eight.

After two dragging days, filled with waiting and confusion, Greyson finally deigns to respond to my messages. Of course, it's at the one moment that I've decided to try to attempt to get some sleep. I almost don't want to check it but I know that if I ever want to get my internal worrying resolved, then I have to understand the truth about what happened.

hey. u up?

As I read the simple message, I can't help but notice that he has strayed from his perfect spelling and complete sentences, which is more than odd. As I stare at the three half-words, I find myself strangely missing the old Greyson.

yes

ok, cool. so...

He says it like it's an introduction to something that he has to say to me. The way the words are displayed on my phone's screen is formidable, and I find myself not knowing how to respond.

Yeah?

I realize how yesterday made me look.

I didn't blow you off.

Or at least, not intentionally.

As I read the three separate messages, I would be lying if I say I'm not confused. I stare at the words, trying to comprehend what he's trying to say to me. What does he mean by 'not intentionally'? How can you avoid somebody without meaning to?

Okay...

Please don't be mad at me.

Why would I be mad?

You mean you're not?

Mad, I mean.

At least he's back to the grammatically-correct sentences. I'm not mad at him. I'm more confused, a little hurt, but overall, I'm strangely calm about everything. Perhaps if I was normal, I would be mad at him, but I'm not. Luke's passing has made me into a different person than I was before, one with a cold, hard exterior, brimming sorrow underneath.

So where were you yesterday?

He doesn't respond for seven straight minutes. I know he's still there because under the message, it says he read the message, but he's not replying.

Hey, are you still there?

I wince at the way the words sound, as if I'm trying to rush him. I'm being needy, whining about the fact that he didn't respond right away.

But it's too late to take them back now.

Yeah. Sorry. I was just...

Thinking about how to word all of this.

You know what, I'm just going to go for it.

I stare at the three gray dots, signaling he's responding, and watch as they waver and wobble for a while. Finally, after a few minutes, I receive the message. It's long, much more than we've ever sent to each other in one message, but nevertheless I read the whole thing. It's amazing how immaculate it is, how flawless, like he read the message over after he had finished and fixed all of the spelling mistakes that people are prone to make when typing on a mobile device.

I was with my girlfriend, Hailey. She's been going through some tough times at school and at home and I've been the only one there to help her. She's had a hard life. I can't explain everything right now because that is her own private life and I am going to respect that. But she needed me yesterday. And I couldn't text you because my phone died. I know how awful that sounds; it sounds like I'm just making up excuses to try to avoid you or something, but maybe one day I can tell you everything. It's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just that I can't. Not right now. I don't know how to and really, nobody knows. Not even Hailey. I really hope you can forgive me, and maybe we can try again for that meeting? Third time's a charm, amirite? But anyway, that's my apology. Because I am really sorry for everything.

It sounds so formal, so mature, and it sends my brain into overdrive, as I try to understand everything he had just told me and figure out how to respond to a message like that.

I decide that he's right. Maybe if we try again for the third time, it'll all work out like it's supposed to.

When are you available?

As I press send, I realize that I'm giving him something I never give to anyone, not even myself: a second chance.

He gave me a second chance so it's only fair that I return the favor. He deserves it, especially after being so honest and vulnerable with me just now.

Tomorrow. At noon? This time I promise I'll be there. Same place?

Yes.

I say yes before I think about it. A slight breath of air escapes from my lips as I read over what I said, a sound that can only be categorized as a gasp. It leaves me before I can stop it as I realize the mistake I had just made.

Sam and Greyson in the same vicinity. Not a good idea.

But I can't take it back now. I already said yes and he's already responded with a thumbs-up emoji and a smiley face. Even though I desperately want to, I can't change my mind now.

I struggle to calm down. It's going to be okay. It has to be. Yes, nothing in my life has ever been okay but now, with these two kind boys, it has to be. It's as if I'm granted myself my own second chance and I'm determined to use it to my advantage.

But that plan has already sunk.

I struggle to remember what Sam told me. He doesn't work in the afternoons, normally. At least, that's what I think.

