"Let's go for a drive."

I look up from the chemistry textbook I was pretending to be so enthralled with to see Dad sticking his head through the gap in my door.

My parents have been back home for just a few hours and so far I've used every excuse in the book to avoid the Talk they wanted to have with me. I sited a headache as a reason to stay holed up in my room when I got home. I told them I needed to study when it was time for dinner. And I had been hoping I could keep up the charade until they were both asleep but that was too much to ask for.

"Right now?" I croak.

He nods, yes.

"But I'm studying uh..." I look down at my textbook trying to remember what it was exactly that I was so busy doing. "Organic chemistry?"

"It won't take long and I think you deserve a break."

No, I don't. But with a heavy sigh of reluctance, I closed the book and got up from my chair.

"Grab a sweater, it's breezy out."

I followed my Dad out of the house with my gray cardigan in hand and a pair of slides. As we walk through the living room I try to use my sibling power to communicate my panic to Timothy via telekinesis but he doesn't bite. He throws me a limp wave and keeps staring at the TV.

"It's just us?" I ask as I watch him unlock the car and get into the driver's seat.

"Yeah. Andrea's still tired from the drive."

And I would know that if I had thought to ask her when she got back, I think to myself with a flicker of guilt. She was pregnant and pregnant women can be delicate. It wouldn't kill me to at least check up on her despite how awkward things are now.

We sit in sullen, tense silence as he reverses and drives out of the trailer park. Me providing the sullen and my dad handing out the tense. I wish I had the courage to say something or at least switch on the radio. Anything would be better than the quiet we've settled into.

I like to think I get my temperament from my father. We're both quiet until we're mad. We both get violently happy when our team wins. And March madness is a love language we're pretty fluent in. On the outside, every single line on his hand matches every single line on mine. I'm most definitely not a daddy's girl but I am and always will be my father's daughter.

With that in mind, I like to think I know what he's about to say even before he says it.

Hazel, he'll say with a rough note in his voice. I'm not mad at you but I was.

Now I'm just disappointed. Affectionately termed the Injured Parent approach.

Or maybe he'll go, Hazel, I never expected you to speak to Andrea and me the way you did on Sunday. The Appalled Parent method. An oldie but a goodie.

I've spent the past week preparing responses to justify myself whichever route he decides to take. The excuses are poised on the tip of my tongue before he starts to speak, armed and ready.

You'll understand then why I'm a bit annoyed when he throws out the parental playbook and goes rogue.

"Do you know," he says taking a left turn at a junction, "that the happiest day of my life was the day you were born."

The Sentimental Technique.

I'm screwed. There's no good way for anyone to prepare for that method.

"Umm, I guess so," I respond.

"I was so sure you were going to be a boy." He says wistfully. "You were such a strong kicker. Kept your mother awake through most nights. Remember that mobile in your room with the baseball gloves and the spaceship."

"Yeah."

He nods, "We were gonna name you, Ethan."

I snort. I know an Ethan. Not the sharpest knife in anybody's drawer. I dodged a bullet on that front.

"You should have seen my face when they said you were a girl. This tiny screaming infant was a girl and she was mine. She was my daughter. It was the most frightening thing I'd ever heard. I knew then that I'd do anything to make sure you'd never cry again."

He's close to making me cry right now. Good job, Dad.

"You looked just like me. Or that's what your mom said." He muses with a chuckle. "You had no hair, nothing. For weeks you were bald as an eagle without a strand in sight."

Not a very flattering description of me but I'll allow it. I cling to his words. My dad doesn't normally speak about the woman who gave birth to me. To him the less we talk about her, the more it seems like she doesn't exist. In his mind the less I know, the better.

"I'm a late bloomer."

Dad chuckles in response. "Yes, you were."

He parks and I realize where we've been heading this entire time. Newport beach.

A relic of my childhood.

My dad doesn't play when it comes to guilt-tripping. He brings up old stories from my past, he takes me down soothing nighttime drives in the car and compounds upon it with a nostalgic walk down memory lane. Don't be deceived by his fluffy graying hair or his disarming paunch, the man is a cold-hearted criminal mastermind.

Except his goal is to teach his wayward daughter a lesson as opposed to world domination.

We get out of the Honda when he's parked as close to the sand as possible and I hear it click into locked from behind me. The walk over the sand is so familiar and I press my feet down as it changes texture from pebbly to fine.

Even at night, it's a beautiful view. Where the white ground meets the endless blue. In an instant, I'm taken back years. Walking just along the water as a child too scared to swim even when Timothy was becoming bold enough to wade the shallow end. The horizon is just as far away now as it was then and the world is reduced to this one moment.

I wish Darnell was here.

But I chase the thought away as quickly as it appears. I'm too corny for no good reason these days.

"We were so young when you were born," Dad says from behind me. "Young and stupid. I was just about your age."

"So pretty stupid then?" I ask.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the edges, "Pretty stupid."

"You were unexpected and unplanned." He says pulling me in for a bear hug. "But you were still the best damn gift I've ever gotten. God works in the strangest ways. The things you never knew you wanted become the things you can't live without."

