Scared?

No, not really scared. I've seen a little bit of his scared, like when we almost got caught the first time he was over at my house.

Angry?

No... I've seen him angry first hand. When I kissed Michael, he was angry. He sucks in his bottom lip and attempts to keep his eyes wide as if nothing is wrong when he's angry.

He's... nervous.

I got hints of nervous when we first met at the party. Except this is a bad nervous. His head is slightly tilted and his eyes look anywhere but me. His stance is awkward, as if he can't get comfortable with one leg bent and arms crossed.

"How long is this going to take?" he asks-a little harshly, if we're being honest. "I mean, I don't want you wasting my-"

"So you start off by insulting me?" I interrupt. "Very effective."

"You called me a bloody fake...?" he says icily. "I don't want to be insulted again either." My goodness I'm sick of everyone being able to play the victim but me.

"You let a girl tell the school about us for thirty freakin' dollars, Logan!" I yell. He rolls his big eyes and shoves me out of the way of the door. "You-you know what? I'm not here to yell at you or argue or anything so just... listen." He stops with an exaggerated sigh, refusing to turn around.

"Listening."

"I'm not mad at you... I can't be."

"I-"

"Listen. Don't talk. You know what? There's something keeping you inside my head and it freaking sucks, Logan. It sucks because I know that if you were anyone else, I'd blow it off and get rid of you. I wouldn't even give you a second look. Do you understand that? Do you understand that you're someone special enough to me that even though you fucked up, I still want you?"

"Why?" he says quietly, turning around on one heel. "That's what you do best. Flick people off of you when they do you wrong."

"Don't make this about me. This is about the way you looked at me at lunch the other day. It's about the fact that I'm in your head, too. Doesn't that suck? It sucks so bad for me, I just wanna scream." Logan says nothing, but drums his fingers against the tile wall. "Doesn't it suck that the only thing that separates us is an apology? Look, I've done a lot of stupid shit and messed up a lot of good things, but this time? It wasn't me and I won't-I can't take the blame for this, okay? I've piled up a lot of people's mistakes and hardships on my shoulders... don't make me take the blame for this, too."

His mouth is sealed shut. His nostrils flare and it looks like he's about to cry.

"Hey, like I said, I'm not mad at you. The bad thing is, I'd be willing to take you back whether you apologize or not, and that's exactly why you need to do it. If you really care about me, you'll give it some thought and just... it's one word, Logan. Geezus. It's not that hard."

"I don't know." The words are quick, chopped.

"Then figure it out."

"I. Don't. Know."

"Figure. It. Out."

***

I feel like a badass.

I'm proud of myself and I think it's damn alright to say so. A few days ago, I probably would've been a jumbled mess of emotions and flailing arms.

I really like Logan. I'm not ever going to deny that as long as it's true. However, it's time for me to start taking charge of what I want. Like Shelby said (not directly, but in sub speak) I let people walk all over me. I let myself get paranoid because other people don't like who I am or who I'm friends with.

Like my father.

I never wanted to touch a football until before my freshman year, when my dad had his college friend over from Cedaredge. I had just turned fifteen, and I caught the last parts of their conversation.

"My brother Peyton is almost sixteen years old and hasn't looked at a football, but he's not half Brandon's size."

"I know! And Brandon just lost all that weight... the boy is almost six foot two. Wish he'd do something with himself."

"Make him do football. C'mon, Stefan. He'll love it."

"He never does anything I want him to do."

I hadn't told Dad I was going out for football until I made sure I didn't get cut; got my number 17 jersey and ran home with it, since I couldn't drive at the time. He almost hugged me. We even had a celebratory dinner.

By the end of the season, I hated nothing more than football.

It's not just football, it's everything. At times, I would have to sneak James in to hang out because my father gave such disapproving looks whenever he saw my best friend. When we would go to the movies, I always threw out a different name so that he wouldn't say "no". It was ridiculous. No one should have to tip-toe around their own parent.

Time for things to change. I wasn't put on this earth, in this town, in my house to be treated this way. I wasn't supposed to be timid and scared.

I smile into the pink, purple, and blue wire mirror Janie put in my locker as a joke months ago. You know what? I'm too good for this. I'm too attractive for-

"Hey, good lookin'," Chris says, closing her small hands over my eyes.

"Hey, good lookin'," I repeat. "Comin' to the game Saturday?"

"Would you care if I didn't?" she chuckles.

"Not really. Not sure if I want people to watch us lose horribly, but if you wanna travel seven hours to watch some West Crimson Panther ass get kicked, be my guest." Chris removes her hands from my eyes and instead rubs quick circles in my back while I get my book out of my locker.