Then it hits me. He said he works all day weekends. Today's a Saturday, tomorrow's a Sunday, and that's a weekend.

I don't know how I'm going to survive tomorrow. All I know is that I can't back out now.

******

I go to sleep at four in the morning, though I spend at least thirty minutes staring at the barely-visible ceiling before my eyes finally close for the night. Or rather, early morning. I wake up a couple of hours later and find myself more alert than I usually am three hours before I normally wake up. I roll out of bed, desperate to get an early start and attempt to actually follow through with the plan and leave the house for my big meet-up with Greyson at Starbucks.

With another boy who may possibly like me more than any boy ever has besides Noel.

I go outside, leaving my room for the first time in the past 24 hours. Heading downstairs, I'm careful to tiptoe so that my trek is silent; there's no point in waking everybody in the house up. I also have not informed my mother of what is going on, and I don't want to have to explain right before it's about to happen. I tread softly down to the kitchen, where I quickly make myself breakfast—two scrambled eggs and a piece of bacon that I know I shouldn't be eating but don't have the energy or strength to care enough to stop myself. I sit at the table alone and I somehow feel strange. It's as if I'm not here in this moment, as if I'm not eating this food, as if I'm fake. I try to shake it off but even when I think that the cold feeling is gone, I can still feel how it lingers in the back of my mind. I shiver and try to remove it but the lightheaded feeling is still there, ever present.

Landen and Peter come downstairs and I grin at their appearances. Their hair is flattened on one side and they're still in their superhero pajamas that I got for their birthdays last year—Pete is Iron Man and Landen is Spiderman. Peter blinks at me and Landen stares at me in shock.

It's a wonder that I'm even awake, yet alone making myself food and eating breakfast.

"What are you doing down here, Lisa?" Peter asks, his eyes shifting around the room curiously. I shrug at him.

"I was hungry." It's the best excuse I can come up with without having to explain everything that's been going on. At the mention of hunger, Landen brightens.

"Can you make us some food?" he asks. "We're hungry too," he adds after and I smile just a bit.

"Sure. What do you want?"

I end up making four more scrambled eggs, four more pieces of bacon, and two pancakes for each of them from a pancake box mix that I find in the pantry. They eat the food hungrily like wild animals and I can't help but smile at them. At one point in the meal, Peter looks up and remarks, "You should make the food from now on, Lisa. It's much better than Mom's."

I laugh and bring a finger to my mouth, shushing them. "Shh, don't say that in front of Mom." Pete grins and I know he won't say anything. None of us ever want to hurt Mom's feelings, especially after everything that's been going on.

I sit in silence while I watch the boys shovel food into their mouths. Finally, Landen looks up at me and asks, "Lisa? Why are you still here?" I'm caught by surprise with the question. Why am I still here? I shrug and stand up.

"I'm going upstairs. Put your plates in the sink when you're done. And don't drop them. Mom will kill you guys. Come upstairs if you need anything else. I'll be in my room." The boys nod at me and continue eating. I head upstairs and drop back into my bed. It's eight in the morning and I have nothing else to do but get ready for... I don't even know what to call it. It's not a date, but rather an overdue meeting with a boy I have never met.

What do I wear to an overdue meeting?

I decide to wear something comfy-casual. If I dress to impress, I'll be trying too hard, either for Greyson or for Sam. Sam's presence is in the back of my mind at all times, and I can't seem to shake the thought of seeing him again. Instead of dressing for a meeting with Greyson, I'm dressing for a possible meet-up with Sam. Shame curdles inside of my stomach as I think about how pathetic I must sound to myself, but I can't seem to get Sam out of my head. He's in there, whether I like it or not.

I wear black ripped jeans that have minor distressing at the cuffs. They meld to my skin and I suddenly remember why I used to love the feeling of wearing skinny jeans. On top, I pull on a dusty-rose top that's slightly cropped. However, the jeans are high-waisted and so there's barely a sliver of skin showing. After staring at myself in the mirror, I decide to pull on a Stanford University hoodie that I recently received as what I assume is a subliminal message from my grandfather, who is an alumnus of Stanford. To top it all off, I wear checkered Vans, sweep my hair back into a messy bun, and grab a small handbag that I bring whenever I leave the house. It's useful since it holds everything that's important to me: my phone, wallet, keys, and any other essentials. I pack everything away in there.