For what feels like forever I stand in his arms. Taking in the smell of salt in the air the cigarette and fabric softener on his clothes. The smell of my home. I press my face into his chest, taking another deep breath.

"I'm sorry for what I said," I say at last.

"I'm not the one you should apologize to."

"I know."

We don't stay for much longer but on the way home, we take a detour, stopping at a 24/7 donut place. A trio of donuts for my dad and a giant coffee for me. I'll need it if I'm going to work on some real chemistry tonight.

*****

On Tuesday I feel lighter than I have in weeks. The threat of my parents hanging over my head like Damocles sword is gone and my cramps have ebbed. In many ways, I'm starting to feel more like myself again. A beautiful feeling. Normalcy. An out-of-control, lightheaded version of it.

I was excited about school today. And it was kind of, sort of, completely because of a boy. Darnell.

I wanted to see him again. The daydreams I had as Andrea drove me to school, the hearts I'd scribbled over my notebook, and my belief in Dazell as a cute ship name was conclusive evidence. Any love doctor worth his salt would diagnose me with acute lovesickness. I had a boy crush.

Not my proudest moment but I was going to lean into it.

When I've picked my course-mandated textbooks from my locker I decide to go do something about it. My knowledge of campus geography told me that his locker was located on the second floor. I only have approximately seven minutes to go there and back before homeroom starts.

I rush up the stairs, weaving between my peers until I reached the landing. I scan the corridor. He shouldn't be too hard to spot tall, brown, and cuddly. When I make it to his locker which is near the English classroom I don't see him.

In his steed is Micah.

"Hey Hazel," He says raising an eyebrow at my approach.

"Hi."

"Are you looking for Darnell?" Before I can respond in the affirmative he continues. "Says he's sick. Isn't coming today."

All the lightness in my chest drops and hits the floor. "Sick? Because of yesterday."

Because of the fight, I started?

"Nope, that was just a black eye. He'll walk it off." He shuffles books around his own locker with wild abandon, dropping a few pages of notes as he does. "He gets hyper stressy around exam season. Nothing to worry about."

"Oh, okay," I say.

"Sam and I have to drop off his homework after school. Do you want to come?"

"I—. It's fine. I don't want to bother him."

"No, you should come. He probably wants to see you."

Absentmindedly I wonder how much he knows about my one and a half kisses with Darnell. I hope for both of their sake it's nothing.

It would be so much easier for me if I had his number but I don't. Although I could ask Micah for it, I'd rather he give it to me himself.

I do my best to keep my voice even when I say, "Sure then. I'd love to."

"Good, we take the bus."

Great. The bus.

And my day had started out so promising.

In the background the bell whines.

"What's your first class?" I ask him, holding my books closer to my chest.

"Science. Always the sciences."

"Same," I say and I lead while he follows me to the science department.

When the bell rings for lunch period I walk to the library, to sit at the spot I've made my own over the past few days. When I do get through the doors though I find it empty. The library isn't a hub of activity by any stretch of the word, especially during lunch. But on a weekday there will be at least a few people in front of the computer monitors. But today, no one.

The librarian stops me as soon as I try to walk past him to my table.

"Afternoon, Mr. Torres."

"Aaah, Hazel." He says. "We're closed for inventory today."

"You're closed."

What kind of library closes its doors to lonely students? Isn't that why libraries were invented? To take in people with nowhere else to go during lunch. Give me your tired, your hungry, and you're friendless. Today, every single one of those applies to me.

"Yes," He doesn't even look up from his laptop as he says it.

"I won't bother you, I'll sit in the corner."

He shakes his head. "No students allowed during inventory. It's policy. You're in here every day now, don't you need sunlight or something."

I groan as I turn around and shut the door behind me.

Or something is right.

Apart from the library, my options are limited. We're not allowed in the classrooms during lunch and I can't go off campus without breaking my budget. Leaving me with either the bathrooms, the pool, or the cafeteria. I'm not going to have lunch in the bathroom. And the pool is only fun when you have another person with you. Otherwise watching people swim laps from the bleachers alone is sad. Not to mention creepy.

Meaning I have to go through door number 3: The Cafeteria.

In hindsight, I always knew this day would come. The day I'd have to man up and re-enter society. Two years after burning the bridges with my classmates and opting to only speak to them in school-related terms. I was back.

But this time would be different. I was a junior now. I was seventeen and one year away from graduating. I had to have some sort of standing in there, though I didn't deserve it.

I steel myself for a few seconds before pushing open the doors.

Nothing's changed. It's the same setup, the same social circles, and the same noise levels. The only thing that's different is the people.

I make a beeline for the queues, which are short since we're already fifteen minutes into lunch. Because of that, all the good stuff has been cleaned out. I'm left with the dry, over or under-cooked food that no one wants.

When I'm at the front of the line I pull a bill from my back pocket and scan the remaining items with a tray in my hand. It's been so long since I've done this that I've forgotten what my money can actually buy.

