approved before we get married, it will make a better case for me. I have a stable job and me being married to Jessie would prove further accountability for Isaac."

"Adrian, you need to think about whether you're marrying Jessie because it's the easy way to ensure you keep Isaac, or if it's because you love my daughter."

"I do, I love your daughter. Ordinarily I wouldn't rush this because we are very young. But I really think this is what is best for both of us and for Isaac."

Michael sighed. "You're going to propose anyway, but I trust you and I trust your judgement. You have my blessing."

Brooke Kestner

3....2....1….Go!

The first jump is always like a ticking time bomb. You’re either gonna blow the competition away, or get diffused before you even get close. For as long as I’ve been swimming, that was always my least favorite part. The uncertainty of the beginning.

I rush through my same routine of breathing, and pushing along trying to make it to the edge before my brain snaps. When most people swim they hear nothing, but I feel like I hear everything. My dad pressuring, my coach yelling, my mom judging, people whispering and laughing. Its neverending, like a cacophony of all the things I’m doing wrong, and all the standards I have to live up to.

I barely have enough time to get my thoughts together before I slam head first into the wall. I break the surface, and gasp for air.

“Ah! Damnit!” I yell pushing myself up onto the ledge. I slowly pull off my goggles, and swim cap letting my braided hair fall down my back. Behind me I hear someone clapping slowly.

“Wow, I haven’t seen you do that since we were 12.” I turn to see my brother, hands in his pockets. He walks towards me. “Training ended like 3 hours ago. What’s up B?” He asks, his tone suddenly becoming more serious. I stand grabbing my towel.

“I guess it’s starting to catch up with me...all the new changes. The move, the new school, the scholarship, you getting early admissions to Juilliard, me getting more attention from Olympian scouts.” I sigh. “Everything is coming so fast, and I feel like I dont have time to breath.”

“You’ll be fine. You always are. Throughout our entire lives you’ve always been the one with her shit figured out. If anyone can do it, it's you.”

“Thanks bro. Senior year is gonna be weird without you. Who am I going to get out of trouble all the time this year?” I ask.

“You’ll find someone. I’m sure of it.” He laughs.

“I still can’t believe you're leaving for New York City next week…”

“Neither can I.” He smiles. “Hey, even though I’m leaving next week, I wanted to give you your going away present now.” He pulls out a small box, and holds it out to me. I timidly take it, and start to unwrap the badly tied bow.

“It’s not gonna jump out at me right?” He laughs, and shakes his head. I pull back the top and gasp. Inside are a pair of the new underwater bluetooth earphones. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” He says confidently.

“How did you-”

“Nope. No questions. Just enjoy them.” He smiles. I rush to him, and hug him tightly. He backs off a little.

“Brooke you're wet. Stop!” I don’t let go, and he slightly smiles hugging me back.

“I’m really going to miss you bro.”

“I know, but hey it's your senior year...enjoy it, and try to lighten up. Make friends, be stupid...but not too stupid. Love you B.”

“Love you too Noah.” I hug him one last time.

“Alright. Why dont you get dried off, and we’ll meet mom and dad for lunch?”

“Sounds good.” I smile.

Maybe this year won't be so bad after all…..

Jules

Summer.

Everybody else got a break except for me.

I stood in the dance studio, my tights rolled up as far as they would go. Sure, my pointe shoes rubbed on my feet more without tights, but it was so HOT.

I wiped the beads of sweat off my forehead and shook them out of my tightly bound hair, I didn't even bother with a tutu or a dance skirt, I was wearing the thinnest leotard possible.

The fans whirred as we pirrouhetted across the floor. We were all red faced, sweaty and exhausted. All of us except Madame, of course. Who apparently didn't sweat. She glowed.

"Let's go ladies, 1 2 3 4," she clapped to the beat, timing our turns.

"I physically can't go anymore," one of the girls sank to the floor, her eyes sliding shut.

"Come on girls, I know the air conditioning is out but you ladies are weak. Man up, once again, 1 2 3 4..." she continued clapping and correcting our techniques. I performed the small sequence, it was my turn to go across the floor. I cringed as I felt my sweaty feet sliding in the point shoes.

I slid into the final position before moving off the floor to make room for other dancers. "Good, Jules. Make sure your shoes are fastened properly, you seemed to struggle slightly with footwork." Madame called out to me, gesturing to my point shoes. Sighing, I sat down and put on a pair of socks before retying my pointe shoes, they would keep my feet from sliding.

"Better, ladies. Practice is coming to an end, let's all gather in the center in our blocks," we moved to the center and in unison did our ending curtsy.

"Thank god," April walked in, just then and I sighed in relief.

"Hon, you're sweating like a pig. Where's the air conditioning?" she asked, her car keys dangling from her fingers.

I gave her a peck on the lips. "It's broken apparently. Will you just take me to your place so I can shower and get cleaned up?" I went to dance class every day during the summer and then went to April's. My host parents worked during the day so it was the perfect opportunity to spend time with her.

"Sure, let me get your dance bag." April slung my bag over her shoulder and we walked out to her car.

She blasted the air conditioning for my benefit, though I knew she got cold really easily.

"So how was it?" she asked me.

"You know, the usual. Madame yelled at everybody but me." I rolled my eyes. Since I was a foreign exchange student from Spain, I'd had more classical ballet and technical training than almost anybody in the class and she favored me for it, though the rest of the class resented me for the favoritism. I was also trained in several other forms of dance which was why I was such an asset to the studio's competitive team.

"But," I brightened slightly, "Madame said I am getting a solo for the first routine."

"That's great," she glanced over at me, "I'm sure you'll be amazing."

We pulled into her driveway and raced up the stairs to her bedroom. It was big, she basically had the whole top floor to herself. So the ceiling was low, giving the large room a cozy feel. I walked into her bathroom, taking out my clothes.

"Is it cool if I use your shampoo?" I asked her.

"Yeah, always." She sat on her bed, opening a book as I got in the shower. "Have fun," she said, grinning.

I rolled her eyes before closing the bathroom door behind me. I turned on the water, stepping in immediately. The cold water felt amazing on my tense muscles and I gradually turned the water temperature towards lukewarm. April's shampoo always smelled like cherry blossoms and I inhaled as I scrubbed my hair thoroughly.

I turned the water off, stepping out and wrapping a towel around me.

"Babe?" I called out, "Where should I hang my towel?" There was usually room on the towel rack but April had hung her swimsuit to dry.

"Um, just take the swimsuit down and bring it out when you're dressed, I'll take care of it."

"Kay." I happily dried off and got dressed, Applying only a little mascara and lip gloss. I liked makeup to make me feel civilized but April didn't like it when I wore too much.

"I'm done," I said, running a brush through my wet hair.

"Come here," she said, opening her arms. I crawled in the bed with her and we laid down, wrapping our arms around each other.

"I'm so glad it's summer," she sighed. My phone buzzed just then and I grabbed it from the end of the bed.

"James," I sighed. James and I had grown close when I transferred to Lincoln Wood the previous year. He asked me out and we even went out on a date but I loved April. We stayed friends and he checked in now and again, but I still feel like he was a little bit hurt that I chose her.