I still have a couple of hours until I have to go meet Greyson so I take my laptop from where it's been sitting unused on my desk for the past few weeks and open it up. It takes forever to connect to my house's slow WiFi and while I wait for the screen to actually start to load websites, I cut loose a couple of swear words out of frustration. Finally, things start to function correctly and I stare at the screen, opening up Netflix to see if there's anything new to watch. After a few minutes of browsing through the selection of movies and TV shows recommended for me, I decide to quit and resume watching The Vampire Diaries, a show I've recently got addicted to. I let myself get lost in the world of Elena Gilbert and Stefan and Damon Salvatore and I can't help but find myself relating to her. Maybe I'm not in love with two incredibly gorgeous brothers but I am somehow juggling my feelings around two guys, one that I may possibly like, and one that I haven't met yet but know I have a connection with over the phone. I can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and I exit out of the episode I'm on. Who'd have ever thought I would be making friends, let alone with boys who may or may not be more than friends?

I decide to watch something happier. I start up an episode of The Office but before I get very far, I hear my phone buzz from inside of my purse. I fish it out from below random junk that I need to throw out of there. Greyson texted me, asking where I am. Checking the time, I suddenly realize that I should get going. After sending a quick apology text to him, telling him that I'm coming, I get into the car. My foot barely lifts off of the gas pedal the whole way to Starbucks. I careen into a parking space, craning my head to look for secret police waiting on the side of the road, ready to hand tickets to unwitting rule-breakers. When I don't spot any and no police sirens start wailing to come fine me, I let out a deep breath of relief, grab my purse from the passenger seat, and head inside. At the counter, I keep my head low, not wanting Greyson to see me yet. I want to have some sort of caffeine injection in my body before meeting somebody new. Perks of being an introvert. We need to physically and mentally prepare just to talk to somebody.

I clear my throat. "Um, can I have a White Chocolate Mocha, no extra sweetener, and size grande, please?" I don't make eye contact with the cashier, desperate to hurry this forced social interaction along.

"Sure, Lisa." My head pops up in surprise and recognition at hearing Sam's voice in front of me and I can't fight the smile that appears on my face. I watch as he writes my name on the cup with ease and hands it off to a barista.

"You're a cashier today?" I ask, having nothing else to say. I don't want to leave yet, though. I've been thinking about this boy all day long. He nods and grins.

"I kind of just fill in for whoever whenever it's needed. I'm basically a floater." I nod, as if I understand, though I'm a little confused. They have floaters at Starbucks? Down at the pickup line, I hear my name and drink being called faster than normal, most likely because the store is surprisingly close to being empty. Before I can go and pick it up, Sam holds up a finger as a signal for me to wait and runs off to the other end, picking up my drink and returning to me effortlessly with my drink and a green straw.

"Here you are, madame," he says, bowing politely at me, though I can see him trying to hide the smile on his face. I roll my eyes at him and take the drink, curtsying mockingly, to which he can't hide the smile and lets out a short laugh. I laugh with him and walk away from the counter almost reluctantly as I scan the room for Greyson.

Filtering through the random guys that couldn't possibly be him, I finally find the guy who has to be Greyson. He looks up from his phone at the same moment that I've spotted him and our eyes meet. He smiles and waves me over.

"Lisa!" He stands and makes as if to hug me before he realizes that we've literally never met before. His cheeks color and I can't help but smile.

"Greyson?" I ask, just to make sure. He nods.

"Who else would I be?"

I take in my first impression of Greyson as I wait for him do the same to me. He's wearing a grey sweater that contradicts what the hot weather outside is suggesting. Matched with the sweater is a pair of black skinny jeans with slight rips at the knees, that are quite similar to mine. I can just see the collar of a red polo shirt peeking out from under the sweater. He's wearing scuffed Doc Martens and one of his socks is longer than the other, which I find utterly quirky and hilarious for some absurd reason.

