I don't see Carter for the rest of the day.

Whether it's because of our schedules or because he got sent home, I don't know. I try not to think about it and fail miserably.

On a positive note, Mark and I have the same free period at the end of the day, a perk usually reserved for student athletes. I don't question the blessing and send him a short text to meet me at the log.

I'm not there long before he shuffles through the trees, his hair getting caught in the low hanging branches. His demeanor is back to normal after this morning. There's no residual tension in his smile, only the gap between his two front teeth that was never fixed with braces.

"The scheduling staff was kind to us for once, huh?" he asks, reaching around in his bag. He pulls out a flask I gave him for Christmas last year and takes a large swig before handing it over.

"We didn't even have to use bribes this time." I can tell the vodka is cheap stuff from the way it burns on the way down, but I don't show my disdain. It's not like I could've bought a better bottle.

I pass the flask back and Mark takes two more big sips. He drinks it like water, causing nerves to flutter in my chest. I can't ignore the correlation between his behavior this morning and his thirst for vodka now.

"So what were you and Darren talking about?" I try to keep my voice as light as possible, but his grip on the flask tightens anyway.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, he leans forward over his knees. "Just finalizing some things. I'm gonna start tutoring him for the SATs. Guess I was tired of being underappreciated by my current student," he shoots me a pointed look before refocusing on the flask.

"Like Darren has ever appreciated anything. Why would you want to tutor that asshole?" I know I'm not the only person he's been helping over the summer, but the idea of running practice tests with Darren sounds like pure torture to me.

Mark pauses, the lip of the flask only inches away from his mouth. "Because all money is good money. Even from assholes."

The way his tongue sticks on the word money doesn't go unnoticed. It's something we don't talk about often, but by the way he's clenching his jaw, I feel like I have to ask.

"How are things going at home?"

He takes another drink to stall for time, then takes extra care screwing the top back on. "Okay, I guess. Same as usual. Nothing really changes," he mutters, aiming the words down at his feet. "Just trying to keep our heads above water."

I reach over and rub his back, wishing it was enough to take the tension away. I noticed bags under his eyes this morning, but I hoped it was from a long night of reading rather than stress.

Mark's home life has always been a delicate subject. In all the years I've known him, he's never invited me to his house. He keeps things vague when I ask questions, but I've picked up clues over the years that tell me money is tight for their family of five. I know it's why he has an after-school job he hates. It's also what kickstarted his tutoring business, something completely outside his comfort zone. Mark struggles enough waiting tables at work; I can't picture him sitting one on one with someone like Darren.

I try to get him out of the house as much as I can, but he's been declining more and more over the last few weeks. The stubborn part of me wants to push him harder about it, but the last thing he needs is added pressure.

"You know I'm always just a phone call away, in case you need rescuing from responsibility," I offer, nudging his shoulder with mine.

He tries at a smile. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

My phone beeps, bringing the conversation to an end. I check the message from Chloe letting us know school's out for the day. I relay the information to Mark and he lifts the flask in cheers.

"Any chance you've got weed leftover from yesterday? I could use a nice high right about now." This day has been a weird one, and I need to not think about Carter's dismissiveness as he walked out of the auditorium.

"Check my bag," Mark says absently, pulling out his own phone. He clicks a few buttons, then frowns at the screen. I can only hope it isn't another chore from his mom.

Mark's backpack has way more pockets than necessary, so I make a guess and reach for the smallest one. Plunging my hand in, I feel around for a joint, but all my fingers graze is what feels like thin plastic.

Mark snaps his phone closed, eyes panicked. "No, wait, Amber not that one—"

But it's too late. I pull out a baggie filled with a white powdery substance that glistens in the sun.

"Are you kidding me with this shit, Mark. On school property." For some reason, that's the aspect of this situation I decide to focus on. Maybe because it's easier to tackle than the fact that he's using the shit at all.

"Since when are you the poster child for a substance-free school?" he asks shortly, holding up the flask for emphasis.

"At least I know better than to pack coke in my bag. What the hell are you doing with it?"

He tries to snatch the bag from me, but I hold it out of his grasp. "It's a one time thing."

"Lie. I saw you in the bathroom at Cameron's house. You left the door ajar to your own private party. You were doing it that night, too." My voice is cold, even to my own ears. Briefly, I consider whether I'm being too harsh.

But the way he's looking at the bag tells me I'm not. He swipes for it again, but I get off the log and walk a few paces back towards school.