I swiped right on my phone lock screen.

hey, what's up? his message appeared.

Just hanging out with April. Wbu? I hit send.

His reply came two minutes later.

At starbucks, just wanted to know if you wanted to hang out.

Sorry, I can't right now, I typed, I have dance class tomorrow until 4, do you want to pick me up after and we can get coffee then?

Sure he replied.

I locked my phone again, sighing.

"What is it, Lee Lee?" April asked, using her nickname for me.

"James wants to get coffee tomorrow after my dance class. Do you want to go to dinner with me after? Have a date night?"

"Sure. Be careful, though. I know he's your friend but I don't want him to make you feel bad." she kissed my hair.

"I know," I sighed, "I know."

Steph
____________________________________________________

All I'd been able to think about since school let out was lacrosse. Mostly the fact that I'd been kicked off the team before our last playoff game. Not because I cheated or threw the game, not even because I got into trouble. But because I failed two damn classes. Math and English; the 'easy subjects', as my little sister called them.

I wasn't even that obsessed with the sport. Not like Bash. But it was a nice distraction and if I didn't make the upcoming team, I'd likely spend the whole of next year digging myself a deeper hole. School-wise, friend-wise, everything-wise. Not able to help it, I sat back on the couch in my T-shirt and sweats, arm behind my head, and dialed up Bash's number. I was convinced he was the only one who could get me out of the hole. He was the captain of the team, and by letting me off the hook, he could give me a motive to get my grades up. Motive. I repeated the word over and over in my head until there was a subtle click on the other end.

"Now you are someone who I didn't expect to call. What do you need?" His voice sounded careful, almost accusatory. As if I'd asked him to help me so many times before. I thought back to when I was on the team. I thought hard, and couldn't find a single time when I'd asked him for a favor. Then I remembered the argument we'd had before school let out, the one about my 'carelessness' and 'incompetency'. My knee bounced up and down, anticipating his anger.

"Bash," I said in greeting. "I was just calling to ask you about uh, the team." I'd had it all planned out; I already practiced everything I was going to say to him. But the uh messed me up, that one uh that my brain had thrown into my sentence at the last minute. It ruined the whole speech, and left me grappling for words. "The team," I repeated, trying to pick up where I left off. "Oh, yeah. I was just thinking maybe you could--you could--you could, y'know, let me back on the team." I cleared my throat.

"What are you talking about?" Bash asked.

"I wanna get my grades up," I said. "And I thought that if I, y'know, had a motive"--motive--"then I would try harder. Look, man, I'm sorry, okay? I just, I need--I need--I need lacrosse." Dammit. "I just gotta--I just gotta--I just gotta--" Shit. I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. "Look, what I'm saying is, I wanna be on the team. And I promise on my mother's life that I'll stay passing."

Bash laughed. "Steph, if you wanna get your grades up and be on the team, than that's more than cool with me, alright? The whole reason I was giving you hell a few weeks ago was because you wouldn't get your shit together. You're a key player, and I can't have you getting kicked off the team because of some stupid report card."

Calming down, I said, "Okay, that's cool, man. Thanks thanks thanks."

I shifted the phone to my other ear, sinking back into the sofa. I folded my arm across my chest slowly, and then changed my mind, bringing my hand up and running it through my hair. I was smiling a little, glad that Bash didn't decided to ostracize me just because I couldn't get an C on my exams. Ostracize. Goddamn. I grabbed my notebook from the coffee table and added ostracize to the list. I stared at it for a long five seconds, realizing I probably fucked up the spelling. And then, for the heck of it, I wrote motive on there too.

"Hey," Bash told me, snapping me back to our conversation, "the Senior Summer Bash is coming up. This Saturday, on my dad's yacht. Port of Seattle, Dock 12 A, and your ass better show up, hear that?"

Just my ass? I wanted to ask. Instead I laughed. "Hell yeah."

"Alright," he said. "See you later then."

"Buh-bye," I said, hanging up the phone and then getting up off the couch. I was halfway to the front door before I heard a voice pipe up from behind me.

"What, were you just gonna leave me all alone here? I thought you were gonna cook me lunch." I turned around to the sight of my little sister, in sweats and a purple Nike tank top, crossing her arms.

"Hi, pal," I said, trying a smile.

She scrunched up her nose. "Where you going?"

"Nowhere, just for a drive. You wanna come? Before that I can--I can, uh, cook--"

"Never mind about the lunch," she interrupted. "I saw you burn toast yesterday."

The thing I hated most was when someone interrupted me just because I stumbled over words. It was more okay when Pedra did it than when other people did, but it still got under my skin. Made me want to flip a lid.

"You coming or what?" I asked, trying to ignore her. She just wanted attention.

"Sure, Curry, so long as you can teach me more basketball." It was her favorite thing to do. I took her to the lot behind the Target down the street once, where I knew there was a hoop. It was when Mom and Dad were away, when Luke and Kyle had spread the word that they'd be shooting around after lunch. So I brought Pedra along, since she begged me to let her come, and she ended up emulating my form-shooting behind the hoop. We stayed after the others left and I taught her to shoot a three-pointer.

"Sure, sure," I replied, "Basketball's in the garage, if you wanna bring it along."

Pedro's face lit up, and she ran to the garage door. Soon enough, she had the ball cradled in her arms and we were heading out the front door. She ran off ahead of me to the car, her long, dark hair flying behind her and whipping in the wind. I slid into the driver's seat of Mom's Corolla as Pedra jumped into the passenger seat.

"The real Steph Curry is like the best basketball player ever, y'know," Pedra was saying, because at ten years old, her hobbies were both short-lived and extremely obsessive. She would talk about something all day and everyday for about a week, and then drop it as quickly as she picked it up. "They're talking about moving back the three-point line," Pedra was going on, "just because he makes them too easy."

"They are not," I said, even though I already knew.

Her chocolate-brown eyes widened as she jounced around in her seat. "Are too!"

"Buckle up," I said, touching her shoulder. We were pulling out of the driveway. She did so. I knew Mom wouldn't like that I was driving her car. She always implied that I was a bad driver, except she never gave it to me straight. "Steph," she always said, "You get distracted too easily. It's too dangerous." I guess I did get distracted. Sometimes I forgot to look at the road, just because I thought I saw something out the window. Or if someone tried to talk to me. Regardless, Mom had a strict 'no 18 year-old boy drivers' policy on her car. That was me. Luckily, Pedra wasn't a rat, and it was a good benefit to her if she lied. She always wanted someone to drive her places, and Mom and Dad were never home. So I was the only candidate left for that job.

Reading my mind, Pedra asked me, "When'll Mom and Dad be home? Tonight, right?" I exhaled, pressing a little harder on the gas. I'd told her 'three days from now' three days ago.

"Probably," I said, even though what I meant was 'maybe' (optimistic) or 'probably not' (realistic).

"They're not dead or something, are they?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. But underneath the feigned sarcasm I could see she was nervous.