"Woah," he breathes. My eyes jump up and meet his. He blushes. "I—I just mean—I mean, you're just not what I expected."

I'm confused by what he means by that until I look down at myself. I must look deranged to him; my eyes are puffy and have huge rings under them from lack of sleep, my hair is probably spilling out of its bun, and the heat has probably made my sparse amount of makeup chalk up and start to melt.

"Heh, sorry, I didn't have a lot of time to get ready," I say, avoiding his gaze and avoiding saying that I was distracted by watching Netflix for a couple of hours.

He shakes his head quickly and backtracks. "No, no. That's not what I meant. At all. I promise. I just meant... wow. You're... beautiful." He blushes and looks away and I blush along with him, my heart racing. He is the second boy in the past week who has taken a semblance of interest in me and I can't for the life of me understand why.

"Stop," I say, embarrassed and confused as to how to respond to something like that. He nods and gestures for me to sit down.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rougher than I would have thought, coming from a boy like him. He's slight, slender, almost lanky. He doesn't seem like the type of guy who goes to the gym everyday to work out and get a perfect set of abs. Instead, he seems more like a quieter, more peaceful guy, maybe a musician. I want to ask him if he likes to play music, but he speaks again. "I'm not usually that blunt. I promise." I shrug.

"I'm usually more put-together. I promise," I add, mimicking him.

He puts his hands on the table. "So."

I take a sip of my coffee. "So."

"This is really awkward," he says after a silence. I nod.

"Tell me about it." I take another sip and wince as I accidentally burn my tongue.

"I mean, I have no clue what to say to you. I mean, friends don't become friends like this." I nod along with him but secretly, I'm not entirely sure how people become friends. Ali and I became friends by accident. Our moms pushed us together and when we first had a playdate at her house, she pushed me in the pool. I pushed her in with me. Hence our friendship.

"We should get to know each other," I say. "Somehow. Maybe we can do one of those stupid Q&A's?" I've never had a more pathetic idea, but the conversation is so dry that he lights up and nods enthusiastically.

He takes out his phone and says, "Here, I can search it up." After a few minutes, he's found a list of fifty questions to ask your friends. "Do you want me to text it to you?" he asks. I shrug and he takes that as a yes because a couple of seconds later, I receive a text with the picture of the image he found. It ranges from things like height to first kiss. Shivers run through my spine as I read some of the questions. How can I tell all of these personal things to a boy I barely even know?

Before I can protest against my stupid idea, regretting my life's decisions, he speaks up, "So. I guess we should start?" There's a wide smile on his face and I can't help but agree to do this, though I have never felt as much regret as I'm feeling now.

I watch as he stares down at the list and I take this as my chance to observe his face, something I haven't gotten to do yet in the small amount of time that we have met each other face to face. He has smokey grey eyes—of course a boy named Greyson has grey eyes; I can't help but wonder if it was a spur-of-the-moment thing when his parents first saw his eye color. Then I realize that's stupid because his eyes must have been genetic, so his parents or grandparents most likely had grey eyes.

Or maybe he's just named Greyson. For no reason.

My mind is wandering. I'm thinking so hard about the origins of his name and the possible relationship that it might have with his eyes that I don't realize that those exact eyes are staring at me questioningly. He clears his throat. "Lisa?" he asks tentatively. I shake myself out of my reverie and nod.

"Yeah, I'm here." This just got even more awkward.

Relieved, he nods and says, "Okay, good. Because for a second there, you kinda... disappeared." He shakes his head at my shrug. I space out a lot. He'll figure it out sometime. "Okay, well. First question. Let's start off easy. Birthday?"

I respond immediately, "June. June 19."

"I'm August. August 27." He grins and stares down at his phone again. "Do you want to pick a question now?"

