***HARRIS***

I'd thank Evan and Jeremy for helping get rid of this asshat, but I'm busy nursing the small wounds on the back of my hand. There's a reason why when we meet up and do our fight-club thing, we always tape our hands up. Bare-knuckle fighting isn't something any of us are ready for just yet.

"Hey, let me see this." Jay reaches out and takes my hand, unrolling my fingers so he can get a better look at all the points in my knuckles where the skin's now split open. "You want me to do something about it?"

"Like what?" I ask, not looking up at him. "Dark it up?"

"Yeah."

My eyes twitch, and I say, "Sure, go ahead. But I get to do the same to you afterwards, okay?"

"Whatever, man." Jay carefully touches all the wounds he sees with a Darked-up finger, leaving a thin but sticky black layer behind each time.

I look up at last, disappointed to see that he's looking down. I know it's so he can focus on fixing me up, but I still wish I could look him in the eye. Instead, I have no choice but to look at the faint bruise forming on the left-hand side (his left) of his chin. I again offer to help him out with that, but he shakes his head. "My parents are gonna chew my head off for getting into a fight," he says, "but I don't care."

"My dad wouldn't," I laugh. "I wouldn't tell him Evan defended us, though. He thinks I'm not man enough as it is."

"You're man enough for us," Jay says. He finishes his job and looks up, his eyes gleaming darkly behind his glasses as he smiles. "What the hell does your dad know, huh? He runs on an antiquated definition of the word 'man,' doesn't he?"

"Tell me something I don't know." I smile back at him, feeling a faint twinge in the pit of my stomach.

"Are you guys all right?" Evan comes back to us, the rest of our friends swarming behind her and looking at me and Jay with the same concern.

"Yeah, sure," I say, tilting my head at Evan and rotating my wrist. I make eye contact with her - but then the gnawing in my stomach comes back, and I look away, feeling nervous.

"What was that all about?" Kevin asks.

"You've seen this guy before?" Jeremy asks.

"It's nothing," Jay says. "Just this guy who's giving me a hard time."

"Like Nolan Solari used to do?" I ask.

"Um...yeah. Exactly." Jay looks at the floor, blushing heavily. "Uh...maybe we should just go home."

Nobody really has anything against that idea, so we all just head out the door. Before I can get back to Michelle's Land Rover, Morgan calls me aside so he can return my copy of the first Avengers movie. "Thanks," I say, taking the plastic case, "but you didn't have to-"

"I couldn't keep it any longer anyway," Morgan says. "My mom, she's got a bad habit of running magnets over any electronic equipment in my room when AP tests come up."

"You're kidding, right?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

Anjali chuckles. "At least she doesn't lock up the entire home video collection like my parents do," she says.

"You guys needed this day, didn't you?" I ask. "Sorry we had to ruin it by fighting."

"Yeah, Anjali, we're only violent when provoked, okay?" Jay says.

"I'll take your word for it," she says with a snap of her fingers - and a snap of static. "'Cause I'm pretty much the same way."

"Good," I say. "That makes you a good fit for our group. You should come up here more often, you know?"

"Oh yeah, for sure." Anjali's the first to hug me goodbye, and the others follow in quick succession. I've become quite a hugger lately. Something else my dad would like to mock me mercilessly for, given the chance. Speaking of which, I promised I'd help him out at the auto shop this afternoon after the movie, so Michelle drives me there first before bringing Kevin home.

By the time I've changed into my work clothes - yes, I have a full-body mechanic-type suit, complete with my name on a chest patch - I want to say I'm able to focus on the job. But I'm not. I'm too distracted by my thoughts and feelings. I'm still trying to process today's events. Most importantly, the post-movie fight we ended up in. I hope I wasn't the only one who noticed that there were at least two theater workers - I counted the ticket attendant and the cashier at the concession stand - who watched the whole thing and stood by, doing absolutely zippo. And I thought movie theaters were supposed to be safe places for people to come and be entertained. Or maybe I'm just prejudiced because I'm so into movies.

And then there's my ongoing issues about my love life, or lack thereof. These come to mind when Aimee and I make the mistake of going to the back of the garage and reaching for the same box of Allen wrenches at the same time. I swear, she must be doing that on purpose, watching me to ensure she can bump into me as many times as she can. This is the twelfth time she's done this since at least Easter, I'm thinking. Does she want to try and rekindle our relationship, but is just too afraid to come out and say so? Maybe. Would I be open to getting back together with her? Probably.