I looked over at her. "No, pal. They're just working." 'Business trip' was the official term, I guess. That was all I'd heard Dad say to Mom in the late hours of the night.

"Working?" Pedra asked. She crossed her arms, looking suddenly about to cry. "That sounds like a lie."

"It's not a lie," I told her.

Pointing at me, she yelled, "That's always what they say in the movies to the little kids! They always lie and say the parents are away! I watch movies, Steph. I watch all of them, and they're all full of lies."

"Don't yell," I said to her. "Calm the hell down. Mom and Dad are fine, okay?"

"Fine without us," Pedra mumbled, sinking down in her seat, tears in her eyes.

I turned my eyes back to the road. My eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of the red vehicle driving at us, head-on. I gasped and I leaned hard on the wheel, trying to swerve to avoid the collision, my heart nearly beating out of its chest. I heard Pedra shriek as I stomped on the brakes. But it wasn't soon enough. I was forward into the steering wheel and the impact was like smashing into a brick wall. My nose slammed against the wheel, and I nearly blacked out. I heard tires skid beneath me, and then the cars were stopped.

My ears rang painfully. My face was numb from the airbag, and the blood was warm and wet against my nose. Black spots clouded my vision. My reaction time felt slow. I tried to sit up, but the entire car was spinning around me, or so it seemed. Dizziness overwhelmed me, and when I wedged open the door, I nearly fell out of the car. The breeze hit me in the face, and the pavement rose up to hit my feet, throwing me off balance. I stumbled, head spinning. My eyes began to clear up, just as a car rushed past me. It nearly threw me off my feet, and my heart jumped out of my chest.

"Hey, man, get away from there!" I heard a guy's voice shout at me. And then someone was pulling me by the arm and leading me closer to the cars, which were coupled together on the side of the road. I turned around, and there was Pedra. She looked disheveled and scared out of her mind, and she was trying not to cry. I rushed forward and hugged her, relief flooding into my chest. She hugged me back, hard, and then sucker punched me in the stomach.

"Mom's right," she said, her words muffled in my chest, "you can't drive." She pulled away.

"You okay?" A tall, dark-skinned boy was walking towards me, and following close behind him was a dark-skinned girl with curly hair. They looked like twins.

I met the boy halfway, and put a hand to my forehead. "Look, I-I-I-I'm sorry. It was my fault, I was distracted, and--"

The boy reached forward and pulled me into a partial hug. "It's okay, man. It's okay. All that matters is that everyone's okay." I looked behind him at the curly-haired girl. We made eye contact; she looked worried. I think I stared at her a little too long, because she hastily looked away.

"Looks like you have a dent in your car," I said to the boy, pointing to the red vehicle that had crashed into ours.

The boy laughed, but he didn't think it was funny. "Yeah, well by the looks of it, so do you, brother." I cringed at the sight of the damage the Corolla had suffered. Mom's gonna kill me, I thought. "I'm Noah," the boy said.

"Steph," I introduced.

Dafnie Serena Leto

Well, one part of my summer consisted of amusement parks. Not so amusing to me. Ha, I'm funny. There was a girl who worked the both; she was a cutie, no wonder ladder guy eyed her so much. And he was a hot one. I'm surprised she hasn't jumped at him yet. Or else I will.

Ha. I really am funny.

I never really caught their names, but they lived around Seattle and looked to be high schoolers so I might meet them after break.


"I'll be leaving soon, okay mom?" I said into the phone.

It was very humid out and my sweaty pits couldn't keep to themselves. I'm sure people could smell me from a mile away. Thank you dad for sweat genes, you whore. Yup, still hate my dad.

People were crowding around me, rushing to wherever they were headed. To rides, to leave, or maybe even to just go find food. I for one just got in and already had to go. Cause mother dearest needed me to help her clean the house. Sadly we couldn't afford maids.

I love my mom, so it's not like I was mad about it. But I would rather have walked around the park and met up with my friend funnel cakes. Food.

I need all the food.

"I love you honey," and she hung up.

Sliding my phone into my pocket, I slipped my headphones back on and headed toward the exit. Ladder guy had walked passed me and I had to eye him, he was oh so close. And he rewarded me with a winning smile.

***

"It's been a while since you last even spoke to Paul... are you really going to ignore your best friend for the rest of your life?" Philip asked over the phone.

I have been trying to reach Colette to talk, but to no success. She must be snogging Rupert or something.

"He's not my best friend Phil." He hates that.

He sighed, "Look, Daffy, I'm happy we can be friends. But because you dumped Paul this happened. We can still be friends after you befriend him again, no worries."

"That's not why," I huffed.

After I had helped mother, I decided that I deserved a nap. Ed Sheeran was singing softly through my room as I lied on my bed with the phone against my ear. My body sunk into the mattress as I contemplated my life.

"Fine... well, go to a party with me. It's at Rup's."

That'll give me a chance to talk to Colette for sure. Maybe she'll give me better advice.

"What time?" I smirked.

"As soon as you get dressed it should be eight, so just get ready and I'll see you there." he laughed.

"Ugh, it's like four... are you saying I take four hours to get ready?"

"Aye, don't get your panties in a twist! It's the truth."

I switched the phone to my other ear and sighed. Philip was on my last nerve. Why was he one of my good friends?

"Fine, I'll see you there. Wanna ride together?" I asked.

"Nooo, I'm going with Issy. I don't know if you guys are on good terms yet."

"Yeah, I don't know either."

"Hey, I love you. See you babe." he said, and I could hear the smile.

"Love you," and I hung up.

Guess it was time to get myself pretty.

Jessie

Exhausted, I pushed my hair back as the hot water streamed over me, the heat slightly burning as it touched my skin; I felt like I was broiling myself, but I also didn't really mind. I felt gross, and the water felt like it was purifying me.

"Jess? Babe, I'm back," Adrian's voice yelled from the other room, the sound of the front door following his words, "your dad says he loves you."

I smiled, and twisted the knobs the opposite direction and as the water slowly slowed to a drip, my body grew cold and I was shivering within seconds, steam surrounding me as I yell back, "Yeah? Did he say whether or not Isaac was good?"

I wrap a towel around my body, and step out of the bathroom and into the room.

Adrian was just pulling Isaac out of the carrier when I walked into the room, and he smiled at the sight of me before waltzing over and placing a sweet kiss on my lips, "He was great. Although he probably needs to be changed pretty soon."

"Mm," I hum, "I missed him. And you."

"I wasn't gone that long," he laughs, and presses a kiss to Isaac's pink cheek. "Anyways, Cole isn't gonna be back for a bit. I was thinking we could go out for lunch?"

"Lunch?" I smile, and rub Isaac's hand, causing him to glance over at me before going back to stare at the ceiling light. "Yeah, sounds good. I'm gonna go get dressed real quick, okay? Then we can go."

He nods, and kisses me again before I grab a change of clothes then go back to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

My mind was clouded with so much that's been going on (really not even that much, actually) and I knew there was stuff I was forgetting to do and people I was forgetting to talk to but, god, I couldn't remember.

"Somebody," I mumble, racking my brain for the someone, "who is it?"