Staring at the list, I decide to just jump right in to the personal questions. I can't believe I'm going to talk about my first kiss with a boy I've never met in a Starbucks on the corner of a busy intersection. Taking a deep breath and avoiding his eyes, his beautiful grey eyes—I've just now realized that his eyes are beautiful—I start, "First kiss?"

He clears his throat and takes a visible breath. "Wow. I didn't think that you would start there already." When I don't respond, he gets the message that he is supposed to tell his story first. "Okay, well... my first kiss was in eighth grade. Well, my first real kiss. We aren't counting kindergarten, right?" I shake my head wordlessly, though I'm wondering if everybody except me kissed somebody in kindergarten. Aliyah has brought the exact same topic up before and now I'm feeling like I've been left out. I watch the way his lips move as he speaks before realizing that's strange and possibly a little creepy, as Ali likes to say.

"Her name was Melissa. Uh, I kind of had a crush on her for an entire semester of school. And I guess one day, I just walked up to her and told her I liked her and then I kissed her." He stops talking and I sit there, waiting for him to go on. When he doesn't, I ask almost incredulously,

"That's it?" I ask. "There's nothing else?" He nods and shrugs.

"Yup, that is my incredible first kiss story. Great, right?" He grins and spreads his arms out wide. "So, what about you?"

I don't want to talk about this yet. Avoiding the subject, I ask, "But there has to be more? I mean, like, you can't just say that you kissed her randomly and then nothing. What happened after that? Did you guys get together? Did she like it? Did you kiss her again?"

"Sheesh, so many questions."

"Yeah, so many unanswered questions. So spill." I stare at him. He sighs.

"I don't know. She kissed me again after that but then I guess nothing happened after that day. I mean, like, we never went out or anything. It was more like smiles in the hallway or things like that." He groans. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. And since you are so obviously avoiding your story, it's your turn to 'spill.'"

I roll my eyes. "Don't judge me. I've only kissed one guy before. His name is Noel?" I don't know why I say it like a question, as if I'm uncertain of my own past.

"Only one?" he asks suspiciously.

"I said not to judge!" I protest, though it's good-natured. He holds his hands up in mock innocence and I roll my eyes. "Anyways, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," I stare pointedly at him, "my first kiss was with my ex-boyfriend, Noel. Well, I mean, obviously he wasn't my ex when we kissed. Um, it happened fairly quickly. He asked me out to a restaurant and we had this really nice dinner and then after we went to this city carnival and he kissed me at the top of the Ferris Wheel. Cliche, I know." It was the best feeling, to be kissed like the girls were kissed in the countless romance novels I devoured, but now I just realize that it's generic. Unoriginal.

"No! I think it's sweet. And romantic." Greyson grins. "Girls like it that way, don't they?"

I stare at him. "That's sexist but yes, I did enjoy my first kiss." I blush for an unknown reason. It's weird talking about this with a guy I barely know, save from texting and a couple of random Instagram photos. Desperate to move on, I stare down at the list. "What song do you sing in the shower?" I blush as fairly-scandalous thoughts of Greyson in the shower float through my brain. Pushing them out and trying not to blush or give away anything, I prod him to answer. He has a contemplative face as he thinks of his answer. Finally, something must hit him because he sits up straight.

"'Perfect' by Ed Sheeran," he grins. At my expression, he adds, "What? Guilty pleasure." It's nothing that I would have ever picked for him but maybe I've been too quick to judge. "What about you?" he asks.

My expressions sours. This brings back everything that I've been trying to push away. Why did I pick this question? I mentally curse myself for being so stupid.

"Hey. You okay?" he asks at my silence.

I nod as best as I can and muster a smile. "Yeah, it's just. My favorite singer is Luke. And everything by her is my guilty pleasure. Or not guilty. You know what I mean. But you know..."

"Yeah. She's not exactly here right now. But that doesn't mean you can't still listen to her music?" He looks pitiful, which is the last thing that I wanted from him. I don't need his pity. All I want is a friend.