She sighs. "So negative, Mr. Owens. Hey! It's Halloween on Saturday! I guess Derek is having his Furst party over there." I simply shrug and close my locker. "Also, I picked out my Fall Festival dress..." I turn around and she wiggles her eyebrows at me. "It's pink and it has white and pink stripes on the top and-"

"I can't go to F&F," I say solemnly. Her jaw drops and she doesn't blink for a good seven seconds. "I'm kidding. I'll wear a pink shirt and white tie. And a white suit."

"You asshole. I was about to pee my freakin' pants, you know that? That's such a mean trick to play on someone, my gosh," she shakes her head. "Anyway, we're gonna look great. Is there a best-dressed thing? I heard there was."

I scoff, "Pretty sure Cill and Derek will win that title." I thought I saw Cill in a dress once (it wasn't a dress; it was a 'romper', whatever that is. It's a trick dress with shorts... whatever), and I almost fell out of my chair. She wasn't even done up or anything. Derek is one lucky bastard.

Chris is shaking her head as she puts lip gloss on in a little mirror. "Cill isn't going with Derek. She's going with this hottie named Travis Keeler from Northbrook High or something. He's taller than you I guess and he-"

"Gave Carter Peterson a concussion. I know who he is." I'm not one to judge who someone likes (hell, look at me), but Travis broke Cill's wrist our sophomore year. How did they even end up talking? Hold on, since when does Christina talk to Cill?

The warning bell rings, which gets everyone rushing to their lockers. Chris leaves just as Matt approaches me. Immediately, my mind goes straight to the gutter. He's so hot and that dream just made it worse.

"Hey, dude," Matt says casually. "So, seniors get to pick who they room with, and I wasn't gonna pass that up. Wanna room with me and Darian? Darian is bringing his Xbox and I'm probably bringing my PS4."

"You're not rooming with Mitch and Marshall? Or Conner?" I ask. Matt looks plain offended, like I insulted his intelligence or something. "I mean... not trying to be rude. I'd like to room with you guys."

"Those guys are douchebags," Matt chuckles.

"Oh, well that's cool. I have Netflix if we wanna do that, too," I nod. Matt smiles sweetly. I head off to fifth hour with a smile on my own face.

***

"Please excuse the interruption: Brandon Owens to the office, please. Brandon Owens to the office."

My fifth hour class 'oohs' as I expect. I shake my head and gather my things. I heard Gerard got called to the office earlier. Something about an honors program.

Mrs. Evans sits at her desk with a pen in hand and her white-gray hair in a bun. "Mr. Owens. Have a seat."

Like I said, she's not scary, but she's intimidating for sure.

"Hello, Principal Evans, how are you?"

"I'm well, and you?"

"I'm fine, thank you," I say with a nod and small smile. I'm practicing; I might have a job soon, and being professional is a good start.

"Now, Brandon. I understand that you did not happen to show up to your... fifth hour? Yes, fifth hour class a few days ago. Your parents did not get in contact with the school, and you were counted unexcused. Any explanation?"

Now, science says that my heart cannot stop unless there are things at fault, but right now, it seems as though my whole body is frozen. I can't be in trouble. I forgot about that! I-I can't be in trouble. This is bad. This is really bad. I never ever get in trouble in school. What, did I think my teacher wouldn't notice? Where was my freaking head at? This is so awful... I'm gonna get suspended or something and it'll go on my personal record. The school will have to call my parents. I'm dead. I'm so dead. I'll have to hire Shelby to write a poem for my gravestone. The look on my father's face-

"Brandon?"

"I-I... I took someone home."

"Who? And why?" Mrs. Evans clicks her pen and sets it in her desk drawer. I'm surprised I'm even breathing.

"C-Conner Trial. He was sick."

"Why didn't you take him to the office, so we could contact his parents for him? Now, both you and Conner are counted with unexcused absences for your fifth hour class." C'mon, Brandon. Think, think...

"It had something to do with his prescription medication. He was afraid the school wouldn't let him take the pills here. He was in really bad shape... I panicked. I'm really, really sorry. It won't ever happen again." Good, Brandon. Good, good.

"I certainly hope not. In consequence for your actions, the school would usually have you serve an hour and a half detention after school, are you aware of that?" she asks. I nod. Oh good. 'Usually'. That means- "Since you were helping out, we reduced your time to forty-five minutes after school on Friday the 30th."

Oh my gosh.

"I... I have detention?" I say, my voice cracking.

"Yes. Both you and Conner Trial have detention tomorrow."

"But-I can't. I didn't even ditch school. Lots of kids ditch school all the time, Mrs. Evans. I mean-"

"And those students also have detention after school, Brandon. I'm sorry. I can't excuse this just because it is your first offence. It'll be fine. Brandon? Look at me." Mouth open in shock, I look her in her purple eyes. "I know you were trying to be helpful. If your parents or Conner's parents had contacted me, this would be a different story. There's no need to be so upset. It's alright. I had detentions in school," she chuckles. "It'll be fine, sweetheart. I've given my own son detention. It'll be alright."

