It's a novelty to walk around San Francisco during school hours and just count the continuous rows of school-aged kids walking around without a care in the world. Police officers turn the other way when they see them coming as if to say I didn't see them so I can't be held responsible for their shenanigans.

With my backpack in hand I'm sure I'm held in the exact same level of responsibility as them. We're the future prison-fillers, the future bon-à-rien (like Nina would say). Grown-ups shoot me the disapproval stares which I return out of curtesy. Not because I'm trying to be good means that I'm going to become a doormat. We all have somewhere more important to be but choose to be here instead so don't judge me and I won't judge you.

I end up on the beach, watching the seagulls fly by probably looking for their next meal or prospective bathroom. I take off my shoes and sit down on a wet rock. The warm breeze shuffling my hair, my toes in the sand, and my gaze directly on the long red bridge stretching from coast to coast. I vaguely catch the rhythmic vibration of the waves crashing on the rocking bay, the soft murmurs of other people talking.

I don't know why I haven't been here often, it's so calm, so lonely but the good lonely – the one I crave so desperately. The one where my eyes can follow people and happenings but my ears and mind stay blank.

I think I've been here once before with mom. Back during the happy days, when I had no idea of the evil looming by my side. Back when the thought of her was a rainbow after days of storms instead of the aftertaste of rotten tacos that would make me most likely throw up in a toilet in a matter of seconds.

We walked along the shore with our night black hair following the wind. She traced my name on the wet sand with her naked big toe. Then we lay on the beach, watching the blue sky morphed into a pink orange as the sun hid from our view.

I sigh at the happy memory. We had plenty of good times together but it's a shame it was cut short by my mother's greed. Too bad my mind was too young to retain much details. All those times are fading away at an alarming rate. I used to be able to pinpoint all of the different moments to the tiniest detail such as what color was her lipstick and her nails or what patterns decorated her long dress. Now, I can't even remember whether she was smiling or not.

Tracing weird patterns in the sand, I sit in the silence offered by the ocean till I was the only here. By the time I decide to go home, the traffic has gone down considerably and the moonlight shines unto the black still water. The streetlights light up the pavements as I make my way home.

The first image that greets me when I open the apartment door is my dad and Brandon sitting on the couch; my dad, phone in hands, looking as if he's about to murder someone while Brandon stares helplessly at the ceiling.

"Thank God, you're home," Cassie comes running to me when she sees me in the threshold. "We've been so worried. I was waiting for you after school but I met Nina and she told me you ran out of Mrs. Blime's class and never came back. I tried your phone but you didn't pick up. Brandon and your dad had called you too. Your dad was just about to go back to the police station so we could get back up to go look for you. Oh God, we were so worried. "

I swear sometimes I think she does it on purpose. She talks nonstop as to tick me off. It's all part of my training to be more patient and understanding with people. As you can see, I have a long way to go.

Dad approaches me, the worry still evident on every muscle of his body. Even his walk is more tense than usual. "Where were you?"

"I'm sorry, dad. I wasn't thinking. I just really needed to get out of there. Everyone was talking and screaming. I just..."

He hugs me without waiting for me to finish the sentence. He already knows, they all do. I can't believe I'm such a mess.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really, I just want to go rest now." I want to be alone. I'm tired of people, I want to say but there's no way of saying that without offending everyone in this room.

It's not their fault that others make my skin crawl. I've spent too long in the company of the bad ones that now I can't stand the good ones either.

"No, you have to eat. You look skinnier than the grim reaper."

"Isn't he a skeleton?" Cassie asks, not getting the joke.

He looks at her as if he's about to explain himself then decides against it. "Yeah, I'm too old to be explaining myself."

"What? I don't get it."

"It was a joke, Cassie." Brandon says for the first time ever since I got through the door.

"Oh," the girl blushes deeper than a lobster in a boiling pot.

"I'm going to make dinner. Are you all staying?"

"No, I have a dinner date with Tommy tonight. I got to go get ready."

"Where are you guys going?" I don't really care but I've learned to ask people questions about their day to show interest I do not possess.

She blushes even deeper than before (if that's even possible). "A restaurant."

A curt answer. So not like Cassie. Now my interest has been awaken.

"Which one?"

"Umm," she fidgets with the strap of her backpack. Her gaze turns towards the door as if she wants to run out of here. "Burger King," she whispers under her breath so low I almost didn't catch it.

I did catch it but I want to hear her say it again. There's got to be something wrong with my hearing. "What did you say?"

"Burger King, Okay," she says louder.

I try not to laugh. I try very hard but I know since the beginning it's a lost battle.

"I-I-m so-sorr-y," I say between fits of laughter.

"He's not rich, okay, but he likes me and I like him. I'm not going to abandon him like you did." She turns on her heels and leave me still in a comical daze.

"Cassie, come on," I call after her but by the time I reach the elevator, she's already gone.

I'm a terrible friend, I know. I'm working on it. It's not like I wanted to laugh at her misery. She's not even miserable. She's happier than me and it plagues me. I laughed harder than I felt like, harder than necessary. I think it was more at me than at her. She doesn't know how good she has it.