"Ok, Amber look," he says in a rush. "Things really have been getting harder at home, and this is just a little escape. No big deal, just something to make everything feel a little more bearable."

"Where does that stop, Mark? Today it's coke, next you're shooting up dope with the town junkies. How can you be so casual about this?" My voice rises to the point where I'm practically shouting.

Mark's face hardens. "Because that's not going to happen. I know my limits, Amber. I'm not out here playing around with random drugs, and I'm not a fucking junkie either. You just don't understand."

"You're right, Mark, I don't. In fact, I can't think of one god damn reason you could give me that would make me ok with this."

He catches me off guard and snatches the coke before I have time to react. "Good thing I don't need your approval. Last time I checked, I was your friend, not your child." Mark gives me a steely look before grabbing his stuff and storming back towards school, bumping my shoulder as he goes.

I stand there for a long time, breathing hard to stop tears from spilling over. Bringing the flask back to my lips, I use the vodka to push down the lump in my throat.

The perfect shitty ending to a shitty first day..

The rest of the week flies by in a blur. Hours after our fight at the log, Mark called me to apologize and promised to never touch the stuff again. I forgave him, but my stomach was still in knots after we hung up.

Carter does everything he can to avoid me. Any time he sees me walking down the hall, he turns on his heel and walks the opposite direction. Mom gets no calls from Julia offering up rides, and I'm grateful. I don't feel like explaining that Carter and I are worse off than usual.

Still trying to make up for our fight, Mark drives me to school every day. His mood is easy going and he laughs at all my jokes, a good sign that he really has put the whole thing behind him. I try to take a page from his book and forget what happened. I pretend like it works.

I drag my feet the whole way to detention once Friday rolls around. The tables are spread apart so no two students are too close. The room is empty except for a teacher who I don't know by name. He's young, with a wiry frame and oversized glasses that make him look more like a student. He looks bored already; it's good to know I won't be the only one suffering. Stifling a groan, I make my way to the back of the room and slide into my usual seat. This isn't my first rodeo in detention, not by a long shot.

I lay my head down on the desk, ready to take a nice long nap, but the sound of the door opening gets my attention. I shouldn't be surprised when Tyler saunters into the room, but my stomach turns anyway. He flashes a grin before taking a seat a few rows ahead of me. I'm thankful for the distance, but I wish it were miles instead of feet.

When Carter walks through the door, I turn my back. Two can play the cold shoulder game. My ears prick up when the chair nearest me squeaks against the linoleum floor, but I don't let temptation win.

The proctor waits a few minutes to see if any other students come in, but it's the first week of school. Looks like the three of us were the only ones stupid enough to get detention already. He stands up at the front of the room and clears his throat for our attention.

"No talking, no phones, no music." Guess he's getting straight to business. "If you need to go to the bathroom, you have to ask me first. You will sit here for one hour, quietly."

"I'm so excited," Tyler mutters under his breath. I know the teacher hears him because I can from back here, but he chooses to ignore it. Sitting again, he starts a timer on his watch, then pulls out a book and tunes us out.

The minute hand ticking on the clock above the door is the only sound in the room. Something about it bothers the shit out of me, so I distract myself with the window. It looks out over the school's front entrance, and I watch aimlessly as students meander around the grounds. I don't bother searching for Mark. He's doing work in the library while he waits to drive me home.

"I need to talk to you."

Carter says it just loud enough to be heard over the clock. I ignore him anyway.

"Did you hear me? I'm serious, we gotta talk," he whispers again. Despite myself, I glance over my shoulder.

"Oh, his eyesight returns. Suddenly, you can see me again." I try to keep my tone light, but some bitterness slips its way in.

"What?"

"You've been avoiding me like the plague all week, and I know I don't have the plague because I went to the doctor to check. Besides the syphilis I got from that dumbass, I'm the picture of health."

His head whips around comically to Tyler, which almost makes me laugh. I swallow it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"Did he actually give you syphilis?" Carter looks ready to get up from his desk and beat Tyler up all over again.

I give him a long look, then roll my eyes and turn my back again. He tries to whisper something else, but he's too loud and the proctor shushes him into silence.

The rest of the hour, he leaves me alone. It's what I wanted, but my heart sinks nonetheless. His avoiding act has bothered me more than I'd like to admit. We may not be friends like before, but I stupidly thought we could get there again someday. Instead, I've been knocked back to the first days of middle school — back to when Carter cut me out.