"Yes, ma'am." My voice is small and weightless. I feel like someone told me my dog died.

"Okay. Do you need water or something? You look as if you're going to pass out," she chuckles. I shake my head and leave the office promptly. It isn't fair. I was feeling such a high just an hour ago, and now it's all gone.

Detention. Tomorrow is going to be awful. What is detention like? I mean, it can't be anything like The Breakfast Club. Ugh, the West-Wingers go to detention all the time. West-Wingers are so weird. I mean, Logan is from the West Wing of the school, but he's an exception (or was).

Most people don't know about the West Wing. They're the weirdos, all artsy and shit. All the band kids are over there, most of the theater kids (Shelby is an exception). James was a West-Winger, and he was weird as fuck. I mean, he was my weird as fuck best friend, but still.

I'm gonna die in there.

Once I'm back in fifth hour, I find Stephanie in my seat. I don't bother talking to her to ask her to move. Matt immediately asks me what happened, and I feel like crying.

"I have detention tomorrow," I say as calmly as possible.

Matt laughs. "No, you don't."

"Yeah... I missed fifth hour with no excuse so..." I shrug and sit in the empty seat next to him. Mrs. Baker is most likely snoring at her desk.

"No, you don't? We leave tomorrow at 9 a.m., remember? Football?" Matt presses.

Well, shit.

***

"Number 17!"

I've been yelled at more times in practice these last few weeks than I have been all season, and last season. I sprint over to Troy anyway and remove my helmet. "You better be kissin' Peterson's feet, Owens. You don't have detention tomorrow thanks to Carter. He didn't have to talk to Evans because he ain't even playin' Saturday, but he cares about this team."

"Oh... I'll be sure to thank him."

"You'll have it on Monday next week instead, an' it'll be an hour. Now get yer ass on that field and prove that you're worth savin'."

"Yes, sir."

Can you believe I'm actually playing my ass off today? I mean, it's the last practice I'll ever have on this team. I can't believe Carter talked to Principal Evans for me. I thought it'd be Matt or something. As much as I don't like this sport, I owe Carter something real.

We hit the locker room in good spirits. It was a good practice today. Deep down, I think these boys know that Saturday against Hoover is our last game. I do wish I could feel the same dread, but I'm so disconnected. I won't miss this. I've never really been close to all these guys.

"Hey, Carter," I catch him before he leaves. "Thanks, man. You really didn't have to do that."

"I know," he replies. "Just do me a favor? Play like you mean it? They're gonna need your big ass out there. At least give the team a chance, alright?" I nod 'yes'. Carter grabs my shoulder and squeezes before leaving. That really sucks. He can't even play in his last game ever.

I guess everyone knows by now that I'm not dedicated to this team. I never meant to be a disappointment.

On the upside, I'm rooming with Matt and Darian, just a few of the hotties on this team. We'll make the best out of it.

***

Aiden is blasting music through our speakers again; I can hear it from outside the house, on the porch. I shake my head before letting myself in.

Immediately I'm greeted by four eyes threatening sharp daggers at me. Great.

"Brandon! Glad you're home. Let's have a talk, Son," Mom says.

Dad must've told her about our argument. He must've told her everything.

Welp, this is it. I suppose I'll have to improvise. Does she know what 'bisexual' is? Even if she does, will she comprehend it? I know how much she wants me to 'marry a nice girl' and 'start a beautiful family' and 'don't do what we did'. Ugh.

"We got a call from Principal Evans," Dad starts as I sit at the table.

Well, I don't know which one is worse. Detention or the 'gay thing'?

"Let me explain-" I begin.

"She told us about your friend and everything. She told us that if you would've just called us, this whole thing would've been avoided," Mom explains. I notice that Aiden has turned the music off, but she's nowhere to be seen. "Sweetheart, you're not in trouble."

"I know."

"But you can trust us. We're your parents, Brandon."

"I can trust both of you?" I say out of nowhere. Gosh, why do I have to complicate things?

"...yes...? Is that hard to believe?" Mom says cautiously with a chuckle. "Why do you say that?"

"No reason. I guess I figure I shouldn't tell both of you everything."

"You can tell us everything, Brandon. Don't ever think you can't talk to us-"

"You're speaking for both of you? Huh." The words are just flying now. It's like I can't stop. I cannot watch my father fake this and pretend I can trust him at all. "Good to know."

"Did something happen between your father and you? Stephen, is there something I need to know about?" The room is eerily quiet and I'm shaking my head. "Really. This isn't a joke, Brandon."