Nothing was coming up. I've been meaning to call Collin and see how he was, but that could wait for another day. Oh well.

Pulling on skinny jeans and a slightly see-through maroon short-sleeve, I slip on a pair of flats, grab my sunglasses and phone, then leave the room.

"You ready to go?" Adrian asks from the room, and I nod, though he couldn't see me yet.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," I call back, and reach the room. "You change him?"

"Mhm," he hums with a nod, then says, "I think he's getting a little rash, so I used a bit of that diaper cream from the bag."

"Oh, okay," I pause, then glance at Isaac, who was in the carrier cooing at his overhead toys, "but, like, he's okay right? He didn't cry or anything when you touched it?"

"No, no," Adrian laughed a bit, then pulled me into a hug, "He's fine, babe."

"Yeah, of course," I smile forcibly, then look up at him. His eyes were twinkling, and the smile that spread on his lips when he looked at me made my heart melt. I felt like we were in a movie. Like these kinds of relationships were only created/allowed in rom-coms. "I love you, Adrian."

"Really? I love you, too," He grinned even bigger, which I didn't know was possible, then pecked me on the lips, "All right, we gotta get going before they shut down. Go ahead and I'll get the diaper bag and him."

I rolled my eyes, grabbed the diaper bag, then pulled the door open before stepping out into the fresh air.

"I was gonna grab that," Ade mumbled from behind me, the carrier gripped in his right and his keys in the left. "you already do so much-"

"Really," I laugh, and turn to look back at him, "it's a bag, babe. I'm okay. Plus, your hands are fun. It's no big deal."

And he nods, then walks to the car, gets Isaac settled in, and slides into the driver seat. I toss the diaper bag in the back seat next to Isaac, and he backs out after I slide into the passenger and pull on the seatbelt.

******

"So have you called Isabelle yet?" Adrian asks after taking a sip of his water, "I know it really bothered you when I told you about her and Philip."

I blinked, and shook my head, "That's who I was forgetting about...yeah, I've been meaning to call her. I just don't get it, you know?"

Adrian nodded, and glanced at Isaac-- he was passed out from the car ride here, "I'm sorry, love, but they're both desperate and lonely people. Maybe they just...found that they had something in common and decided to go for it."

Another thing that was kinda bothering me-- Adrian seemed more...open? Yeah. He joked a lot more and, as he just did, speaks his mind a lot more. Maybe that was me affecting him. I don't know. But it wasn't a bad thing. I liked it, really, I just wanted to know what changed.

"But Isabelle knows how I would feel about it, which is what bothers me the most," I sighs, frowning at the half-eaten salad in front of me, "she's my sons godmother, for Christ sake. Ordinarily, godmothers don't date the fathers of the kid. It's ridiculous. It's probably why she hasn't been talking to me. Dad told me the other day that she'd called him to say she wouldn't be over for a couple more days."

Adrian shook his head, like he didn't understand it either, and ran his finger over my thumb-- we were holding hands across the table. Lame, I know.

"Anyways," I sigh, and take a sip of my unsweetened tea, "I don't know what to do. I don't want to be mean to her, but then again, if I call her...I'll come off as extremely rude and I want to handle this right, you know?"

"Maybe..." he mumbles, then continues with, "maybe you shouldn't call her. Go to her. You guys can talk it out."

"I don't even know where she is, Ade," I slump my shoulders, "God, you'd think that she'd be a little more honest about things, considering everything I've done for her."

"Why don't you just call her and tell her to meet you here? Just don't let on that you know anything," Adrian offered, lifting his hand slightly for a waiter. "It's probably the best way to go."

The pretty blonde that brought us our food sauntered over, her shirt too low and eyebrows too thin, a smile on her brightly painted lips, "What can I do for you?" she said, her dark eyes focused on Adrian.

I cleared my throat, and lifted our hands slightly, "Check, please and thanks."

She nodded, but never took her eyes off of Ade until she disappeared around the corner.

"What was that?" Adrian laughed, bringing my hand to his lips and pressing a tentative kiss to it.

"She was staring at you," I furrow my brows slightly, "I didn't like it."

"Oh, please," he chuckled, "she saw our hands, and Isaac. She wasn't interested."

"Some girls don't care about commitment," I say with a raised eyebrow," she looked at your hand, didn't see a ring, and thought, 'good enough for me.'"

Adrian laughed a joyful laugh, as if I'd made a joke, and leaned forward far enough to catch my lips with his. We were like that for several seconds, before someone cleared their throat-- he sat back down.

"Here ya go," the girl from a few minutes ago said with an annoyed expression, but a fake smile, "hope y'all enjoyed the food."

Ade took the small sheet of paper, pulled out a twenty then said, "I don't need change."

She grinned at that, took the money and paper, left, then returned seconds later with the receipt, "Have a nice night."

******

"She totally wanted you," I mentioned playfully as we buckled our seatbelts. "I'm tellin' ya."

"I doubt it. But, sucks to be her," he laughs. "I'm not leaving anytime soon."

"She wrote her number on the friggin' receipt, babe," I'd thrown it away, though. "but I'm glad you're staying. I still need you."

"Hmm," he grinned at me, and leaned forward-- I did the same-- until our noses were touching, "you smell like tomatoes."

"You smell like cologne." I retort, and close the space between our lips. I swear, every time we kiss, it feels like our first. It's like I can taste the love and passion he puts into it. I love that he loves me. I love how he kisses me. I love what he does. I love who he is. I love him.

He pulls away after a moment, his fingers threading through my hair now, then mumbles, "You should call Isabelle, before you forget."

"I already have forgotten," I laugh, and kiss him again before pulling my phone out, unlocking it, then calling her contact number. It rang twice before she picked up.

"Hello?" her voice was quiet, and there was another in the background-- distinctly Philip's.

"Hey, Isabelle," I sigh into the mic, "it's Jess. Remember me? The one who let you move in with her because you were going through the unspeakable?"

"Jessie? Oh gosh, I am so sorry!" she exclaims, "I've been meaning to call you, but I've been spending more time with...my dad. He's really changed, you know? He stopped drinking, and just...he's doing a lot better."

"Yeah? That's great to hear!" I chew on my lip, slightly nervous, then glance over at Ade, who was staring at me. 'Tell you her meet you here,' he mouthed. "Hey, listen, I've been meaning to talk to you. Do you think you could meet me in the parking lot of Ginos?"

"Uh..." she trailed off, said something inaudible to (probably) Philip, she said, "Yeah, of course. 15 minutes?"

"Sounds good," and then the line went dead. "She'll be here."

"You seem uncomfortable, Jess," Adrian frowned slightly as me, "would you prefer it if I talked to her?"

I turned and smiled at him, "No, that's okay. I need to do it. I'm just kinda nervous."

"That's understandable," he smiled at me, "but it'll al work out. Okay?"

I nod and mumble, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

******

"It feels like it's been forever!" I laugh as Isabelle wraps me in a hug. "God, I was worried about you."

"I know, I know, I just kept forgetting to call," she sighed, and released me. "Anyways, what's up?"

I sigh, and cross my arms back, "Well...words getting around that-- um, well, that you and Philip are uh...dating."

