Connor sat in his car, smoke spilling out of his mouth. He held a joint in his right hand and his left hand was hanging out the window. Putting the joint to his lips, he inhaled and attempted to do a smoke ring. He failed.

He sighed, looking out the window. Cars littered the school parking lot.

He knew he should be in school, walking that Hansen boy around, but frankly he didn't give a damn. Besides, that would mean actually going to class and doing work, both of which he didn't give a shit about. Hansen should be able to walk around without help anyways, so what was the point?

He coughed lightly. He could drive home. But Cynthia was probably there and she would ask what he was doing and cry because "he was ruining his life". He didn't feel like driving around, so he stayed parked in the school. And the car had to stay in the parking lot so Zoe could get home.

Connor checked his phone, reading the time. Fourth hour had just ended. He didn't want to go back inside, but he skipped breakfast and he was starving. He'd rather suffer through terrible school food than be even more irritated the rest of the day.

He opened the car door and stepped out, letting it slam behind him. He tossed the joint on the ground, squashing it under his heel. Hands shoved in his pockets, he made his way into the school. He easily blended in with the crowd of students heading into the cafeteria, so no teachers or staff stopped him. He just hoped they wouldn't smell weed on him. Although he didn't particularly care, he still didn't want to get caught and let his parents have another reason to hate him.

He saw kids whisper and step out of his way as he walked passed. One even tried to trip him. He stumbled but didn't fall. He glared at the kid and felt a small beam of pride seeing him shrink back, although he did feel a little guilty. It was good that he could get people to leave him alone, but when it came to innocent people that just happened to catch his eye it wasn't such a great thing.

Tray of gross excuses for healthy food in hand, he walked over to a table in the corner. He sat in the seat farthest away from everyone. He grimaced at the school's attempt at tacos and was tempted to throw it away, but his stomach sounded like a whale, so he forced himself to swallow small bites.

When lunch was over and he threw away the tray, he spotted Evan walking out of the cafeteria. Not wanting to attract unwanted attention to himself, he slowly walked over to the blind boy.

Evan stopped outside the doors, as if expecting something. Realizing that he was probably waiting for the long haired boy, Connor put a hand on Evan's shoulder. The blond jumped, looking around. Connor grabbed his hand.

'It's me,' he signed. Evan's shoulder relaxed a bit, but tensed again soon after. A boy with glasses and short brown hair slapped a hand on Evan's back. Connor guessed he was Jared Kleinman.

Jared stared at Connor, as if trying to read him. He turned back to Evan and started talking. Evan kept his head straight, mumbling an answer to whatever Kleinman was saying.

Connor barely understood what they were saying as they were talking too fast, but he saw Jared say "shooter". He tried to keep his face blank. Evan turned toward Jared and it seemed like he was scolding him. Jared rolled his eyes and shrugged before walking away.

Connor watched him disappear around the corner. He turned back to Evan, who was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Evan started mumbling something Connor couldn't understand. It took him a while to figure out he was asking what he was doing there. Connor reached forward and started signing in Evan's palm.

'Apparently, I'm your guide,' he signed. 'I know you don't like this, neither do I. But if I just leave you to fend for yourself, we'll both get in trouble.'

'I'm perfectly capable of finding my classes,' Evan signed back. 'I don't understand why the school thinks I'm not.'

Connor rolled his eyes and started pulling Evan along with him as he walked to their class. Evan was struggling, trying to yank his arm back. Connor tightened his grip. He wasn't about to get in trouble with the school. Though he was sure the school was already aware of this and most likely told his parents. Add that to the never-ending list of not wanting to go home.

Evan dug his heels into the carpet, halting both him and Connor. Connor let go of the boy's arm and turned around. Evan had crossed his arms over his chest and he was slouched, as if he was folding in on himself. His head was bent. He tried to reach for Connor's hand, but missed and got his elbow. He ran his hand down the arm and gripped the tall boy's hand.

'I don't need your help,' he signed. 'I'm tired of people thinking I'm helpless. I appreciate your help, but I don't want it anymore.'

Connor didn't sign back. His face contorted into anger. His hands balled into fists, causing him to crush Evan's sweaty hand. He pulled away, not missing the way he winced, and ran a hand through his hair, pulling at some strands.

This is what he gets for trying to be a decent person? Alright Hansen.

Connor stormed passed the blond boy, shoulder knocking him to the ground. He was at the school entrance when he made the mistake of looking back. Evan lay on the ground, his cane next to him and his sunglasses out of reach. People stared at him, then at Connor.

Evan was looking in his general direction and Connor could see tears glistening in his eyes.

Evan sat on the hard ground, staring at where he thought Connor was. Sensing eyes on him, he ducked his head and patted around for his glasses. He had heard them fall pretty far away, so he had to crawl around to find them. He probably looked like a freak. He felt people stare as he put the sunglasses on.

A single tear fell down his burning cheeks. All he said was that he didn't need Connor's help. Did Connor hate him now? He probably didn't. Evan wouldn't blame him, how can someone tolerate a mess like him? All he does it stutter and cry over every little thing like talking in front of a class or getting shoved to the ground.

And now he was sitting on the floor in the middle of the hall and everyone was staring and whispering and probably laughing at him, which made him cry harder.

He wanted Charles. He wanted to run his fingers through his fur. He wanted Charles to lick his face and nudge his arms like he always did when he wanted attention or walks. Charles would calm him down, he always did. Just hearing him pant or whine would help.

Legs shaking, he stood up and ran down the hall, pushing passed people, spewing out apologies. He knew the way to the farthest bathroom, so that's where he was heading.