I am awoken by my mother, shaking my shoulder. The end credits of the movie are rolling across the TV screen, and Luke is not on my chest anymore. 

"The school called my work. They said you came home early today. Honey, what happened?" my mom asks, sitting down on the edge of my bed. 

"I felt a little nauseous, so I left. I think I might have a fever," I say, which isn't a total lie. I do feel awful, although it isn't exactly because of the physical symptoms I described to my mom. She places the back of her hand against my forehead briefly. 

"You do feel a little bit warm, Callie. I want you to stay home from school today, alright?" 

"Okay, Mom," I say, because I don't want to go back to school at all. School means Joey, and I'm not prepared to deal with that bastard again. 

"Luke is on the art table, by the way. He's working on something or other," my mom adds as she climbs down the ladder. I look over and see that Luke is indeed on the art table, rubbing at a block of wood with a scrap of sandpaper. 

I get up and quietly change out of my school uniform, putting on loose flannel pajama bottoms and a baggy Avengers t-shirt. Then I inspect Luke's handiwork. He glances up briefly and nods before returning to the figure he's working on. I don't blame him, honestly - I don't appreciate distractions either. 

He has a series of little figures set up already - men, women, children, dwarvs, elves, all running from the flames of the great dragon Smaug. The figure he's working on now is a paired figurine - two people carved from one block. In this case, it's a little girl and her mother. The mom is wearing a typical peasant dress, with a cloth covering her loose curls. She's dragging a little girl with pigtails, who is looking back and reaching for something. A teddy bear is abandoned a few feet away. 

"That one's reallly good," I tell him, picking up a few others and inspecting them. A dwarf, hefting his battle axe to throw at the dragon. An elf, knocking a trio of arrows in his bow. A woman hugging a baby to her chest. A man pushing a wheelbarrow full of loose possessions. 

I pick up a penil and paper and begin sketching designs for how Smaug is going to look. Luke finishes sanding his statue and looks sadly at it. All of the people Luke makes are life-sized to him; he bases their dimensions off of his own. He's the base unit for the dimensions of all of our paper towns. He runs his fingers lightly over the terrified expression on the mother's face, and the heartbroken little girl's. Her mouth is etched in a scream, and carved tears pour down her wooden face. All of the statuettes need painting, but that comes last, after the town is set up. 

Luke grabs the edge of a piece of computer paper and drags it over. It's an aerial layout of the town from the movie, a printout from the Internet that Luke must have gotten while I was asleep. There are red handprints all over, notes from Luke on where he's planning on putting people, and margin notes messily inked in in Luke's scribbly shorthand. His palm still has red ink on it, and the red is also smeared on his face, arms, and shirt. 

He grabs a shard of graphite from an old pencil and carefully begins sketching on the corner of my paper. In a matter of minutes, he's produced a drawing of Smaug soaring over the city, his mouth open with flames pouring from it. 

"That's the one," I say, tapping it lightly with my fingers. "Grid 'er up." 

Gridding is a technique we use a lot, since Luke designs a lot of larger-scale objects that I carve and his drawings are tiny to me. Luke scans his image onto the computer and scales it up so that I can copy it. 

The computer dings as he goes to scan it, and I check it out, becauze I don't get very many emails. Luke goes and pops open some paint containters with both hands, pulling over the layout of the town again to keep making placements adjustments and give me some privacy. I open my inbox and find one new message. 

FROM: [email protected] 

TO: [email protected] 

Subject: My Dick of a Cousin 

Dear Callie - 

Hey. It's Joey, from Creative Writing. 

At this point, I'm tempted to stop reading now, but I hesitate on clicking the 'Delete' button. He did label it as "My Dick of a Cousin," and he was kind of nice. Talented, too. And alright, yeah, he was cute, but that's not what keeps me reading. It's the raw hope that somewhere out there, there exists a person who isn't a complete and utter d-list scumbag. 

So I keep going. 

You probably don't want anything to do with me after lunch today, but please just hear me out. 

The guy who came up to us today, he's my cousin. I wasn't lying about my dad leaving - he did, before I was born. It really messed up my mom. She started getting involved with stuff she shouldn't, trying to forget about the pain. To forget about my dad. And . . . she overdosed recently. 

She isn't dead yet, but she's in rehab, and I've been removed from her care. I'm staying with my dick of a cousin because they're my closest - and only - living relatives. No one knows where my dad's side is. All we know is that my dad was cheating on my mom before he left her, and that he married the other chick since he and my mom were never actually married. They've got a kid a few months younger than me, but I don't know anything about them. 

I'm so sorry for what my stupid cousin said. I really do want to hang out with you. You seem nice, and I think we'd be great friends. It sounds stupid, but I feel like I know you, even though we've never met before. My cousin bullies me as well. I just wanted to apologize, and beg you to talk to me. Please, Callie. 

- Joey 

I sit in stunned silence. Then I reread the email - once, twice, three times. Joey has it as bad as me. Worse, even. If he's telling the truth, that is. I stand up, walk over to the art table, and pick up Luke, who's muttering about "those bloody Americans and their bloody non-metric system and these DAMN CONVERSIONS" and show him the email. 

Luke is a really good judge of character, so I let him read the message. He sits for a minute after reading it, and then he hops onto the keyboard of my laptop. He places both hands on the touch pad and moves the arrow over to the 'Reply' button. 

"If' he's going to take the time to apologize, then he has to care about you. Apology this long after only knowing you a day? He's a keeper, Cal. Don't let him get away." He smiles, drawing a smiley face on my arm with his red-stained hands. I smile back, kissing the top of his head. 

"Thanks, pocket person." 

"Anytime, giant princess." 

I carefully type a reply to Joey. 

TO: [email protected] 

FROM: [email protected] 

Subject: RE: My Dick of a Cousin 

Hey Joey - 

It's cool. Your cousin really is a major d-lister. I know what it feels like to lose your dad - mine only comes for visits about three times a year, and my mom is almost always working. I know you don't want me to apologize, because I know that it never feels real, but I really am sorry. 

Maybe you could come over sometime and we could work on homework or something? 

- Callie 

I press the 'Send' button and go back to Luke at the table. And for one of the very, VERY few times in my life, I have absolutely no regrets.