"Oh," her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and she leans against her car, "um...yeah. About that-"

"Look, Isabelle," I start, and clear my throat, "I have no say in who you date. I'm not your boss. But...you're the godmother of my child. And Philip is the biological father to my child. I don't appreciate you deliberately going behind my back and sneaking around with him. It's immature and rude, considering all that I've done for you. Not to mention the fact that you lied to me."

"I know," she nodded, though I could tell she was intimidated-- her cheeks flushed as she said, "I know, you're right, but god. He's good, okay? I've never felt more wanted. I've never felt more alive. I've never felt more safe, Jess."

I shake my head, and sigh, "If...I'm sorry, Isabelle. I love you and I want the best for you, you know? But if you continue to see him...I don't think I want you to be around my son a whole lot. I know it's immature of me to do that, but Philip told me directly that he wanted nothing to do with my son. And I don't want anything to do with him. Isaac has a dad, and he doesn't need another."

"Philip is Isaac's dad, Jessie!" Isabelle argues furiously, her eyebrows furrowed. I wanted to remain calm. There was no use in getting riled up.

"No, Isabelle. He's not. He's Isaac's biological father. And that's all he'll ever be. I'm letting Philip see Isaac occasionally, and that's all it'll ever be. Adrian has been there for me since the start. He's been there for Isaac since the start. I love Adrian. I don't love Philip. This is my life, Isaac is my son, and you and your petty relationship are nothing to me. I'm sorry for all of this, but unless you decide that he's not worth your time...I don't think you should be a main part of our lives."

"Yeah," she nods, angry, "yeah, that's very mature of you to do. Cut me out because I'm doing something with my god damn life."

"I have to go," I sigh, and glance at her before turning away, "I'm sorry, all right? I love you, Isabelle. But I think this is for the best. Text me if anything happens to you."

And with that, I went back to the car, got in, and watched as the buildings, signs, and trees sped by once Adrian drove off. I was so glad he didn't ask about the conversation. I'd tell him about it tonight, when we were in bed. I just didn't feel like discussing it at the moment.

"I love you," he whispered, linking his fingers with mine while he kept his left hand on the wheel. "okay?"

I nod, and smile at him, though he couldn't see me, "I love you."

~Hawthorne~

I listen to the Chirp!Chirp! of the car as the the doors locked before heading inside of Starbucks for some much needed caffeine. Grandfather's health had taken a turn for the worst, and I'd been having to miss school. As far as my friends were concerned, I'd fallen off the radar altogether. I sighed as I pulled the door open, stepping through the threshold into the air conditioned building and running a hand through my hair. My bangs fell back onto my forehead as the cool air hit my skin, causing goosebumps where it was exposed. It was relatively quiet inside as I headed to the front counter. There was no line, which meant that I could take my time as I looked over the the menu.

"Hello, welcome to Starbucks" said a woman from behind the counter.

She hadn't been there a second ago. She must have been in the back or something. I smiled briefly as my eyes surveyed all of the many choices before me, then decided to go with the usual.

"I'll take a Grande Caramel Macchiato please." I pull out my card as I meet her eyes.

The woman's face lit up with a bright smile as she said, "Yes ma'am." Will that be all?"

And for a moment, I just look at her. Long dark lashes with mascara that made her deep rich colored eyes stand out against her dark and clear complexion, with beautiful shining curls that fell to her shoulders and looked soft to the touch. She was shorter then me, but her lean build gave me the impression she was athletic.

I smiled at her . "I think that's it."


"That's going to be three sixty five." she rang it up.

I handed her my card, watching her as she tapped the screen several times before sliding the card. There was something I was missing. What was it? Something about her was bugging me.

"Name?" she looked back at me.

It took me a moment to recover my thoughts. "Hawthorne."

"Alright then, Hawthorne." she said. "You'll be called when your order is ready."

I said my thanks and turned to find a seat. I normally like to snag a seat by the windows, usually going for the higher seated chairs and tables to accommodate my long legs. I spotted one and made my way over to claim the table for myself. Just as I took my seat, the girl from earlier came over and sat my cup of coffee down in front of me.

"Here's your caramel Macchiato." she turned to take her leave.

I thought about stopping her, but then decided to let it go for now. It would come to me eventually. Besides, I had something in my hands that needed attending. Smiling as I put the cup to my mouth, I let out a small moan of utter happiness as hot liquid and foamy caramel spilled past my lips and onto my tongue. The sweet taste of caramel on the tip of my tongue makes my mouth water as I swallow the sugary confection down my throat, and I sigh at the feeling of caffeine flowing through me as the strong coffee that follows after. I pop the lid off and dip my finger into the Caramel infused foam, and then pop right into my mouth. This was exactly what I needed. Just as I finished my coffee, I spotted the girl from earlier. She was getting ready to leave from what I could. Then it hit me.

"Excuse me!" I called out to her.

She turned in the direction of my voice and I waved her over.

"I know you from somewhere" I told her. "Don't we go to the same gym?"

Colette

I got ready for the party at Rupert's place, curling my hair in loose ringlets with a curling wand. It was really long, now, longer than halfway down my back, and it was a light blonde, like Jessie's. I put on a pair of shorts that went to a few inches above my knees, a white ruffled tank top and a navy blue cardigan with cute gladiator sandals. I put on only a touch of makeup. I wanted to look nice, but modest and unnoticeable for the most part. I draped my now really long hair over my shoulder and braided a piece in a french braid that hung right next to my cheek.

"Cole?" Rupert knocked on the door.

"Come in," I called softly.

"Hey baby, I have something for you." he walked in, leaving the door open. He left a light kiss on my cheek before handing me a jewelry box. It was long and thin, and I knew there was a bracelet or an anklet in it.

I opened it and gasped. It was a delicate bracelet with an elegant heart charm on the end. There were small, pink beads on it with longer beads with words on them. Each bead had a word and there were three, "believe" "strength" and "courage".

"Rupert..." I said softly, looking up at him.

"I know he is pleading guilty, but I had this commissioned even before that. Sorry it took so long..." he trailed off and I shook my head.

"It's custom made?"

"Yeah, that was the only way I knew to make sure you accepted it. Since I can't exactly return it," he chuckled softly. "May I?" he asked, lightly touching my wrist.

I held out my arm and he gently put the bracelet on me, fashioning the clasp.

"It's beautiful, thank you so much." I admired how it contrasted my skin, it felt cool and light on my arm, as if it was always meant to be there.

"You're my hero, Colette. You have been through so much and you're still standing here. You mean so much to me, baby." I wrapped my arms around his waist and squeezed him tight after he spoke and he tensed, somewhat surprised. I hadn't hugged him like that for a long time.

He rested his chin on my head and stroked my hair lightly. The doorbell rang then, startling us both.

"It's go time. If you get too overwhelmed then just tell me and we'll go somewhere quiet or I'll send everybody home, okay?" he stroked my cheek and took my hand as we walked downstairs.

Rupert opened the door in let in a few girls, and then people started to trickle in. Some had brought swimsuits to go swimming in the backyard pool and were taking turns changing in the bathroom, others went down to the basement to play pool.