Like cold turkey, he tossed me aside without so much as a fight. There was no conversation, no goodbye — he just disappeared. One night, he waved from his window and never did again. In class, I'd pass him notes asking what was wrong; he'd get up and throw them away. After school, I'd rush home to get on the landline before my parents and call his house, but whenever his mom or dad picked up, they'd tell me he was busy, sick, or not home.

I cried myself to sleep every night for a week, staring out the window at Carter's closed blinds. Eventually, I resorted to closing mine too; it failed to make me feel any better. School was more tolerable because I had Mark, but no matter how many times I asked why Carter was ignoring us, all he'd say was, it doesn't matter. We don't need him.

For Carter to pull the exact same act again is cruel, even for him. Tears prick my eyes right there at the desk, and I rub at them furiously, hoping he doesn't notice. I'd never give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Beeping from the front of the room lets us know when our time is up. I grab my bags and bolt for the door, wanting to put as much distance between me and Carter as possible. Wrenching my phone from my pocket, I hit Mark's speed dial to tell him I'm ready to meet on the steps. I can only hope he hasn't put it on silent for the library.

I'm halfway down the hall when someone calls my name. I'm expecting it to be Carter, but it's Tyler instead.

I walk faster, but he grabs my arm. "Wait, Amber. Just wait a second—"

Pulling free, I spin on my heel and pin him with a glare. "I'm so not in the mood, Tyler."

My irritation only grows when the call to Mark goes to voicemail. Of all times to be off his phone, he chooses now. I end the call and hit redial in one fluid motion, hoping Tyler picks up on the hint that I'm busy.

He has the decency to look sheepish. "I know, I'm the last person you want to talk to, but just hear me out." Something in his tone seems somewhat sincere, but I'd be stupid to forget how he treated me on Monday.

Carter interrupts us. "Did you not learn your lesson from the last ass kicking, Hampton?"

Instinctively, I hang up before Mark can answer. Last thing I need is him hearing Carter's voice.

"Dude, relax. I'm just trying to talk to her." Tyler holds both hands up in surrender.

Carter looks to me for the go ahead to hit him; not even five minutes out of detention and he's looking for a ticket back in. Instead of egging him on, I go the petty route.

"We're just talking, Carter. I don't know when I hired you as a bodyguard, but consider this your letter of termination."

His face hardens to stone. Ignoring Tyler completely, he storms away and disappears around the corner.

Tyler shrugs off the tense moment easily. I get the feeling he's used to being threatened. He turns on what he thinks is a charming smile. It has the opposite effect on me.

"Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for the assembly. I never should've put my hands on you."

"A fact I already knew. Tell me this, is the apology really for me, or is it for you to get past your guilt? Because honestly, I don't need one either way."

Tyler runs his fingers through his hair, the strands clumping together in their wake. I wonder if he ever washes it, then try not to think about how it fell in my face multiple times during our hookup.

"I guess it's for me, then. I don't know if you know this, but I've had a major crush on you for years now. Might be why I freaked out when you said you didn't wanna hang out again." His confession isn't one I'm expecting. Before Cameron's party, I barely acknowledged his existence.

"Well, I hope you don't think I've changed my mind. I can settle that for you right now, buddy."

He actually laughs at that, and I let go of tension I didn't realize I was holding. Part of me was nervous that we'd have a repeat of last time, but Tyler seems a lot less aggressive now. Maybe the beating humbled him.

"Yeah well, if I had known Carter was your boyfriend, I never would've tried talking to you again."

My heart skips several beats. "Carter is not my boyfriend," I finally get out, defensive even to my own ears.

"Well someone should probably tell him that." Tyler throws a thumb over his shoulder in the direction Carter went. "Either way, I'm really sorry."

"Alright," I say, just to end the conversation. We have one more year together — I'm sure I can avoid him until May. As he shuffles away and shoots me a final grin, I try again to remember what got into me that night. All I can recall is the alcohol I chugged to try and forget the whole thing.

With all distractions gone, I give more attention to contacting Mark. We're meant to meet out front, but it's weird he's not at least texting me back. I told him what time I was getting out, so what gives? A twinge of dread works its way up my spine, scratching just under the surface of my skin.

It's a total overreaction. Logically, I know this shouldn't induce panic. But my finger still trembles as I hit his speed dial for the third time and walk purposefully for the school's front steps.