I shake my head. "No, it makes me feel... I don't know. It goes along the lines with what I'm supposed to tell you but I'm not going to tell you yet because it's just a lot and I've never—"

"Hey," he stops me. "It's okay." He reaches over and touches my face gently with the side of his hand and brushes a stray strand of hair falling out of my bun. A blush rises to my cheeks against my will. I've never been a person to blush easily but he's caused me to feel some sort of emotion that I've never felt before and I can't help but react. "I know how you feel. I mean, obviously, I was a fan too. Maybe not as big of a fan as you, from what I can tell so far, but I mean, her death hit hard. I didn't want to believe it when it happened." He stops. "Hey, can I tell you something random? It's nothing bad, I promise."

I nod. If he wants to keep talking, he can keep talking. The only thing I want to do is listen right now.

He opens his mouth and his eyes dance as he waits for my reaction to his next words. "I'm transferring schools."

I start. "What?" My brain doesn't register what he's saying.

He nods and continues. "I'm transferring to Westlake." My surprise meter jumps sky-high and I stare at him in shock. He's transferring to my school?

"Why?" I ask. I know I should be saying something else, anything else, but my curiosity overcomes everything that I wanted to say.

"I was bullied a lot at Hudson. For a... variety of things. My parents wanted me to leave a couple of years ago but I protested against it because I didn't want to leave my girlfriend, Hannah, behind."

"So why did you transfer now?" I ask, deciding to ignore the fact that he didn't want to leave his bullies for his girlfriend. That has nothing to do with me and I shouldn't be so conflicted by it.

"I broke up with Hannah last night."

I can't believe it. After everything that he told me yesterday via text, he broke up with her?

"I wasn't healthy for her. She's dealing with a lot and we both decided mutually that it just wasn't helping for her to have a relationship. We're still friends and everything and I'm still going to take care of her if she needs it but we're not together like that anymore." He looks away, as if the breakup hurt more than he's letting on and causes me to think that maybe it wasn't as mutual as he says. "It just wasn't working out," he says again, as if he's trying to make an excuse not for me, but for himself. "And there were some things that I've been hiding from her and it was eating away at me..." He trails off.

"So you're actually coming to Westlake when?" I ask, trying to change the subject from something so obviously cruel and horrible to him. Greyson shakes his head as if clearing his emotions and sits up straight again, which is something I've already noticed he does when he's trying to move on from something or when he has something to say.

"I was supposed to come next year but since school didn't start that long ago, I'm transferring on Monday."

Monday.

"Do you have a schedule already?" I ask. I'm not sure if I even want him to be in one of my classes or not. It would be awkward but then again, it might him more comfortable if he knows someone. It's never amazing to be the new kid. I should know, what with the multiple times I've had to change schools in my past.

He nods. "Yeah. I don't remember it off the top of my head right now but I can text it to you later." I nod along with him, hoping that we have at least one class together. It's a perfect opportunity to get to know each other better.

"Sounds like a plan." Then thinking more about what he said about everything that has been happening to him, I reach out and gently touch his hand, a bold movement coming from me, who has never made physical contact with a boy that wasn't accidental. He looks up and his eyes meet mine, surprised, and I can't help but look away from him. "It's going to be okay," I say quietly, knowing that even if the words can't mean much coming from me, it's still nice to hear that somebody cares about you.

He nods at my ironic words and closes his eyes.

"Thank you," he says finally, the words tumbling out roughly. He looks down at his phone again. "Another question?" he asks, trying to change the subject.

"Let's stop with the questions," I say suddenly. "Let's form a more natural friendship than this." I don't even know what I'm saying, but thankfully, he nods and puts his phone away.

"What are you drinking?" he asks, motioning to my Starbucks cup. I'm about to respond when somebody pulls a chair from another table and slides it to ours, sitting down beside me, and taking my hand in his.

"I can answer that," Sam grins at me. I watch in shock as he threads his fingers through mine and picks up my cup with his free hand, holding it up. "It's the white chocolate mocha, grande. It's perfect for my Lisa, overly sweet, just like her." I blush and look away. Why is he being like this? We're normally not like this. We're normally not really like anything, as we haven't known each other long enough to become something. Now it seems like he's definitely flirting with me and I don't know how to cope with that, especially not in front of Greyson, a boy I just met. I'm worried about what he must think about me and I watch as Greyson looks back and forth between my face, Sam's face, and our hands, before clearing his throat and nodding his head at Sam.