Trouble is, I'm still working on my feelings for a couple of other people. Evan and Jay are both aware that I've had crushes on them in the past. They know I've gotten over them, and any connection I have with them is strictly platonic.

Excuse my snarky use of emphasis.

What they don't realize is that, while I may have been telling the truth before, if I were to tell them today that I didn't like either of them that way, I'd be lying. I want more from both of them, which is, of course, incredibly boneheaded of me. They're happy together, and who would I be to come between them? And yet, my brain keeps on running wild with fantasies about hooking up with them. Some of these are three-way fantasies, which I'm ashamed of because I don't want to think of myself as a bisexual stereotype, impossible to satisfy with one partner of either biological gender.

It's an especially uncomfortable subject for me for a few good reasons. One is because my dad still doesn't accept that part of my identity. He's all but forgotten that I came out to him - good thing, too, because I did it in the most angry, explosive way possible - and I'm not willing to give him another chance to look down on me.

The other reason is Aimee. The night we broke up, we got into a huge fight. She and I yelled at each other, accusing each other of not being committed like we should've been. The real kicker, though, was when she went and said, almost certainly in the heat of the moment, "Maybe you should bring in another boy to sleep with us next time if you wanna be happy!"

"Look at me! I can barely handle one lover at a time!" I yelled at her. "Why would I want another - you know what, get out! We're done!"

And yes, in case you were wondering, Aimee and I really did have sex while we were still together. The only other person who knows is Jay, and only because I'd asked him to let me have one of his condoms. "It's not like I'm using them much myself," he said when he gave me the one he kept in his wallet. "I just hope it'll fit you."

"Why wouldn't it?" I asked. "You're not exactly hung like a stallion, are you?"

Jay nearly died laughing. "Unfamiliar Faces?"

"You know it," I said. "Just be glad I didn't make you drop trou so we could, you know...compare."

He stuck the bright blue wrapper into my hoodie pocket. "Don't make me regret this," he laughed.

I don't know about Jay, but after Aimee and I did it, I sure regretted it. Our first time was hella awkward and troublesome. Neither of us enjoyed it like we should have - me, I think I enjoyed it too much, because I finished way too early.

Well, not everyone can be Jay and Evan for their first time, I guess. I envy them for being able to connect so well - hell, it was because of them that I decided I wanted to take that step with Aimee.

I hate my life sometimes. I really, really do.

At least today's a slow business day, so I don't have to do too much in the way of mechanical stuff. Aimee's so much better at it than I am, whereas my dad prefers to delegate the more menial tasks to me. For instance, detailing the interiors of our customers' cars. So that's what I do most of this afternoon, vacuuming chip-dusted floor mats and Windexing the windshields so the drivers don't get so much glare from the sun.

Among today's customers, I'm surprised to find, is Nolan Solari. Turns out, he's the one who drives an '08 Pontiac G8. I wish I could have one of those, but it's a very hard-to-find model because they only produced them for two years before the Pontiac brand was closed. They later reintroduced it as the Chevrolet SS, but that model isn't produced in great numbers, and I've never seen a single one on the road. Both the G8 and SS already have the makings of a classic.

I wave to Nolan when he comes in to pick up his car. "Nice to see you," he says, twirling the key fob around his finger. "You work on this yourself?"

"No, it was probably my dad," I say. I pull the vacuum hose out of the driver's seat footwell and close the door. "This is more my job."

"'Cause you're still a minor, right?" Nolan laughs. He's about to get into the car when he stops and says, "Hey, McCallum...it's probably not my place, but did you get in a fight with Taylor West today?"

"Who's that?" I ask, even though I'm sure I already know the answer.

Nolan shows me this Taylor West's Twitter feed on his phone. He's the same guy who tried to beat us up at the movies today. "He's been bragging about it for the last couple of hours," he says. "I don't like to pay attention, but...you know, he's like a train wreck."

I think I remember something else about this guy. "Didn't he used to be on the basketball team with you?" I ask.

"Yeah, until he decided to get all anti-warlock and tried to beat up a bunch of us in the locker room," Nolan says ruefully. "Just...don't worry about it. He's an asshole, and he'll never amount to anything anyway. I think he's been spending the last few months drinking himself blind too."