"Cole!" I turned around, my hand never leaving Rupert's.

"Dafnie?" I grinned, the first smile I had smiled for a long time. As much as I needed and wanted Rupert, Dafnie was my best friend and I loved her just as much.

"I'm gonna go say hi," I told Rupert, my hand slipping out of his. He smiled, his blue eyes lighting up as well as he turned to greet a few others.

"Hey Cole," she grinned, "you're wearing a sweater, in the middle of summer," her smile faltered a bit, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, for once I'm great, actually. Um, look." I held out my wrist, "Rupert got this for me, he gave it to me just now.

"It's beautiful," she replied, "I really love it."

"Thanks. So how is your summer?"

"You know, stuff is going down with Paul, I'm not really sure how to explain it. I've been missing you," she poked my shoulder, "where've you been?"

"Trial stuff. He's pleading guilty so there's just going to be a short trial where evidence is presented and everything. Stuff like that. But we need to hang out more." I exhaled, "Honestly, I've been thinking about going back to France."

"Oh for the summer?" she sat down on the sofa and I followed, facing her.

"No, like for Senior year," I said.

"Wait, what? What about Rupert? And school, and me?" she whisper-yelled, shock in her eyes. Dafnie and I looked so much alike we could be sisters, her the older prettier sister and me the younger, meeker sister, even though we were the same age.

"No, Daf, everywhere I look... I'm just reminded of what happened. I love Rupert but I can't be with him forever and I'll be at school in France. I'll miss you like crazy, obviously, but you need to come visit."

"And Adrian? He moved here for you," her brow furrowed.

"Yeah, and now he has Jessie and the baby. I have no reason to be here anymore," I said sadly, looking down at my hands.

"Stop that, okay?" she caught my chin in her hand and made me look at her.

"You are beautiful, and wonderful. Hell, you brought back earrings for me from Paris. You are my best friend Cole. It's not just about me, or Thorne, or Rupert or even Adrian. If you leave, you give him the satisfaction of knowing that he destroyed your life. And guess what, he didn't. He didn't destroy your life, he was just a bump in the road. A tiny insignificant bump that you're going to crush in your hummer once this trial is over. But you need to be here, for you. To show that sonofabitch that the French will not surrender, not this time," she chuckled at that last part, "okay?"

I exhaled, mulling over everything I had said. "Okay."

"Okay, I'll stay,"



Here is the bracelet:

Brooke Kestner

After lunch that day with mom and dad, me and Noah were driving back home. He was blasting that Brahms classic.

“I swear, I don’t understand how you don't fall asleep while driving when you’re listening to this.” I say pinching the bridge of my nose.

“I think it’s because I get more than 4 hours of sleep a night. Unlike you.” He laughs. I hit his arm laughing too. “Oh that's how you want to play?” Suddenly he starts poking me in the side. My body jolts uncomfortably.

“Noah stop! You know I hate that!” I hit him again, and he turns back to the road.

“Oh shit!” He yells. I look out to see a car heading straight for us. He swerves the car to the right barely missing a full on collision. The momentum pushes me forward into the dash, but I shield my head with my arms. It takes me a moment to collect myself. I turn to Noah.

“Are you alright?” I ask. He looks at me, breathing heavy.

“Yeah I think so. What about you?” He asks.

“I’m okay. My arms hurt a little, but I’m sure nothing is broken.” I look out the windshield at the other car. A boy gets out, his face extremely pale except for the blood dripping from his nose. I point. “Noah!” He looks at me, and nods in understanding. I look back to the car, and see a young girl wide eyed not moving. I push the car door open and run to their passenger door. I open it, and the girl hyperventilates inside. Her face is white, and her hands are shaking. There doesn’t appear to be anything visibly wrong with her. I’m not sure what to say, so I start with the basics.

“Hi.” The girl slowly turns to me. “My name’s Brooke. I’m here to help you. Now, I want you to take slow deep breaths okay hun? You’re in shock.” She nods slowly in understanding, and tries to slow her breathing. I unbuckle her seat belt, and grab her hands gently. I help her out of the seat, and onto the road. I smile.

“Are you okay?” I ask. She nods, and looks around worried.

“Where’s my brother!” Suddenly the boy from before rushes out of nowhere, and embraces his sister tightly. I slightly smile, and walk back over to Noah who then hugs me. After he pulls away he walks towards the two strangers. I follow timidly behind him.

"You okay?" Noah asked. The boy pulled away from his sister, and walked towards us with his hand to his head.

"Look, I-I-I-I'm sorry. It was my fault,” The boy appeared to have a stutter. “I was distracted, and--" Noah interrupted him by pulling him into a partial hug. Noah was always good at that, calming people down.

"It's okay, man. It's okay. All that matters is that everyone's okay." I stared at the boy.

He looks familiar.

When I noticed that he was staring back I quickly looked down breaking the contact.

"Looks like you have a dent in your car," He said breaking the silence. Noah laughed slightly.

"Yeah, well by the looks of it, so do you, brother." He looked over at his car, and you could visibly see the pain in his expression. "I'm Noah," Noah said bringing the boys attention away from the car.

"Steph," He said. He then grabbed the little girl's hand. “And this is my sister Pedra.”

“Thank you.” She motioned to me. I smiled.

“You helped her?” Steph asked. I nodded.

“You looked a little occupied, and I stepped in.” I said. He slightly smiled looking at me a little longer than expected.

“Thank you.”

“Alright I think we need to get you two to the hospital.” Steph tried to interject, but Noah interrupted him. “No arguing. You’re going.” Noah turns to me. “We live close to here. So my sister here can run home, and get our other car. She’ll take you to the hospital, and I’ll stay here and figure things out.” Steph opens his mouth to say something, but rejects the thought. He sighs.

“Thank you….for everything.” Noah nods.

“I’ll be back.” I start running towards our house. It's only a block away so the run isn't strenuous. I quickly run inside, and grab the keys from my mom's desk. I get in the car, and start on back towards the accident. Steph and his sister get into the car, and I head off. It takes a few moments to break the silence.

“Do I know you?” Steph asks. I look into the rearview mirror. “Like do we go to school together or something?”

“Uh. I think so. I haven’t been at Lincolnwood very long, but I guess I recognize you...You play lacrosse right?”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah. Plus I think we might have had a class together.”

“Which one?” I ask.

“I think English.” He says. I slightly smile. We pull up into the parking lot, and I walk them into the main office of the hospital. The desk lady asks them to take a seat.

“Are you guys going to be alright? I don’t want to leave you guys if you need anything.”

“We’ll be fine. I promise.” He assures.

“Well okay. Um..” I look around, and grab a pen from the front desk. I write down my number on the corner of a magazine. I rip it, and hand it to Steph. “If you guys need anything, please call me.” He takes the piece of paper, and lingers a little.

There it is again.

“We will.” He smiles, and I start walking away. “By the way, I-I-I didn’t get your name…”

“Oh. My name’s Brooke.”