"Overcompensating for something, aren't you?" Brandon asks as soon as we're alone.

Danm, that boy gets me. No wonder I lost my way during those ten years of separation. He's my North Star, my compass. Finding my way without him is like a blind man on a cliff. I walk towards my doom all on my own without even noticing. I would have fell and died never knowing I was going the wrong way.

I sit on the couch, popping my feet on the coffee table. "She doesn't know how good she has it."

"And you think the best way to tell her that is by laughing at her?"

"I said I was sorry. Besides, it's Cassie. She's going to forgive me either way."

"It's so amazing how everyone around you seems so full of forgiveness ready to give out to you freely while your shelf is so understock.

"What the hell are you talking about? I've forgiven you."

"Are you sure about that? You still keep me at arm's length."

"How much more do you want? We talk every single night. I tell you everything."

"You tell me everything that's not important like your dinner or favorite TV show. I know more about what's happening in the latest season of Supernatural than what's really going on during your days. You avoid any type of meaningful conversation with me."

"I told you there are a bunch of voices in my head every single day. That about sums up everything in my life. How much more do you want from me?"

"I just want us to be like we used to be."

"I was a toddler, now I'm a teenager. There's no way we can ever be like we used to be."

"Is everything alright here?" My dad pops his head in the living room, his eyebrows raising at us. He looks so homely with an apron wrap around his waist; not like the protector I'm used to.

"Yeah sure," I answer him before turning the TV on.

Brandon and I haven't fought ever since we renewed our friendship. Not until now. It feels so weird to be fighting with the one lighting my path for me. Who say he's not going to burn out on me and go light somebody else?

Flipping through the channel, I didn't expect to see Darwin's face looking back at me with haunted blue eyes. His headshot stays on the right side of the screen, unblinking with the title sex offender under it. I stay lock in his stare, suddenly feeling guilty.

Why am I punishing him too? I should have left him out of the story. He's hurt me bad but he's not in the same category as Steven. He's not a rapist, he's a coward. And cowards should always be forgiven because they're blinded by fear; fear of the unknown, fear of happiness, fear of punishment. It's all catalyzed by fear.

I should know about cowardice because I'm one of its greatest host. I'm as bad of a coward as Darwin so why is he being punished while I remain intact? My picture should be up there too with the title disease to humanity.

"What are you thinking?" Brandon asks.

I gnaw the inside of my mouth nervously. "Do you think we would have been better off if I had stayed quiet?"

"We did stay quiet. We stayed quiet for ten years and what good came out of it?"

"Maybe it would have gotten better if given more time. Maybe..."

"Maybe you need to stop making up excuses to mask yourself behind," he snaps.

That's not normal. Brandon doesn't snap. He doesn't snap at anyone, he doesn't snap at me. This is not like him at all.

"What's wrong with you today?"

"Nothing," he rubs his eyes and his shoulders like a tired husband just coming off of working after a long day in the field but have to suffer through a long boring talk with the nagging wife. "I'm just tired. My boss never seems to be satisfied with anything I do. Then I have mid-terms coming up. Stress is just piling on my plate."

I make a move to pat his back but retrieve my hand before I reach him. I don't know this Brandon enough to predict how he reacts under stress. Ten years can change a person.

"Can I do anything?"

"You can stop leading me on," he whispers with his head between his legs.

I don't think I was supposed to hear that because he lifts his head up and say, "Nothing. I can handle it."

I cock my head on one side, trying to decipher my supposed best friend who's sitting next to me. What could he have possibly meant by that? Brandon has never made any moves or says anything that would hint that his feelings for me run deeper than the friendship level. Except for those typical boy comments about my recent growth spur. We sometimes have those moments that would make a stranger question our status like the weirdly long hugs or the long lingering stares but that was it. How could we be expected to act differently? We haven't seen each other for so long

I didn't think there was anything wrong between us until now. Did I do something wrong? Did he guess that I might like him as more than just a friend? I'm not even sure about that yet, but who would blame me? The boy is gorgeous. After ten years I just crave everything about him. It's like a whole new adventure where we get to rediscover each other.

"I got to go," he checks his watch. "My shift is about to start."

That's a lie. Today's his day off. I know his work schedule by heart. I had to in order for me to go to the mall at the exact same time he's there. He works at some boys' shoes store. I have no business going there except for him so I had to learn his schedule as to not walk in there and look like a total idiot. There's always that one group of boys lingering in there who would start to hit on me. They always stop as soon as Brandon comes in. You'd think they would have taken the hint by now.

"Tell your dad goodbye for me."

Just like that, he walks out. Seriously? He didn't bother to stick around to ask what happened today. He always does even when I don't want to answer. He always does, that's how he tells me he cares.

Should I take his silence as some kind of a hint?

"Dinner's ready," dad calls from the kitchen.

----

Sorry this took so long but I'm currently in Haiti in vacation. I had forgotten my laptop so I had to wait till some family friend was coming here from Florida for him to get it for me. I hope you enjoyed this part.