Throughout my afternoon classes, I keep texting Cruz under my desk. I'm worried out of my mind. I'm feeling insanely guilty as well.

Every time Cruz texts me back, he insists that he's fine.

I don't know if I believe him.

For the rest of the day, I spend my time brainstorming ideas over how to make this shit situation a little less shitty.

By fifth period, I decide that I'm going to buy Cruz a new laptop: To replace the one his dad smashed because of my stupid prank. To thank him for everything he has done for me. To say sorry for getting him involved in a fight today.

By sixth period, I learn from Cruz's latest messages that he ended up getting a two-day in-school suspension after his trip to the vice principal's office. The outcome isn't as horrible as I expected, I suppose, considering the damage the guys caused. Cruz gave Brody another black eye and some bruised ribs, and Brody gave Cruz a cut lip and some badly scraped knuckles.

Cruz tells me that Brody was dealt the same punishment and that neither of them snitched on each other when Mr. Santos pressed them for the reason behind their fight.

As I sit in class, I start worrying about how Ron will react to Cruz's in-school suspension. I'm pretty sure this is the first time Cruz has gotten into trouble at school. I hope Ron won't lose his shit like last time, but I'm preparing myself for the worst. I mean, the guy threw an epic mantrum over a set of googly eyes. An actual suspension will probably give him a heart attack. I'm ready to jump in the line of fire if Rob decides to take his anger out on Cruz.

Other worries weigh on my mind as well: Chrissa's vicious threats. Brody's violent streak. I stress about Alison and her dad getting caught in the crossfire. Cruz already took a hard hit for me. Several of them, in fact. Literally.

Too much has happened in one day, and I don't really know how to process it all. By the time the final dismissal bell rings, I stop thinking altogether. I feel utterly drained.

I grab my backpack and head out to find Cruz. We're supposed to meet by his car. I arrive in the parking lot first. A few minutes later, I spot Cruz walking towards me. I'm relieved to see that, even though he looks a bit roughed up, he seems okay overall. Ms. Devlin, the school nurse, bandaged him up pretty well. I'm still not at ease, though.

What if Brody gave Cruz a concussion or something?

After we climb into his car, I ask, "Should we get you checked out at a clinic before heading home?"

Cruz shakes his head. "No, I'm good."

"You sure you don't have a concussion?"

"Doubt it. Brody may have punched me in the mouth, but he didn't get anywhere near my head."

I wince. "I see."

Cruz's eyes dart towards me as he drives. "Hey, don't worry. I'm gonna be fine. Ms. Devlin said everything should heal in a week or two, and I know how to change bandages on my own. It's all external shit, like, bruises and cuts. Although, if I start feeling weird, I'll have my dad take a look."

I guess he has a point. Ron is a doctor, after all. But guilt continues to claw at me.

I suggest, "Should we stop by a pharmacy? Do you need anything? Extra bandages? Some aspirin?"

Cruz assures me that they keep medical supplies at home for his soccer injuries.

I offer, "Then, let me help you."

His brow creases in confusion. "With what?"

"I dunno. Changing your bandages. Or whatever."

Cruz side-eyes me. "You wanna be my nurse or something?"

I mumble, "Something like that."

His green eyes seem to flicker with interest.

"I guess," he coughs, "I'd be cool with that."

I smile. "Just show me what to do, and I'll do it."

Keeping his good hand on the wheel, Cruz smiles back and reaches over with his busted hand to pat my thigh in appreciation. He murmurs, "Sounds like a plan."

When he doesn't remove his hand from my lap, I find myself tracing the bandages around his knuckles with my fingertips, lightly, at first, then, curiously, and finally—guiltily.

Shit.

I feel bad again. This happened to him because of me. At this point, I don't even know if I should tell him anything about Chrissa's villainous monologue in the girls' restroom this morning. Cruz will probably try to involve himself again.

As we pull out of the school parking lot, I can't seem to hold in my feelings anymore.

An apology bubbles up from my chest as I blurt out, "God, I'm so sorry, Cruz!"

"It's fine, Athena," he assures me.

"No, it's not," I argue, "I never meant for you to get into a fight with Brody. He's not worth your time. I hate seeing you get hurt. Please, please, please don't put yourself out there like that again, okay? I admit, Brody kinda caught me off guard today, but I'll be ready next time. I can deal with him on my own."

Cruz's fingers grow tense around my thigh. As we approach a red light, the car slows to a stop, and the mood inside the SUV shifts uncomfortably.

His expression darkens. "Why are you always trying to fly solo when I'm here?"

With a frown, I protest, "I just don't wanna bother you—"

Cruz's voice is brimming with frustration when he interjects, "Has it occurred to you that I want to be bothered?"

Somewhat bewildered, I demand, "Why in the world would you want me to bother you?"

"Maybe I actually give a fuck about you," he growls, "maybe I'd rather get punched out by Brody than stand by and watch him harass you."

I don't know how to respond. I'm suddenly feeling nervous, though, for some reason.

Why does it feel like Cruz just confessed something major to me?

"Sorry," he grumbles, "I didn't mean to get so worked up."

I chuckle clumsily. "It's fine."

An awkward silence stretches in the air.

As Cruz's words register in full, my eyelids flutter away with disbelief. Then, seemingly on cue, a series of perfectly timed domino effects topple into play over the next few seconds. Right when the light turns green, Cruz steps on the gas, and a lightbulb clicks on inside my head.

Holy shizzles.

I look over to study the green-eyed boy beside me. I do so carefully, closely. Cruz's attention is focused on the road but I can sense his leftover exasperation even after his outburst has died down.

The lightbulb shines brighter. My heart starts thudding in a hopeful, happy rhythm. I know he said that nothing would ever happen between us.

But, but, but—

Lately, his actions seem to be at odds with that particular statement.

Is it possible that, that, that—

He proved himself wrong?

Did this mofo end up catching some feelings for me, after all?

Cruz grunts, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Crap!

How long have I been gawking at him?

I look away and squeak, "No reason."

He grunts again, "Huh."

Embarrassment warms my cheeks. We barely speak for the remainder of the car ride. He appears lost in his thoughts, and I'm definitely lost in mine. It has been a tiring, confusing, crazy-ass day for both of us.

When Cruz and I get home, the house is silent. Empty. Aunt Katrina and Ron are still at work, and I've never been more aware of the fact that Cruz and I are alone. Just him. Me. Together. There's no one else around.

As I follow him through the living room, a jumble of questions bounce through my mind. I wish I had summoned the courage to confront Cruz about us after my little epiphany in the car. Sadly, I was too much of a chicken to speak up.

I want to know, though.

Does Cruz actually like me?

What about the other bitch? Does he still like her, too?

My stomach flips in a funny way at the thought of the other girl.

Is she smarter than me?

Prettier than me?

Nicer than me?

Who does Cruz like more?

Ugh.

Do I even want him to like me more?

It's not like we can date each other after my aunt marries his dad.

Meh.

This whole fucking day is giving me a whole fucking migraine.

I decide to switch gears to give my poor brain a rest. Focus on other things. I need to start researching laptops for Cruz, anyway. 

Or maybe I should call Persie to see how she's doing?

With a sigh, I trudge up the stairs. I hear Cruz climbing up after me. His room is to the right of the second floor landing. Mine is to the left.

As I turn left towards my room, his voice trails over from a few feet behind me, "Where do you think you're going?"

I glance over my shoulder, "Huh?"

Cruz stares back at me in a stoic, serious manner. His resting bitch face mode is 100% switched on, and he's hard as fuck to read. Yet, I catch a glint of mischief in his green eyes when he drawls quietly, "I thought you wanted to be my nurse?"