The fallout from the party never came. The days quietly ticked by. My new routine was simple: hang out with Alvin, Tyson, and Jones, and text Stephany te into the night until I fell asleep. It was an easy, drama-free distraction.

  Three days before Christmas, I took my car to O'Hare International to pick up my parents. When they walked out of the terminal, I was genuinely shocked. Trailing behind them, looking completely miserable, was my little brother.

  Julian was a ninth-grader, but he carried himself like royalty. He lived in the UK with my aunt, attending a ridiculously prestigious private school because the local public system wasn't "posh" enough for him. I honestly couldn't believe he was here. He usually spent the holidays in London with my aunt’s family because their Christmas parties were significantly more gmorous than a quiet night in here.

  My parents hated that he lived abroad. They hated that he never came home. But Julian was maniputive. Whenever they pushed him to return, he’d throw their constant business trips right back in their faces, reminding them that they frequently left us home alone just to go on romantic "honeymoons." It was a massive guilt trip, and my parents always caved. It also didn't hurt that Julian was undeniably my mother’s favorite.

  I didn't care. Julian and I were por opposites. We never got along anyway.

  Christmas dinner was a rare, chaotic bright spot. My mom cooked. She wasn't a culinary genius, but we ate every bite out of pure gratitude, mostly because if my dad had cooked, we probably would have ended up in the ER.

  Sitting around the table, I just soaked it in. I listened to my parents tell wild, hirious stories from their overseas trips. Sure, some of the stories ventured into gross, TMI territory about their romantic escapades, but I didn't even mind. It just felt good to have voices in the house.

  Julian, however, was miserable. The golden child finished his pte, retreated to his bedroom, and locked the door. He spent the entire two weeks pying video games and loudly compining to anyone who would listen about how desperate he was to get back to the UK.

  The boys texted me constantly to hang out. Stephany invited me to a New Year's Eve bonfire. I turned them all down. I chose to sit in the quiet, boring house just to be near my parents. I kept hoping we would go on a small family road trip—just the four of us. But my parents were exhausted from their constant flights and just wanted to sleep in their own bed, and Julian threw a fit at the mere mention of leaving the couch.

  I was outvoted. I didn't compin. I just nodded, buried my disappointment, and tried to be the understanding older son.

  January 2, 2010. The bags were packed again. I drove the three of them back to O'Hare. My parents were flying back to the UK with Julian to get him settled for his new term.

  I stood at the drop-off curb, hugging my mom and shaking my dad's hand. I couldn't go with them. The new semester started tomorrow. I had to stay behind.

  I stood by my car in the freezing cold and watched the three of them walk through the sliding gss doors into the terminal. They looked like a complete, perfect family.

  Was it fair? I didn't know. Did a hollow, bitter ache open up in my chest at being left behind again?

  I got back into the driver's seat, turned up the radio to drown out the silence, and drove back to the empty house. I forced myself not to think about it.

  **

  The second semester started, and for the first time in my life, I didn't hate walking through the school doors.

  I had a tribe now. The boys felt like my actual family. Hell, Alvin’s mom, Ange, was practically my surrogate mother. Whenever she had the time, she packed an extra bento box just for me.

  Once, I tried to buy her a nice scarf to repay her, but she aggressively refused it. She pointed a spatu at me and threatened to ban me from her kitchen forever if I tried to pay her again. I backed down immediately. I wasn't about to risk my free food supply.

  There was another new addition to my routine: Stephany. She was incredibly chill, entirely drama-free, and exactly what I needed. Sometimes she’d hang out with the whole group, but mostly she’d pull me aside to smoke and talk near the bleachers. The boys noticed, and they aggressively encouraged it.

  We also implemented "Study Fridays." The four of us locked ourselves in the library to prep for the SAT and ACT. Mostly, we were just trying to keep Jones from failing out of chemistry.

  February 2010. The cold dragged on. My parents had flown back from the UK in te January, stayed in here for exactly one week, and then packed their bags for another trip. I was used to the empty house by now.

  Stephany started pushing past the casual boundaries. She started showing up at my cssroom door the second the lunch bell rang, waiting for me so we could eat together.

  "Daeron, can you come with me somewhere next Saturday?" she asked, leaning against the lockers outside my homeroom.

  "What time? I train at the dojo in the afternoon, but my morning is clear," I said, zipping up my backpack.

  "What's your training schedule look like?"

  "Wednesday nights and Saturday afternoons. Why?"

  "Let’s just go Sunday morning, then. I don’t want to be the reason you're te for your dojo."

  "Works for me. But why do you need me to tag along?"

  She smirked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Let’s just say I need a second opinion on something."

  "Which means...?"

  "You’ll find out on Sunday! Unless you want to skip fifth period right now and go?"