"Samuel." It's one word, clear and concise, but yet it's laced with something else, something I haven't heard in Greyson's voice throughout this whole conversation. I look up at him with a strange confused expression on my face, I'm sure, but he speaks over what I'm about to say. "Are you guys together?"

I start to shake my head but Sam nods widely and grins at me. "Yup," he says, popping the p of the yup. I'm startled at the lie but I decide not to say anything.

Greyson narrows his eyes at me. "Didn't think to say anything about this?" he asks. I don't understand what is wrong with him. I didn't do anything wrong. And I'm not dating Sam. We never talked about that. Ever. We never really talk about anything serious. We've only talked a couple of times. I can't help but feel some sort of panic at the tone of Greyson's voice.

"What do you mean?" I ask finally. I don't even know if I'm talking to Greyson or Sam. The words apply to either of them, really.

Greyson shakes his head at me and stands up, scooting the chair back so harshly that I wince. It ends up at a completely different table, though it's obviously faced the wrong way. Greyson walks out without another word to me and I can't help but wonder why he is being so standoffish and cold. I turn to Sam, shaking Greyson from my mind, though he still lurks somewhere in the back corner. I know I have to apologize to him for something, but for what, I don't know.

"Sam, what was that all about?" I ask him, the words sounding accusatory. I'm annoyed at him and I want to find Greyson to apologize. He holds his hands up.

When he speaks, his voice is guilty. "I'm sorry. It's just, I don't know."

I stare at him. "You don't know." I don't voice it as a question; the statement is laced with contempt.

He sighs. "I'm sorry. I just... seeing you with him, I was just... I don't know." He looks away from me, obviously embarrassed and ashamed, and his hands twist together in his lap. As I study him, I can't help but quickly forgive him, asking, "What do you mean? What are you trying to say?"

He stares at me incredulously. "You really don't know?" he asks finally.

I shake my head. I'm oblivious, I'm tired, I'm confused. He sighs again and I feel as if he must think I'm the stupidest person on earth. And knowing me, I probably am.

"Seeing you with someone else, another boy, it's not the best feeling, you know?"

"What?" is all I can come up with. I don't know what he's trying to say.

"I've made it fairly obvious, Lisa," Sam says, looking away. "Don't you see?" He looks into my eyes. "I know it's strange and you might feel like it's too fast and it all came out of nowhere. But, you deserve to know. I like you."

My world shatters. No, no, no, no, no. This must be a joke, a lie, a prank. He can't like me. Nobody likes me like that, especially not someone this amazing, this beautiful, this perfect.

I look away. "You can't," I say, trying to process what he's saying. Though I know he can. And he does.

"But I do," he says, taking my hand in his and trying to calm me down.

Tears start spilling out of my eyes and I can't believe I'm crying at a Starbucks in front of strangers studiously staring at their computers and trying not to look at me.

"Lisa, baby, why are you crying?" he asks. I don't protest to the 'baby' because coming from Sam it has a completely different meaning than it normally does and it sounds beautiful.

"Please stop," I say, pulling my hand from his. "I'm sorry, Sam. I just... I can't do this. You just don't understand," I say finally. He will never understand.

"No, Lisa, no. You're perfect, you're beautiful—" I cut him off, the kind words hurting more than he could ever know.

"Stop. Please. I'm not right for you. You deserve so much better than me. I'm not even a whole person. I'm a half of a person and you deserve somebody who can give you so much more. Someone that's not me. I'm sorry. I know I don't make much sense and if this happened," I motion between us, "all I would do is confuse you and make you worry more."

Before I can let him say anything else, similar to Greyson's fashion, I push back my chair—though not as roughly—and run out the door, struggling to ignore Sam's broken pleas for me to come back.

Sorry it took so long! It's been a long couple of weeks! But I'm starting to come back!

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malaynaturally xxx