Well I didn't cry, when Old Yeller died. At least not in front of my friends.

Monday after school, Sal and I dread having to go to practice knowing that Hayden and his crew will be waiting for us in the locker room. We knew we'd be in trouble when we showed up to lunch and half the cafeteria was glaring at us as we walked to our table. And then there were the whispers and the snickers. The condescending laughs and cheap jokes. It was brutal.

And it's only going to get worse.

With nothing left to lose, I take a step towards the locker room door. I reach for the handle, but Sal grabs my shirt sleeve and pulls me back.

"Hey, before we go in, I should tell you something."

Sal looks nervous, guilty even.

"What is it?"

He chews his bottom lip and stalls. My stomach turns. He did something. Something he shouldn't have. And I think I know what it is.

"Ruthie and I kissed after the dance."

Dammit, I think. For the first time, probably ever, I hate that I'm right.

"Does Hayden know?"

"Yeah. The guilt got to her and she told him this morning."

I let out a heavy sigh as my whole body deflates in concession to my fate. Before, Hayden was a jealous, irrational boyfriend scared of a harmless friendship between his girlfriend and her younger co-worker. But now, his suspicions are confirmed. Sal really is out for his girl, and he's got the ammunition and justification he needs to hate us even more.

"Look, man, I'm really sorry..."

I shake my head at Sal's apology. I don't want that from him. I'm not disappointed in him or mad or anything like that. Yeah, it sucks that Hayden's going to make our life a living hell. But Sal's my friend and I can sympathize with him. I know what it's like to lose all rational thought at even the slightest chance to get closer to a girl you like. Was it wrong of him to kiss another guy's girlfriend? Absolutely. Would I have been strong enough to walk away if it were me? No, probably not.

"Nah, man.You don't need to say you're sorry. It's cool. I get it. I know how much you like her. She gave you an opening, and you took it. It's a hard thing to say no to. Nothing we can do now but take it on the chin."

"Yeah, yeah, I guess you're right," Sal says. "Still. I wish I'd kept you out of it."

At that, I have to laugh. Sal didn't involve me in anything. I involved myself. Stuck my nose where it didn't belong and now I have to deal with it.

"It's not your fault. I was looking for a fight and I got it."

"I mean, if you want to take the blame, it's all yours, man. I'm happy to let you have it."

Sal cracks a smile and I roll my eyes and laugh. Leave it to Sal to make a joke in the face of our impending doom.

"Let's just get this over with."

I pull open the door and we walk in. The room goes completely silent. The friendly pre-practice banter turns to tense, deadly stares on the turn of a dime.

Sal and I freeze and hold our breath. Part of me was expecting them to shoot first, ask questions later, but they don't make a move. Instead, they eye us up with their hands on their holsters, waiting for the go ahead from Dear Leader.

We look to each other and telepathically agree the best path is the path of least resistance. We put our heads down, avoid all eye contact and head straight to our lockers. My fingers wrap around my combination lock. I concentrate on the spinning numbers, taking extra care not to look up or make any sudden movements.

Despite my best efforts, I feel Hayden breathing down our necks. We both swallow hard, waiting for the first shot to be fired.

"I got some unfinished business with the two of you."

My grip tightens around my lock. I feel my anger rising. All those emotions I felt at the dance come rushing back. My mind flashes to the blood and the punches. I wish like hell I could do it all again. But then I remember the promise I made to my dad and let the lock drop from my hand.

"We're not doing this, Hayden. We're teammates. Whatever happened at the dance, let's leave it there. Deal?"

I hold my hand out to Hayden, a gesture of good will, but he laughs it off.

"I don't think so, Purdy. You don't get to let your little friend here kiss my girlfriend, put your hands on me and then tell me I need to be over it. It'll be over when I say it's over."

"Hayden - "

"I'll see you at practice."

He snarls his last words to me and shoves me roughly against my locker. A warning of what's to come.

My dad lines us up on the sidewalk by the front entrance of the school. We all know what this means. He's going to make us run. And run. And run. And run. And run some more until he decides we've had enough. Which usually conveniently happens to be at the end of practice when his two hours are up and he's forced to relinquish power over our lives. Man, I'd bet you anything if it weren't for that two hour time limit, he'd make us run until our legs fall off.

With a blow of my dad's whistle, we begrudgingly take off. Being one of the faster kids on the team, I quickly take my place in the front. I'm feeling pretty good knowing Hayden can't keep up with me. But Hayden's not working alone. He sends his goons after me, who sprint to catch up. There's a harsh yank on the back of my shirt that jerks me backwards. I cough as my shirt collar cuts into my throat, causing me to choke. I get grabbed by the arm and tossed on to the ground. My shoulder collides with the pavement with a painful thud and I feel the sting of gravel scrapping up my knees and hands. I try to push myself off the ground, but with every attempt, I'm kicked back down.

Unable to free myself from the fray, I have no choice but to stay on the ground and wait for the stampede to pass. I'm hit with a mixture of anger and shame. I can handle being thrown into the rapids, but not when my hands are tied behind my back and I have concrete shoes.

"Hey," I hear a soft voice say. "You all right, man?"

Sal gives me a hand up and pulls me off the ground.

"Yeah, yeah," I say and dust myself off. "I'm good."

I watch the team run off without us and my first instinct is to get back in there and fight my way to the front again. I work hard, I have talent. I deserve to be there as much as anyone else.

My feet hit the pavement and I pick up my pace. I approach the back of the group, the right side, the left side, but I'm thrown into the pavement at every angle. By the end of practice, my body is covered with bloody scrapes and black bruises. My knees and hands are glowing red and raw from constantly breaking my fall. Every inch of me is in pain, but ain't no way in hell I'm going to let them see that. I'm not giving them the satisfaction.

After practice is over, I meet my dad at the truck so we can go home. I climb in without saying a word, hoping he won't mention my scars. But, yeah, tough luck with that.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" He asks when he sees the state of me.

I cleaned myself up the best I could, but at a certain point, there was only so much I could do.

"I tripped."

"You tripped?" He repeats, not believing me.

"That's what I said, ain't it?"

I expect him to get mad at me. Ream me out like he did before. Maybe that's what I wanted. Another fight. But this time, I don't get it.

"Matty," he says softly. "I'm your father. You don't have to act tough with me."

"I'm not acting," I say, but my resolve is weak.

We both know what happened last night. I broke down. I cried.

"Matty, come on, tell me what happened."

I look my dad in the eyes. He waits patiently and gently rubs my shoulder. My heart tugs. I want to tell him the truth, but I can't. I feel my throat constricting and the tears threatening to come to the surface and I can't let that happen again. Especially not here. In the parking lot. At school. Someone could see me.

"I told you. I tripped."

My dad nods. He's disappointed, but willing to leave it be for now.

"When you're ready to talk, I'm here."

Now it's my turn to nod. I know and I understand. But honestly, I'm not sure when that'll be.