“Nice to meet you Brooke. Thanks again.” He smiles, and I nod. Walking out the door I slightly hear his little sister pipe up.

“She was nice...and pretty.”

“Yeah she was...” He coughs. “Nice that is.” I smile slightly and keep walking out.

Riley Trahan


Baby, you light up my world like nobody else.
The way that you flip your hair makes me overwhelmed,
And when you smile at the ground, it ain't hard to tell,
You don't know-oh-oh,
You don't know you're beautiful.

Riley silences One Direction for a moment as he tells the man that he wants mint chocolate chip in a cone, please. He sits on a stool pulled up to the outdoor part of the dining counter at the little ice cream shop he passes everyday on his way to work. He mutters his thanks as the man hands him his cone, green ice cream tendrils already racing toward his hands. He cleans up his cone a bit until it's safe to look at his phone for a moment. He has a few texts. One from Merrick, whom he met at the end of school this past year. In fact, Riley almost ran him over with his truck coming out of the school parking lot.

Hey, u goin to the bash on Saturday?

Riley figures that he means the annual summer party for all the upcoming seniors, as a way to start off the best year of their lives, so says the sales pitch. He doesn't think he has any plans, so he texts back.

Yeah probably, r u

Merrick is quick to answer, which is good. It always bothers Riley when people start a texting conversation, but decline to respond after the first few texts.

Yup. U should bring someone with u, a hot girl maybe

Riley's mind flashes to the ticket booth girl. He'd see her tomorrow, he could ask her to go with him. He grimaces, trying to anticipate the sarcastic remark she will embarrass him with this time. He throws away his napkin and stands up, hopping in his truck and driving home. It's slow going, and when he gets up the highway a little more, he sees cars trying to maneuver around an accident that must have occurred recently. As his truck crawls past, Riley sees two people with dark skin, a boy and a girl. The girl is helping a younger girl out of a dented car, and there's another guy looking really confused, running his hand through his hair. They all look about Riley's age, except the little girl; she's, well, littler.

He passes the two vehicles, and gets home about ten minutes later. He changes out of his paint-streaked clothes and flops down on his bed. Being up on the ladder all day never fails to wear him out. A few moments later, he falls asleep.

•~•

Before he starts to paint the next morning—blue paint today—Riley takes a few long strides over to the ticket booth and its occupant. She adjusts her visor and looks up at his approaching figure, the morning sun not yet bright enough to cause her to squint.

"Hi," Riley says, smiling. He takes his earbuds out and lets them drop onto his chest. "So, I didn't catch your name," he says suggestively.

"I didn't throw it," the girl says, pursing her lips and quirking her eyebrows. Riley lets out a breathy laugh and looks down. He puts his hands on the counter, longing to paint it for some reason. With half of his mind still focusing on what color he would paint it, he tries again to learn her name.

"Well, can you? Throw it, I mean," he stutters a little. She sighs through her nose and blinks slowly at him.

"It's Carrie," she says, resignedly, as if giving up part of herself. Riley didn't really understand in that moment why introducing yourself was a big deal, but he doesn't dwell on it. Instead, he smiles.

"Well, with that throw, you could be an MLB pitcher. Luckily, I'm a good catcher," he says, smiling wider as the corner of her mouth lifts in a small smirky smile. "I'm Riley," he finishes, deciding against sticking out his hand. He had the strangest feeling that she wouldn't take it, and he didn't want to interrupt his winning streak. She tilts her chin up at the mention of his name. He was used to that. 'Riley' was an unusual name for a boy, he's heard that his whole life. But it didn't bother him today, because the way she moved her head made him feel important and unique and special.

"So, there's this party on Saturday. Do you wanna go?" Riley asks her, not wasting any time dancing around the question. He watches her eyes study him for the briefest of moments, then go from side to side. Finally she glances down at the cash register, and back up to his earnest face.

"I guess," Carrie says tentatively. "Yeah," she reiterates in a more confident tone. Riley smiles in relief, not knowing what he would have said if she had said no.

"Cool," he says. He pats his pockets, extracts a carpenter's pencil from a back pocket and a scrap of paper from his brush belt. It has three drops of green paint on it. He writes his number down and hands it to her. "You can text me where to pick you up," he says, trying to convey to her that she didn't have to text him, but he wants her to. It was a difficult tone of voice to acquire, but Riley thinks he did alright, because she grants him another little smile. He taps his knuckles on the wooden countertop twice, smiles, and turns around to go paint. He skips all the sad songs on his playlist for the rest of the day.

Steph
____________________________________________________

The girl glanced around determinedly, and then touched down on the corner of a magazine with her new pen, scrawling away. I resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and see what she was writing. When she was done, she tore off the corner and reached out to hand it to me. I felt my mouth fall open slightly, astonished that she would just rip the magazine with everyone watching. I glanced around to see if anyone saw. I almost forgot to take the paper from her hand. But I did, my fingers brushing against hers. After catching her eye fleetingly, I looked down at what she wrote. It was a number, hers probably. “If you guys need anything, please call me," she was saying, but the words all jumbled up, and what I heard was, "I'm a girl, I'm pretty, and please call me."

There was something about her, and I was trying to figure out what it was as she blinked. Jeez, Steph, cut out the staring. I glanced away.

“We will.” I smiled, and she started walking away. “By the way," I called after her, "I-I-I didn’t get your name…”

“Oh," she said, her dark curls whipping around as she swiveled her head back to face me. "My name’s Brooke.”

“Nice to meet you, Brooke," I got out, "and thanks again.” I smiled again, too much, and then nodded like that would make up for it. She walked around the corner.

Pedra looked up at me. “She was nice," she said. "And pretty."

“Yeah, she was," I said, and then, quickly, when I saw Pedra raising an eyebrow like she caught me red-handed, "Nice, that is."

"And pretty," Pedra insisted, reaching her foot over and trying to kick me in the shin.

I reached over and mussed up her hair. She squealed. "Shut it," I said, even though Brooke was pretty. A lot pretty.

As it turned out, I had a concussion, but it wasn't bad. Pedra was fine, mostly, besides a bruise or two. I paid the bill for the hospital visit; it costed me the majority of my savings. Not that the bill was that large; I just didn't have a lot of savings. But spending all my money was no consequence compared to what would happen when Mom saw the dent in her car.

The doctor said she would call our emergency contact to come pick us up, but after a long argument, I finally convinced her not to. I told her we'd walk, and she gave me a wary look as she let me off the hook. I guess she just took my word for it. I took Pedra's arm and she shrugged me off, before we both walked out the door. There was a slight breeze, but otherwise it was a nice day.

"We're not actually walking, are we?" Pedra asked me, dropping her shoulders, squinting her eyes.