  "I don’t mind skipping," I replied, deadpan. "If we get caught, I'll just tell the principal you kidnapped me."

  She ughed, punching my bicep weakly. "I’ll buy you a hotdog if you promise to come with me. Deal?"

  "Deal. But I know a specific cart by the park, and you're buying me the loaded one."

  "It's a date! Thank you, Daeron." She waved, turning down the hall to head to her next css.

  As I watched her leave, a blur of bright ginger hair caught my peripheral vision.

  I turned my head. Jessica was standing by the water fountain, fifty feet away. Her posture was rigid. She gred at Stephany's retreating back, and then her piercing green eyes snapped to me. The second I met her gaze, she spun on her heel and disappeared around the corner.

  My chest tightened. It had been over a month. I pulled my phone out and typed a quick Hey into our old message thread.

  Message Failed to Send. Still blocked.

  *

  When the final bell rang, I headed for the exit, eager to get to the dojo and punch something heavy.

  As I stepped out of the cssroom, a figure stepped directly into my path.

  "Where are you heading?"

  I flinched, my heart jumping into my throat. "Shit! What the fuck? Don't sneak up on me like that!"

  It was Jessica. She was standing right next to the doorframe, her arms crossed tight over her chest. I stepped out into the empty hallway, keeping a safe distance between us.

  "What are you doing outside my css?" I asked, my voice dropping back to its usual ft tone.

  "Don't look at me like that," she snapped, her arms crossed tight. "I can walk down any hallway I want."

  "I didn't say you couldn't. I just asked why you're here."

  "I just wanted to see if you were still alive! Why are you so defensive?!"

  "Why do you think?!" I snapped, my stoic wall finally cracking. "You block my number. You ignore me for a month. You don't give me a single chance to expin myself or apologize. And now you just barge up to me acting like nothing happened? Yeah, I'm defensive."

  Her face flushed red. "Fine! Forget I bothered you! Clearly you're too busy pnning your Sunday dates to care!”

  She turned around and stormed down the hallway, her sneakers squeaking angrily against the floor.

  "What the fuck?" I muttered to the empty air. Sunday date? She had been eavesdropping on me and Stephany.

  I let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  Footsteps approached. Tyson stepped out from an intersecting hallway. He had seen the whole thing.

  "What’s going on with Jessica, bro? Still a lot of heat there, huh?" he asked, cpping a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  "Ugh, I don’t know, man," I groaned, leaning back against the lockers. "I think I was too harsh with her just now. I shouldn't have snapped. I’ll try to apologize to her ter. The only reason she’s acting so crazy is because of what I did to Sean anyway. If I hadn't—"

  SMACK! Tyson’s massive palm struck the back of my head. The impact rattled my teeth.

  "Uhh! What the actual fuck, man?!" I barked, grabbing the back of my skull.

  "Hypocrite," Tyson said. The friendly "bro" demeanor was completely gone. His eyes were cold and sharp.

  "Huh? What are you talking about?"

  "I said you’re a fucking hypocrite."

  I stared at him, my anger fring. "Expin."

  "Stop with this pretentious, self-sacrificing bullshit," Tyson said, his deep voice echoing in the hall. "Stop acting like you’re this noble, stand-up guy who has to carry the weight of the world! Just be a normal person, brah!"

  He stepped closer, towering over me. "Stop thinking it's your job to take the bme for everyone else's actions. Stop thinking that falling on your sword is for a 'good cause.' You are not a goddamn superhero, Daeron! You’re just a fucking teenager with a toxic chivalry fantasy!"

  The words hit me like a physical combo. I couldn't even speak.

  Tyson exhaled, his broad shoulders dropping as the anger left him. "Look. It’s okay that you want to be a good person. It’s great that you look out for others. But you have to look out for yourself first. Stop being a hypocrite." He tapped my shoulder, gentle this time. "Think about it. How can you be a shield for anyone else when you’re completely destroying yourself? Stop pying the martyr. We’ve got your back, man. We’re brothers."

  He stepped back, a small smile returning to his face. "Now move your ass. Let’s go get burgers. I’m starving."

  I stood frozen against the lockers. Tyson had just ripped my entire psychological armor to shreds. He was completely right. My obsession with taking the bme—for Alvin, for Jessica, for the fight—wasn't noble. It was arrogant. I was treating myself like garbage and calling it heroism.

  "Thanks, man," I said, my voice quiet but genuine.

  Tyson threw his arm around my neck, putting me in a loose headlock. "Anytime, brother. But seriously, as long as you stop being so corny and cringe with that savior complex, I’ll never have to smack you again."

  We ughed, the heavy tension breaking. And as I walked out to the parking lot, I realized he was right. I needed to stop apologizing for things that weren't my fault.