"If you say so."

Nolan gets back into his car and fires up the engine. Before he leaves, he asks, "You coming to the rally next weekend?"

"You mean the Four Powers Rally?" I ask. "Duh. I just need to make sure all my friends are coming too. Most of them are."

"Cool. See you there!" Nolan drives off, and I wave to him from the garage until another car enters the lane and I'm forced to jump aside.

A few more hours go by, and at five o'clock, Dad shuts down the shop for the day. He and I stay there for an extra half hour or so, along with Aimee, who continues to do some last-minute tidying up of the office space with me.

"Hi," she says awkwardly when she walks in on me in the office.

I barely look up from the papers I'm filing for Dad. "Hi," I mutter.

"I, uh, heard you went to see Age of Ultron today," Aimee says. She slides a few papers across the desk, into my waiting hands - and I didn't even realize I was poised to catch them. "Was it good? I heard it was really cool."

I wave one hand dismissively. "Ehh. Marvel, you know? It's so awesome it's not even funny anymore. Or cool."

"Liar," she laughs.

I finally turn to look at her - and I'm showing her my most weirded-out face possible. "What are you doing?"

"What?"

"Don't give me that," I say. "Don't play dumb and sweet and cute - it's not gonna fly with me anymore." God, why am I reacting like this? This is so totally uncalled for, even if she and I did break each other's hearts in the not-so-distant past.

She doesn't want to mirror the pissed-off mask I'm wearing, but, being just as human as the next pretty blonde girl, she can't help it. "Come on, Harris," she says, her voice hardening. "Do I have to spell it out for you? I'm trying to rebuild the bridge here!"

I look at the door to make sure nobody else, least of all my dad, is anywhere in earshot. "What if I don't wanna rebuild that bridge?"

"You don't mean that." It's not a question. "You miss me. I see it in your eyes every time we're working here-"

I cut her off. "What you're seeing," I hiss, "is me wishing I could still be sleeping with you. Nothing more or less."

Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?

"Like I said," Aimee whispers, "you don't mean that. I get it, you're pissed at me - and you have the right to be. But still..." She swallows, then bites her lip for a second. "I thought we could at least get back to being friends after this long. Guess I was wrong."

I look down so she can't see my flaming face. "I'm sorry. I...I just don't think we can be friends anymore."

Yeah. Nice going, buddy.

Aimee looks up at me, her eyes shining. Oh God, tell me she's not going to cry. Then I'm gonna cry too, and... "When you finally wake up and smell the roses, let me know," she says. "I don't know what's wrong with you, Harris, but I know that this isn't you, the boy who's talking to me right now."

The worst part is, I think she's right. And I'm too stubborn to really be honest with her. Because as much as my brain likes to run wild with Jayris and Evris and even Jevris dreams, it's really just because what I really want - to be close to Aimee again - makes my heart ache too much.

It's only when she's out of the room that I finally let a little of my bottled-up emotions out. I close the door, lay aside my dad's paperwork so my tears don't stain it, and sit in his chair, sobbing to myself for a minute or two. If I were to look at my reflection in a mirror, I'd look so fugly right now. I'm not a pretty crier at the best of times, which is a major reason why I try to avoid doing it in front of Dad.

When my tear ducts give out, I look down at my right hand and raise some flames on the tips of my index and middle fingers. Then I lower those fingers, bringing them so close to the skin on my arm that I can feel the heat licking at me.

In case you're wondering, Fires aren't entirely immune to their own power. We can still get burned - it's only our hands that are really flame-proof. This makes it really too easy for us to self-harm, if we don't have the willpower to not give in to that temptation.

So far, I've not given in.

But every time I get close, I'm scared that I'm going down a path I can never turn back from.

Today, I think I get closer to burning myself than any time since the night Aimee and I broke up.

I get so close - and only when Dad calls me from outside the office do I stop and extinguish my fingers.

That was too close. I can't let my emotions get the better of me like that. Not anymore.

At home, Thor greets us with his usual kissy-face crash-into hello. Dad's happy to see him too - he's really warmed up to his presence in the last few months. But me? All I give the dog is a half-assed hug and neck-scratch. Then I get back up into a standing position, and Thor paws at me at waist level, whining and begging for more.