I thought about calling Brooke and asking her to come pick us up. But that would be awful of me, and I knew it. She'd already done a lot. I remembered her from English class as soon as she told me she recognized me. She sat three desks up from me, two to the left. When the teacher asked a question, she liked raising her hand and telling the answer. I remembered thinking how smart she was and wondering how she knew the answer just like that. There was a time I remembered specifically. It was last year. We had just read Act Two of The Crucible, and at the beginning of class, Mr. Hamilton was at the front of the room, reading study-guide questions. It was something he did to see who read and who didn't. I always payed attention, or tried to. Sometimes when it didn't catch my interest, my attention drifted, but for the most part I just watched, quickly putting my head down whenever Hamilton cast a glance in my direction. I had a fear of getting called on. Of messing up. Because that's what I often did; I tripped over myself, and I messed up. That, and it took me forever to read, so I often didn't. Therefore, I was clueless when it came to the study guide.

"Why doesn't Proctor want Mary to go back to court?" Hamilton asked, and there was Brooke's hand, going up so fast her book fell right out of her hands. It slid across the floor, not close to me, but I got out of my chair and I grabbed it. I quickly flipped to her page--since I knew what page--and put it upside-down on her desk as she said, unfazed, "If she goes back, that makes him further involved. He believes the accusations are false and the girls are frauds. It's not a just court." I wasn't even sure if she noticed that the book had been gone. After she answered, she just picked it up and read across the page like she was making sure none of the words were changed.

I was convinced it was like a superpower some people just had. They just knew the answers. It was an ability I wanted worse than anything.

I blew out my mouth and looked down at the ground. I fingered the back of my hair.

"We aren't, right?" Pedra asked at my unresponsiveness. "Helloooo," she said, shaking my arm.

"I don't know," I said, "I guess we are." She let her head fall back. Suddenly frustrated, I shot her a look. "Got any better ideas?"

"Yeah," she said, "we can call the nice and pretty girl that helped us and ask her to pick us up."

"No," I told Pedra, shaking my head.

Pedra rolled her eyes and smiled a girly smile. "C'mon Romeooo," she said, still hanging on my arm. "Just because you like her and are nervous to talk to her doesn't mean I should have to walk home."

My eyebrows jumped. I looked at her, confused. "What?" I shook her off. "That's not why."

"See, you're denying it," Pedra sang. "You'redenyingityou'redenyingityou'redenyingit."

I wasn't sure if she was picking on my stutter or just repeating herself.

"I'm denying it because it's not true," I insisted. "She's already helped a lot. It's not her job to cart us around."

Frowning, Pedra said, "It's your fault. You were the one who couldn't drive and made us have to go to the hospital."

"Whatever," I said, not wanting to argue with my ten-year-old sister about who's right and who's wrong. It was a losing battle. "Let's go," I told her. "We're walking, and you're not gonna complain about it, alright? I don't have the patience."

Pedra sighed and said nothing as we set off down the sidewalk.

It took almost a half hour to get back to the crash scene. Pedra hadn't complained, as per my request, but I could tell she was tired and hungry. I knew that Noah and Brooke would probably be gone by now. I wondered what they'd decided to do with the car. I hoped they didn't call someone to come fix it; I couldn't pay for that at this point.

As we approached the scene, I realized that the two cars were still in the exact places where we'd left them. Brooke was leaning against the guardrail, and Noah looked about to get in his car, before he saw us coming. Then he started to walk towards us, Brooke following after him and saying something inaudible.

"Hey," Noah said as he got closer. "I'm sorry. I was about to come pick you guys up and have Brooke stay here. I didn't know you'd be in and out of there so fast. You should've called us." I cleared his throat, and then looked over Pedra and I. "You walked all this way?" He looked like he felt bad, and I wanted to tell him not to worry about it. But instead I just nodded. Pedra muttered a sarcastic yup, which made me want to slap her. Instead I just knocked her arm with mine.

"It's okay," I told him, realizing I should've just given him my keys so he didn't have to stay here with the cars. "Sorry," I added. "My-my keys. I should've given them to you."

Noah shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Brooke should've gotten your number so we could call you." Noah glanced pointedly at Brooke.

"Sorry," she said to him, giving him a light punch in the shoulder. "I wasn't thinking."

Noah laughed. "Looks like we're all new to the car accident thing." We all laughed nervously. Then Noah put a hand on the Corolla's hood. "Anyway, it seems like both cars are fine. I mean, a little damage on the outside, but everything's fine on the inside. I'm no car expert, but mine started up just fine, and yours looks to be in just about the same condition."

"Okay," I said. "Thanks-thanks-thanks. I'll try it out." Fumbling in my pocket for my keys, I jogged around to the drivers seat.

"Whoa," Brooke said, chiming in. "You shouldn't drive, I mean, don't you have a concussion or something?"

"No," I lied, and then felt like shit for lying. She didn't deserve to be lied to. "I mean, I mean, yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Let me drive you home," she said.

"I'll do it," Noah offered.

"No," Brooke said quickly, "I'd be glad to."

"Nah," I said. "You've already done enough."

"You can drive us home if you want," Pedra said, putting in her two cents, as usual.

Brooke smiled at her, a big and radiant smile. Pedra smiled back, bouncing up and down, and then tugged at my sleeve. Brooke looked at me, tucking her hair behind her ear, some of her smile transferring over. For some reason I couldn't breathe for a moment. I exhaled forcefully.

"Okay," I said. "Let's go," I told Pedra, and then looked back over at Brooke. "Thanks again."

Pedra crawled into the backseat, and I got in the passenger seat. Brooke and Noah exchanged a few words before Brooke came around the front of the car and then got in. I tossed my keys to her, and with surprising grace, she snatched them out of the air. "Nice car," she said as she put the keys in the ignition. "Is it yours?"

"No," I said, "It's-it's my mom's." The corner of Brooke's mouth dipped down.

"Oh," she said, in a sucks for you kind of way.

"Yeah," I said, with a laugh, rubbing my hair, "My mom doesn't even let me drive b-because-because she says I get distracted sometimes." I scratched my jaw. "I don't really get distracted that often--"

"Liar," Pedra chimed from the backseat, nose tipped upwards. She turned the basketball we'd brought over in her hands. "You're the one who made us crash the car."

Brooke laughed lightly at Pedra's comment, but then looked back at me, like she wanted me to continue. I was surprised--nobody had ever really done that before. Grappling for words, I tried to go on. "Uh, so, there was this in--uh--incident in my road test two years ago. I-I-I was trying to parallel park, right? So I tried to drive right up into the parking space--" I put my hand out, flat. Brooke glanced at the road, and then at me, earnestly. Listening. "But then I saw this guy out the window, right? In the--in the rain. A-and he started twirling his umbrella around, for some reason. Then my car was jumping right up on the curb, and I almost ran over a cat by the ice-cream shop." Eyebrows jumping, Brooke laughed, before one hand flew up to her mouth. "Yeah," I said, smiling, "so I guess you don't want me as your chauffeur." Chauffer.

"So I guess you failed the test?" she asked.

I breathed. I thought it was the longest story I ever told. The longest story someone had ever been interested in me telling before I either lost their attention, or they got frustrated and interrupted me. "No," I said, laughing, "I passed with flying colors. Lady said I won first place for the Long Jump."

Brooke laughed again, a bubbly laugh, before suppressing a smile. "Where am I going?" she asked, her smile gleaming through. I told her our address. She made a hard left, and then leaned forward slightly to search the road signs.