"I was just confirming that both of my parents will treat me fairly no matter what. That's all," I shrug. Dad stands up and storms out of the room. Some nerve he's got. Like he has a reason to be angry with me. "Thanks, Mom." I stand up to go to my own room.

"Hey, Mister. You come back here," Mom says. "Tell me what's going on."

"I told Dad something really personal. That's all. Dude stuff. He just was a jerk about it, as usual. I was wondering if I could go to my friend Shelby's tonight. He's having a get together and we're not gonna drink or anything. I'll bring Aiden with me."

My mother seems speechless. She goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of mushrooms. "I suppose so... be back by ten thirty. You have football tomorrow."

"Thanks." Quickly, I run upstairs to take a shower. I hope my father feels bad. I hope he feels just a little bit of the rejection he's showed me for years. I mean, I can't hold a grudge forever, but something as big as this? I can't... I can't let go so easily.

Ten minutes after the warm water pours on my skin, Aiden is banging on the shower door like she's part of the mafia. "Get out! I have to take a shower, too."

"There are two other bathrooms in this house. What the hell," I call out.

"One is occupied and the other doesn't have any soap in it."

"Wait five minutes, geezus," I call. I hear Aiden fuss before stomping away. I hope I have a little brother.

Mom eyes me suspiciously as I get ready (I keep going up and down the stairs), but says nothing. I guess she's just giving me some space. Either that, or she's gonna give Dad a mouthful when Aiden and I leave.

There are about six cars parked outside of Shelby's house once Aiden and I get there. What kinds of friends does Shelby even have? I mean, he declared that I'm his friend... I really don't prefer to walk in a house with a bunch of theater geeks or weed enthusiasts.

Aiden is still angry with me for whatever reason, and doesn't hold the door open for me when we approach the house.

Last time I was here, we didn't see the inside of the house, but I'm happy we saved it. This kind of little house is exactly what I want. Nothing extravagant; just a warm, nice house with three bedrooms instead of six, a bathroom that isn't the size of a trailer home- just something nice and neat.

I suppose there's a downstairs, because not a single sound comes from the room when we walk in. "Hello?" I call out. A muffled reply comes from a door in the kitchen, and I'm guessing it leads downstairs. Aiden takes the initiative, twisting the handle almost violently and rushing down the steps. I'm not one to talk about unnecessary bad attitudes, but I'm pretty sure she's been hit with the monthly crimson curse, if you know what I mean.

I feel eight pairs of eyes (excluding Aiden's) peer almost through me as I take the last step onto the carpet. "Brandon, hey," Shelby greets.

"That Brandon? I thought..." a girl with bright, sky-blue hair trails off with almost a disgusted look on her face. Well. "Shelby, can I talk with you?"

"Go ahead, Pipp."

"In private, maybe?"

"We're a sharing group, you know this already. No secrets," Shelby says, almost teacher-like. Pipp, or whatever her name is, sighs in frustration and crosses her arms. What's her deal? "Everyone, this is Brandon Owens. Say hello, Brandon."

"Um... hi," I say, my voice unfortunately cracking. I wonder if he already introduced Aiden. I presume she's in the bathroom, because I don't see her anywhere. "Sorry if I interrupted something."

"No way. You're only five minutes late. We were waiting for you and Aiden to get here before we did anything," Shelby says. Pipp is staring at him and I'm thinking she's going to be beaming actual lasers through him some time soon. I've been here forty seconds, tops, and there's already tension in the room. And I've caused it.

"Well, introduce yourselves," Shelby chuckles. "We're not animals. We have manners."

The room stays silent, everyone's eyes still on me.

"I'm Harvey," a guy finally says from the corner. Nobody else breathes a word. "This is Tony, Ri, Faith, Bobby, Pipp, and Jetta. You were in that video?" Harvey asks. I nod and sit in a stool close to an old TV. "The whole school must've seen that thing."

"Not my best work," I chuckle. The room stays oddly silent; nobody moving. The toilet flushes in the bathroom, and Aiden exits the room ten seconds afterward. "Hey, Grumpy," I tease. She flips me off. Tough crowd.

"Uhm... could someone maybe help me with the dip and chips upstairs?" Shelby says. Aiden and Harvey nod and follow him up the steps. I'm surprised Pipp doesn't go with him; it seems as though my presence in the room makes her want to hurl. Why on earth did Shelby think leaving me here would be a good idea? I'm all for facing your problems and everything (well, today, anyway) but this is just a little overboard.

They all hate me.

{A/N}: Expect another chapter sometime soon! Make sure to vote and comment and whatnot. Sorry, this chapter has a lot of dialogue, and it's a little short on detail (I'm aware, haha. sorry i'm lazy), but expect some action here soon, along with some secrets being brought to light...

What do you expect from the next chapter? Tell me what you think!