A/N: Unexpected chapter brought to you by: my library's WiFi and my slow laptop!

Trigger warning: mentions of self-harm. |-/

Jenna

I decide to go to Tyler's last basketball game of the season, even though he tells me I can just stay home. He had to stay after school, so Josh gave me a ride home. Now, I'm waiting by my front door for Josh to pick me up. He decided to join me in supporting our friend. Ty needs it. He hasn't been the same since his radio was stolen last week. There's been no sign of Brendon or Ryan since then. Mr. and Mrs. Joseph are making Tyler earn the money for a new radio, which may take a while since he currently doesn't have a job.

A knock on the door interrupts my stream of thoughts. I open it a crack to see Josh standing on the welcome mat, the fluff of bright-red hair not tucked under his backward-turned hat blowing in the faint February breeze.

"Salutations," he greets.

"Salutations," I echo, smiling. I turn around. "Dad, Josh is here to take me to the game!"

"Oh, you mean your other boyfriend? Okay, have fun, Honey! Be back by nine!" my dad calls from the kitchen.

"Love you!" I yell before shutting the door. I turn to Josh. "Hey. You ready to see Tyler play?"

He nods. "Yeah. I've seen him play before. He's good." He opens his car door for me. Heat from the car's air vents engulfs me because he never turned off his car. Josh climbs into the driver's side and backs out of my driveway. "So...can I talk to you about something?" he asks after a minute of silence.

Now Josh can be a man of few words, so by now I've learned that when he talks, you listen. "Yes, of course," I reply in a friendly tone. "What's up?"

The red-haired boy inhales, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, which turns his knuckles white. "I'm worried about Tyler. He hasn't been acting the same since his radio was stolen. He's kept more to himself than usual. He hasn't been texting as frequently, and he's seemed quieter when we've talked to him in person. I think his mental state is getting worse, and I don't know what to do."

I sigh. "I've been noticing a behavior change, too, and it's really worrying me. I'm not sure what to do either because he will dismiss me or change the subject when I ask him what's wrong." I put my head in my hands. "I'm scared, Josh."

"I am, too." He takes a ragged breath. "I'm not completely sure, but I think he started cutting again. I think he acted like this when he used to cut, but he's been clean for seven months, so I'm not sure now. It's hard to tell."

I feel myself pale. "We've been dating for seven months. I remember seeing a rubber band on his wrist when he came to check on me in the hospital after getting my concussion. I freaked out about it. Do you think he quit because of me?"

Josh shrugs. "It's a possibility. We'll do anything for the ones we love."

"I haven't seen a rubber band on his wrist, though."

"That doesn't mean he's not still cutting. Rubber bands are just a coping method so to speak, kind of like how a smoker may use a nicotine patch to try to break free from their addiction."

"There are no cuts on his arms."

"People can cut in other places. Their stomach, their legs, their thighs, and their neck are just a few examples. It's not limited to arms."

I shrug. "I guess you're right." I pause for a second. "Wait, how do you know so much about this?"

Josh hangs his head slightly, but still keeps his eyes on the road. "Um...well, you know about my—uh—anxiety, I assume." I nod, gesturing for him to continue. "Well, back when I was fourteen and fifteen, I used to cut a lot to try to get rid of my feelings and anxious thoughts. Then Tyler found out and helped me find a different coping method. Now I have the drums. They help a lot. I always play louder when I get anxiety."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I reply quietly.

"It's okay. I'm proud to say that I've been clean for three years now. I've found other ways to handle my anxiety."

"That's good." I think for a moment. "So, Tyler helped you stop, but he never helped himself stop."

"Tyler wasn't cutting at the same time I was. He started doing it more recently. I talked to him a dozen times about quitting, but he never seemed to listen. Then you came along, and I guess all it took was a girl to motivate him to stop." He says this last sentence in a joking tone. I chuckle.

The mood turns serious again. "So...where do you think Tyler is doing it?"

Josh shrugs. "They could be anywhere. It's definitely not on his arms or legs, because he wears shorts quite often due to basketball, and we would know if it was on his arms."

"What about his thighs or stomach?" I ask.

The red-haired boy shrugs. "That would be the most reasonable possibility--that is if he even is cutting. Right now, we're just assuming all this. People can get in a lot of trouble from assuming stuff." Josh's hands slide across the wheel as we turn into the parking lot by the gym.

"Yeah," I agree. We fall silent as Josh parks and turns off the engine. He stuffs the keys in his pocket.

"Do you...do you want to see my scars?" He asks awkwardly.

"Only if you want to show me," I reply.

He studies me. "I think I trust you enough. I've known you seven months, after all." He rolls up his shorts and stops halfway up his thighs. White lines are visible in rows among his leg hair.

I'm silent. No one has ever shown me their cutting scars before. I don't know how I should feel. "I-I'm glad you stopped," I say awkwardly.

"Me, too," he agrees.

A memory hits me. "I saw Tyler shirtless once, but I didn't think to look at his stomach for scars, because that didn't occur to me at the time."

"Uh-huh, I'm sure it didn't," Josh teases. I punch his arm lightly. He laughs a little then clears his throat. "We'd better get inside so we can catch the beginning of the game."

