In the days that followed, things began to fall into place for my life.

The next couple of weeks were filled with a lot of improvement for my mental and emotional health since I began to dive into the therapy sessions (group and private alike) and I truly understood what it meant to finally seek solace in something other than the toxic and unhealthy coping methods. At each group therapy session, I began to advise the other guys who needed a little (or a lot, in most cases) push to get them through their situations. I even got to learn more about them in many ways that could have put my situation to shame. Pablo and Victor were former crack babies that were diagnosed with ADD/ADHD and leaned on each other through the worst of situations. One kid, a transgender male, was dealing with the backlash from his transphobic older brothers and their wives after completing his successful gender reassignment surgery and mourning the loss of his grandmother. Another guy was facing the possibility of jail time but was given a second chance (thanks to Judge Atelier) after a drug bust. And there were even the usual schizophreniacs and clinically depressed kids with similar stories of being disowned or isolated from family and friends.

With my private therapy sessions, my usual circle (the Guerro twins now included) continued to enjoy our pre-therapy luncheons to get me hyped up for another therapy session and even share a poem or two that I kept in my journal. Sometimes, I even showed them some artwork that became very useful thanks to the lessons back at McHell High. And there were even moments at those private therapy sessions when I would either just cry for the things I lost in the past or simply talked about what I wanted to do after Cartier Valley (I wanted to pursue a career in journalism or be a top novelist). A few times, we would just sit and get to know each other (Dr. Sellers was getting married to her husband in August while Dr. Valenzia had just thrown a birthday party for her eight-year-old daughter).

School was also my one outlet to challenge me with more homework and projects. My academic prowess had completely grown and evolved in ways that my old teachers would never dare try since they were like the other uppity kids who could care less about teaching and cared more about hating me or dancing through life. Thanks to everyone, I was even making sure that I was applying to the high school of the arts that I was offered by Ms. Monroe and even nailed my audition with a tribute to Quincy Jones with the final decision being made and announced to me by the time of the Independence Day Ball.

Of course, I had to watch my back regarding Braeden, who seemed to be acting more chilled out for the moment, save for the icy glares and the snide remarks being thrown my way. I made sure to follow the advice of the therapists and steered clear from him and his goons at all costs and not starting any fights no matter how much I wanted to choke the life out of him.

And now, it was not only time for midterm preparations (with the actual midterms on the week before the ball) while undergoing Home-Economics Week with childcare classes and cooking lessons given by some of the visiting FCCLA advisors from the nearby high school and the culinary arts and fashion design college students from Western Washington. Of course, I already knew how to cook, but it never hurt to refine my skills in the kitchen and the sewing room. And now, it was finally Thursday, and Logan and I were finally finished wiping the counters of the large student-friendly kitchens after joining the other guys in baking up various bread and sweets to share. "Man, I never thought that cleaning up after baking could be so tiring," my boyfriend lamented after he finished drying the last of the dishes. "How do you do it?"

I smiled, putting the last baking sheet in the cabinet. "It's one of those therapeutic moments that could get me out of a funk from the stepmother's whining about how I never cook dinner or how I need to stop," I replied. "If anything, I could say that cleaning is one of the things I could've used to cope with all of the drama."

"That's putting it mildly." We both laughed just as Mr. Samuels, the headteacher for a cooking class and the advisor of Home-Ec Week, came in with Dr. St. Pierre and Dr. Sellers following behind him. "Oh, we were just finishing up cleaning everything."

"Well done," Mr. Samuels replied, looking around the kitchen with appraisal in his eyes. "Anyway, we were coming in to talk with you both. And it's mainly about what Braeden did this time."

My smile faded as my stomach began to drop. "What happened this time?" I asked.

"I found out that he was planning to send you some brownies," Dr. Sellers replied.

Wait, what? "That's all?" Logan asked, his face twisted with confusion.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Well, it's mainly a ploy to poison you, Wendell," Dr. St. Pierre replied. "He made the brownies with a mix of rat poison and cyanide."

I covered my mouth with shock. "Oh, my God," I said. "He's that pissed off at me for-"

"I know," Mr. Samuels replied. "All the teachers know of his plans to get rid of you, son. And he's not going to stop after his first failed attempt with the swim tryouts. Anyway, he earned his second strike and he's back in isolation for two more weeks and will likely miss his midterms."

I held up both hands. "Wait a minute," I said. "I mean, I know that Braeden's as mad as a rattlesnake hopped up on a bottle of liquor, but I still think he needs to take his midterms. So let him do that, but make him miss the ball next week."

"Sounds fair," Dr. St. Pierre commented. "And don't worry, Wendell. We'll make sure that he-"

There was a rush of footsteps as Dr. Valenzia and Ms. Whitfield came into the room, both of them having a look of panic and sadness in their eyes. "What's going on?" I said.

"Wendell, there's been a freak accident off Interstate 5 near the exit to the airport," Dr. Valenzia said. "It's about your family and they've been taken to the hospital."

"WHAT?!" everyone exclaimed. "Who was there?"

Ms. Whitfield turned to me with a saddened look in her eyes. "Your entire family, except for Corey who was in a business meeting," she said. "They've been taken to St. Anslem Mercy Hospital. Antonia and her daughters are already dead, but your father's fighting for his life with little chance of survival. We need to get you over there right now."

"Does Officer Talbot know?" I whimpered.

"He's outside with some of the other policemen and Atelier," Dr. Valenzia told me. "We need to go right now."

"I'm coming as well. My uncle and Sellers, too." Logan piped up firmly. "I won't let my boyfriend go through this alone."

"The more support, the better," Ms. Whitfield replied. To me, "Wendell, we need to go right now."

She didn't have to tell me twice. I grabbed my uniform jacket and we all made a beeline for the parking lot with Logan and I joining my adult mentor in her SUV that was behind the small police procession. "I feel like I'm going to be sick," I said weakly as I fastened my seatbelt. "First, Satillo's trying to poison me with his brownies, and now this."

"It'll be okay," Logan assured me. "I'm not leaving you alone to face down the inevitable. And hey, I think that this might be the moment when you'll have to finally walk the walk and talk the talk with wanting to say goodbye to the past."

"You mean, this could be the ultimate test?" I asked him as the procession of cars began to leave the parking lot and made the journey back to Seattle.

"Definitely," agreed Ms. Whitfield. "You said that you wanted to find peace after rejection? Now, you need to own up to it and prepare for the inevitable."

And judging from the look in her eyes and the ominous aura in the air, that was a fact. Boy, things are heading from zero to chaotic in a flash.

You can say that again!

And the next three chapters are when things get full of drama and lead up to an epic climax! Boys and girls, fasten your seatbelts!

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