Later that evening, when I'm in the kitchen cutting tomatoes to make myself a salad, Dad comes in and asks, "Something wrong, Harris?"

I hope he realizes I'm armed with a steak knife. "No," I say.

"You're a bad liar, you know," Dad says. He scratches his upper lip. He used to have a pretty impressive mustache, but eventually he got tired of cleaning grease and oil out of it after every day at the shop. He's been steadfastly clean-shaven every day since 2008. "I take it Aimee couldn't get through to you today?"

The knife slips as I drop the half-tomato I'm working on, and I almost cut my thumb off. "How'd you know-?"

"She asked me for advice the other day," Dad says. "She really does love you, Harris. You should give her another chance."

I hastily work to finish cutting the tomato so I don't have any near-misses like that last one. "Maybe she deserves one. But I don't."

"Just because your first attempt at a relationship failed doesn't mean it's the end of the world," Dad says.

I glare at him. "Yeah, 'cause you're one to talk. You never even tried finding another woman after..." My voice trails off, but he and I both know how that sentence was going to end.

"Your mom was the one for me, Harris," Dad says, crossing his arms. "She may be dead, but she still lives on to me, 'cause she gave me you."

Before I can get pissed enough to throw the knife at him, I lay it in the sink. "Is that all I am to you?" I ask. "A relic of the one you really loved?"

Dad doesn't yell at me for calling him out like this - which is further proof that, as usual when I'm angry, I'm way off the mark. "I know you have a lot going on in your life," he says. "I know you're trying to make friends, even lovers. I know you're confused, but only 'cause you're trying to rush into things-"

"You don't know anything," I say. "I'm not rushing things. And the only thing I'm confused about is how much you only see what you want to see."

"Are you sure you're not just projecting your own flaw onto me?"

"Dad. Stop." I turn around, retrieve the knife, and start washing it. In an undertone, I add, "Yeah, the last time I tried to be honest with you, it didn't go so well, did it?"

Normally, Dad doesn't hear me unless I'm talking directly to his face, and talking, as he would say, "like I've got a pair." That is, pumping up the volume and projecting my voice. So I don't expect him to hear that last jab of mine, and yet, naturally, he does. "Are you still hung up on that?" he asks. "Harris, look-"

"I'm not gonna say it again," I mutter.

"I was wrong," Dad says. "It's not my job to tell you if you're straight or gay or bi or what. You need to figure that out for yourself."

Wow. That's...that's a real surprise. But he'll forgive me for still being a bit incredulous. "If you really believe that," I say, "then why'd you get all dickish on me before, Doctor Heteronormative?"

"Like I said before," Dad says, "you're confused. At your age, it's only natural. You're not supposed to have it all figured out just yet. But..." He pauses, then opens the fridge and grabs himself a can of Coke. "You should still be careful. People...people are gonna perceive you differently if you're openly bi than if you're gay or straight. People are gonna think you're always horny all the time...or, um, that you don't want a relationship with just one person. Or-"

"Or what? Please don't mention the threesome stereotype. I hate it when you do that."

"When do I do that?"

"Anytime you hear Lady Gaga on the radio. For instance."

Dad chuckles at this one. His laughter's the infectious type, but I still can't help but seethe a bit. "Do what you want, Harris. I just want you to be happy. Can I help it if I want to see you find one soul mate like I did?"

"I do want Aimee back," I whisper. "I'm too scared to admit it, though."

"Then tell her," Dad says. I pull my phone out of my pocket, and he adds, "No, no, in person. This isn't something you can just text her!"

"I wasn't," I say. "I was just checking my fantasy baseball."

Dad laughs again, and this time, I join in. Then Thor walks into the kitchen, his head cocked as he wonders what the hell's going on, because this is not normal behavior for the two of us human inhabitants of this house.

Neither is me hugging Dad. "What's this for?" he asks as he returns the hug. A little awkwardly, but that's okay. "Not that I'm complaining, but-"

"I'm just glad you finally stopped judging me," I say. "Yeah, if you were Jay's dad, I wouldn't be so lucky."

I let go of Dad, and he asks, "Is Jay's dad really as bad as you guys all say he is?"

"Whatever you've heard," I say, taking my salad bowl to the table, "in reality, it's worse."