The first few weeks of school breeze by uneventfully. That is, once you count out the fact that Mom became sort of a late-blooming teenager, mostly because of her strict mother trying her patience pretty much 24/7. This led her to try hard to break rules, obviously doing so in the shadows, trying not to piss Grandma off.

That's how Lyle now has access to my room through a ladder on the side of the house that leads straight to my window. I'm not even joking; she's the one who came up with this crazy idea.

If you're wondering about the crazy chick with the scar, I complied with her whims, leaving her the hell alone just the way she wanted. True to my promise, I never mentioned a word about that day, not even to Lyle or Newt.

Speaking of Lyle, he's been busy turning his infiltrating home into a whole mission. His messages include, but are not limited to:

"Bravo Seven making a move for Tango Nine." Meaning Lyle is coming home.

"Bravo Seven updating. Tango Nine acquired. Beginning protocol Eagle." Meaning he's home and making a move for the ladder.

"Mama Crow isn't in the nest. Moving forward." Is Mama Crow my grandmother? I can't even tell anymore. I leave my homework on the desk and move to my window, and surely enough, he's already climbing.

"Well done, Private Ackerman."

He climbs all the way, finally infiltrating the Devil's Den. He salutes me. "Sir, mission accomplished, Sir."

"Intel suggests that Mama Crow is taking her nap, so it's suggested to keep your voice down."

"Nice room, though," he says, looking around. It's the first time he actually dares the Devil's Den since the target practice incident the very same day we met. He obviously notices the boxes piled up in a corner. "Wait a minute; you're still not done unpacking?"

"No," I say coldly, moving back to my desk.

"Haven't you been here for like four months?"

I don't reply at him. Instead, I text Mom, letting her know that Bravo Seven acquired the objective. He looks over my shoulder as I type.

"Your mother is so damn cool, man."

"Total badass," I tell him, thinking that those boxes piled up in the corner are proof that she once ruined my life. Of course, Lyle doesn't know anything about my two years in Celadon Bay, and that's why I follow along, unwilling to shatter the image she managed to convey for him.

To be fair, she's done everything just right since we got here. Leaving me alone and letting me mourn things at my own pace, not forcing anything on me, and very much becoming the great mom she should've been before deciding to move here. Now she's even trying almost too hard to encourage me to make new friends.

My phone pings with an incoming message, and I expect Mom to tell me she didn't get my message, but instead it's from Martin.

I'm talking my parents into bringing you home for Easter, bitch. Do your best talking to your mother too. We miss you, fucker.

"Huh? Who's that?" Again, Lyle's watching over my shoulder.

"Nobody. Don't mind that," I reply, deleting the message. While I expected Martin to take a while to admit defeat and stop actually trying, it's been four long months and he's still going at it.

"You're so full of dung, dude." He walks away, half-pissed about my secrecy, and sits on my bed. And yeah, I get that if there's someone here who I could trust with that story, that would be Lyle, but I'm still not ready at all to speak about that crap. I guess I can afford to let him know a sliver of it all, even if it's just to nourish his curiosity.

"He's my cousin. He wants me to visit, as you read."

"He sounds pretty close to you, calling you bitch and fucker."

"Not this again, Lyle." I roll my eyes at him, slouching in my chair. "I told you a thousand times already that you can't hog all of me to yourself."

"Like I said, you're so full of dung, man," he says, smiling. At least he learned to deal with my teasing.

"And you're so full of jealousy," I say to further annoy him when Mom enters the room without knocking.

"Lyle! Glad you made it in one piece."

"All thanks to your great idea, Mrs. Foster."

"I'm so sorry it has to be like this, though."

"Not at all! It's quite an adventure to sneak up on your mother like this."

"I just wish she wasn't like that towards you. Both of you." Then, like Lyle earlier, she notices the boxes still piled in the corner. "I can't believe you still didn't unpack those boxes, John."

For the first time since she entered the room, I turn to face her. "I don't want to have this conversation again, Mom."

"I'll let it go just this time because Lyle's here. But don't you ever think we're done with this, young man."

I take back all I said about Mom not pushing things. I forgot the damned boxes and the many times she insisted on getting them sorted. I let out a frustrated sigh through my nose.

"Are we done for now, at least?"

She groans. "You're so thick-headed, John!"

"I guess I can't deny my genes."

"Get it done. Now. Lyle can help you, right Lyle?"

"Sure thing, Mrs. Foster."

"And you're now using him against me?!" Then I turn to him. "And you are such a traitor, Bravo Nine!"

"It's Bravo Seven, and I'm really curious about whatever is in those boxes."

I cross my arms, obviously angry at both of them, and as it is my usual self, I keep silent. But when none of them say a word, I snap back at Mom. "Just so you know, I'm so not doing it if you stand there supervising me."

"Fair enough," she barks, holding the door knob. "Get it done. I'm not going to ask nicely again." And she storms out of the room. I spring to my feet and take the first box, carrying it to my bed.

"Move."

Lyle gets out of my bed and takes my desk chair instead. I drop the box to the ground and shove it under the bed. Then I proceed to do the same with the other two, almost feeling stupid for not thinking about this earlier.

"I don't know what the deal with those boxes is, but this is the first time I see you so worked up."

Although I really need to vent, I lash my anger at Lyle instead. "Shut the fuck up. You should get the hint already: I don't want to talk about it."

He just lifts his hands apologetically before making his way to the window, and climbs down the ladder. Played this way, he just made me feel angry at myself. I should probably stop him and apologize, but I can't muster the energy to do so, so I just slump in my bed face down, realizing that what I really want to do is to scream my lungs out. And I happen to know the exact place where I can do so freely, without bothering a damned soul.