A toasted sandwich and a box of vanilla milk, because they were fresh out of chocolate. The school system fails me once more.

When I'm done, I turn and take a look at the peers I turned my back on years ago.

Tables of seniors I don't know and juniors who in all likelihood think I switched schools. With good reason to.

I'm surprised to see a few of the boys from the basketball team seated at the same table. That's where I would have headed if it weren't for the seating chart it boasts. Xavier, Joshua, Aaliyah, and Eleanor. The four horsemen and women of my personal apocalypse.

Xavier whose nose I'm responsible for rearranging.

Aaliyah and Joshua both of whom are responsible for my friend's broken heart. I like Aaliyah but I have to be loyal to my friend, even though we aren't talking.

And Eleanor who is still hounding me about track and field.

The farther out I walk, the slimmer the pickings. But I don't have to walk far to get to a table with only two other people. They're having a pretty heated discussion when I take the seat furthest from them.

"Sorry," I say as I sit down but neither one acknowledges me, which I don't mind.

I take slow measured sips of my milk, trying to counteract the queasiness in my stomach. As a result of my new surroundings, my cramps have flared up again. I hope inventory in the library takes less than a day because the thought of doing this one more time scares me.

A shadow stands over me and I look up to see Anika.

My initial thoughts are Thank God, followed by I hope she isn't here to ask for her skirt back. I really like that skirt.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey." She hovers a bit before sitting down opposite me. She looks different, partially because I haven't seen her in almost two weeks. But gone are the bright colors and bts themed clothing. Instead, she's wearing a black oversized t-shirt and a pair of jeans. On the t-shirt is graphic art from Attack on Titan. A major juxtaposition from what she usually wears.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Are you?" She replies. "I heard about the mascot thing."

I freeze before realizing she's talking about the kidnapping and not the vandalism.

"Oh, that." I grab the corner of my sandwich and pinch the sides. "That wasn't me. Someone else was in the suit. I'm fine."

"You let someone wear your uniform?" She almost looks hurt by the fact. "You never let me wear it."

"I don't let anyone wear it. It still smells like cheese."

She wrinkles her nose, "Yeah."

"But they got what was coming to them." She says. "The memes about the vandalism were pretty funny."

Anika scrolls through her phone and then shows me the photos. I snort at the various interpretations it's taken across the internet. Someone has a lot of time on their hands.

She takes her phone and we fall back into silence. Playing the game of who wants to air out their grievances first. A game we've been playing for too long.

"Drugs, Anika," I whisper to her when I'm ready.

"Can't you just forget about it, please?" She whispers back to me."It was the one time."

"It doesn't matter if it was once or even twice."

She doesn't respond to that and I continue, "What if you got caught? You could have gotten yourself suspended. What about your Dad?"

I'm more concerned about what her dad would think of me than what he'd say to her. I can't be called a good influence if no one around me is being influenced.

"Stop being so damn righteous. I didn't come all this way to be judged." She says running her hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face.

"I'm not judging you," I say. "If you can't handle the criticism then you shouldn't be doing it."

"Yeah, cause criticizing people is all you do. You said some pretty messed up stuff on Friday."

"Only because you did," I say gripping the sides of my metal tray, trying to keep a hold of my temper. We can't be at the table with two fights going on at the same time. "You called me a glorified position."

"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry. For the truth."

"Yes, I want you to say you're sorry. Of course, I do."

"Fine, I'm sorry. Are you happy?" She says with a bitter edge to her voice."Just know that if you hadn't had a little temper tantrum—"

"Call it a tantrum one more time," I say growling the words.

"And you'll do what?" she says leaning closer to me.

The air between us sparks with hostility it's comical. So comical that I laugh breaking the tense silence. "I hadn't thought about what I'd do."

Anika laughs too, "You're such a pacifist. You would never hit a bitch."

I wouldn't hit a bitch but in the past few weeks, I'd broken a nose and caused a black eye. The title of pacifist no longer applies to me. And I say as much to Anika.

"Pfft," She says. "You would never in a million years get into a fight."

I raise an eyebrow and launch into a full account of the night I wrangled with Xavier not leaving out a single, sordid detail.

Her reaction is a cross between disbelief and awe. "No, you didn't."

"Yeah, I did."

She looks over at Xavier's table where he can be seen with the fading bruise of a broken nose, "I can't believe you would compromise the good looks of our basketball captain."

I shrug. "I had to."

She nods but doesn't respond.

"Where was this vengeful side of you when I needed it with Josh?"

I laugh as I swallow another bite of the sandwich. "Do you want me to punch him too?"

She smirks, "Maybe. It wouldn't hurt."

The second bell rings, meaning there are five minutes left until classes start.

Anika and I both stand up at the same time and I pick up the lunch I didn't eat.

"I have a short day today and my dad's waiting for me at the pharmacy. Do you want to come?" She asks me. "We can talk about... stuff."

"I still have class," I say. "But I'll call you?"

"You promise?"

"I promise."