"Yeah," I reply. We climb out of Josh's car and head toward the gym's entrance. Josh gently puts a hand on my arm when I start to pull cash out of my pocket, then pays admission for the both of us, despite my protests.

"Tyler would be mad if I made you pay." He winks. I follow him to the third row from the gym floor in the emptier side of the bleachers. It looks like the teams haven't come out of the locker rooms yet.

Josh turns to me in his seat. "Are you hungry? I can get us something from concessions."

I shake my head. "I'm fine."

"Aw, c'mon, you can't say no to Josh Dun. Now what do you want?"

I laugh. "Some nachos will be good, and maybe a Sprite."

Josh rises from his chair. "Okay, nachos and Sprite it is." I lean back to let him past me, then proceed to observe my surroundings. A decent amount of people are here from both the home and visitors side.

I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Amy, a girl from my photography class. We've been partners for a few group photography projects, but other than that, we haven't really talked.

Amy brushes some of her layered, strawberry-blonde hair out of her face. "Hey, Jenna," she greets. "It's a surprise to see you here. I didn't really think you were the sporty type."

"Likewise," I reply, confused as to why she's talking to me.

"Oh, I'm here to take pictures of the boys. I'm in yearbook." She gestures to the camera hanging around her neck.

I nod. "Ah, okay."

She shuffles and leans her weight on one foot. She must have caught me watching Josh stand in line for concessions, because she says, "Did your boyfriend drag you here to watch the game with him?"

My brow furrows. "My boyfriend is in the game, he's not making me watch it."

She gives me a confused look. "Wait—Josh isn't your boyfriend?"

"What—No! Tyler is," I respond. "Josh just drove me here to watch him play. We're both friends with Tyler."

"Oh," Amy replies, blushing. She scratches at her nose, where a spray of freckles is located on her face. "I didn't know you were dating Tyler."

"I thought it was pretty obvious to people. I mean, he, Josh, and Mark are the only ones I hang out with."

"Is there less drama in a group of all guys?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes, a lot less." Well, I guess a lot less if you want to avoid girl gossip, but if you're trying to avoid being kidnapped, then you've come to the wrong place, I think. I glance behind me to see Josh coming down the stairs with a tray of nachos in each hand and two soda bottles tucked under his arms.

Amy sees him, too. "Well, it was nice talking to you. I'd better go if I want to be in a position to get good pictures. See you!" She turns and jogs up the stairs before I can say goodbye, narrowly missing Josh on her way by. Flustered, he pauses for a second to tediously adjust his hat—being that both of his hands are occupied—then continues toward our seat. I take a tray of nachos from him.

"What did Amy want?" Josh asks, setting the bottle of Sprite in my cup holder.

"She was wondering why my boyfriend dragged me to the game to watch it with him."

Josh's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "But Tyler is playing, not watching. And he didn't drag you here."

I laugh when he still doesn't get it. "Josh, she thought that you were my boyfriend."

He's quiet for a moment then we both burst out laughing. "Nah, I'm a single Pringle."

The two of us grow quiet when cheering starts and the visiting team runs out on the floor. They gather around the goal on the opposite side of the court and start warming up. The cheering doubles when the boys on the home team run out. I spot both Brennan and Tyler in an instant. The boys huddle around the coach for instruction. Josh and I wave furiously when Tyler catches sight of us. He waves back and half-heartedly smiles. He nudges Brennan, who smiles when he sees me, then the two of them turn back to listen to the coach.

After about fifteen minutes of warm-up, everyone stands for the National Anthem and the game begins. Josh and I settle back in our seats and snack on our chips and drinks as we watch Tyler and Brennan run back and forth across the court.

"Does the band not play during basketball season?" I ask Josh. I remember he went to a few football games because he was in the marching show.

"We usually do, but Mr. Thornton said we didn't have to play the last game. It was mainly because we weren't sure until last week about whether it was home or away. We don't play at away games."

"Oh, okay," I say. We turn back to the game.

The first quarter ends, the home team in the lead by ten points. I'm proud of our boys.

The visiting team pulls ahead in the third quarter and stays ahead by eight points the rest of the game. The final score is 35 to 43. Our school probably won't make it into the championships, but that's okay. Tyler and Brennan got a few shots in, which makes us happy. Both teams high-five each other, then gather in the center circle of the court for a prayer. The group breaks up, the teams heading back to the locker rooms to change.

Brennan runs over to us a few minutes after the teams disappeared, his jersey no longer on him. Instead, it was replaced with a gray Columbus t-shirt and khaki shorts. We hug. "Hey, Bren, I'm proud of you. You guys played well tonight," I say into his shirt.

"Thanks," he replies. "Um, I think Tyler is still changing if you guys are still looking for him."

"Okay."

"Um, do you need a ride home?" Josh asks awkwardly. He's never really talked to Brennan before, I don't think.

My brother looks at me. "Well, Mom said she was going to pick me up, but I can call and tell her that I can ride with you guys that way she won't have to use the gas."

Josh nods. "Sounds good."

Tyler almost would've slipped right out from under our noses if I hadn't spotted movement at the edge of the gym. The brown-haired boy disappears out of a side door, gym bag in hand, without casting a backward glance our way. I point him out to Josh and Brennan.

"Something's not right," Josh murmurs. I think the same thing. What's going through Ty's mind?