Ziro's words echoed throughout Alex's head, a miserable tune stuck on repeat: "It's either him or us."

His glazed stare lingered on the crowded sink as he sat sprawled on a chair at the kitchen table. He had told Lev earlier that he was fine to deal with the dishes by himself, but seeing their still uncleaned state now nearly thirty minutes after Lev had gone and Ziro had left him with a heart-rending choice, the dam started to crack. Tears filled up his bottom eyelid until they overflowed and streamed down his cheeks, his neck, dropping onto his shirt.

He hated Ziro.

No.

Ziro was psychopathically unreasonable, but he was just protecting himself, his friends. Alex's friends? No. Not after today, not anymore, probably. Not once Ziro revealed the discovery of his rendezvous with Lev.

Alex wasn't sure if it was even hatred he was feeling right now. Maybe it was depression. Devastation? Broken-hearted? Probably all three.

And what about Carsyn? Was he going to lose his pen pal for good too if he didn't choose the group? He considered for a moment not choosing at all. Was that an option?

No.

Definitely not.

Not when Ziro would surely have something to say about it. How long did he have to make a decision anyway? Not long, most likely.

Alex groaned so loud that it scared off the lone fruit fly that had landed on his shoulder seconds after he had sat down in the kitchen almost ten minutes ago. He was never quite fond of anyone back at Well Ridge Prep, but at least no one there had ever forced an impossible choice upon him.

Tears kept leaking. The ring of his shirt collar was getting soggy. Dishes still needed to be done. Alex tried blinking his eyes dry, which only led to more tears being pushed out of the bottom lid.

He made an ungainly attempt to get out of the chair, and then — crash! The sounds of frangible objects ramming into the cement ground. Alex, startled so bad that he shot from the chair and sent it plunging backwards onto the floor. He ignored it for now and dashed for the back door next to the kitchen counter, wiping the streaks of tears from his face with his bare arm. Peeling the door open and sticking his head outside, Alex realized that the disastrous sounds hadn't come from the Prior backyard, but from next door, across the tattered picket fence that was home to his neighbour, Martin.

"Uhhh, need some help?" Alex asked peeking over the moderately tall fence, his height just barely sufficing enough to do that, to scan the scattered mess on the other side: a yellow toolbox with all its tools spilled out; a wooden bucket with the gardening supplies inside of it knocked over; a metal paint tray right side down and paint brushes and rollers sticking out from under it.

Before the paint tray, Martin stood, his black strands tied up in a convoluted bun. He looked up and shot Alex a mellow look, smiling, though not quite. "Looks like it, young blood. I would 'preciate it if you'd lend a hand."

Without wasting a beat, Alex wedged both hands overhead and in between the spaces of the pickets, giving him enough momentum to boost himself over and land clumsily on the other side.

"Ack," Alex quietly cried. He felt around the now sensitive area of his ankle, and rotated it around thoroughly to assess how much pain he was in.

Martin gave a harsh wince as he trotted to Alex's crouched side. "That was a pretty mean touchdown. You alright, young'in?"

"I'm good, Mr. Singh," Alex said. "Ankle's just a little twisted up. I'll be fine."

"You young'ins always shrugging things off, actin' like you can take more than you can handle," Martin said in a disbelieving huff.

Alex straightened and patted Martin's shoulder as he passed him to gets started on cleaning up the mess. "I've had worse sprained ankles before. Don't worry about it. Anyway, what happened here? Tornado blow through that I didn't see?"

Martin huffed again, winding his hands behind his back as he watched Alex tend to the fallen gardening supplies. "Was just looking for my painting materials so I could fix up the fence here." He gestured loosely to his side of the fence which looked more dilapidated — the lemonade-pink paint job looking battered and exposing its previous wooden brown complexion — than it did on the Prior's side. "It was buried under so much stuff back there in the shed, so I thought I might also do some organizing while I was at it. Best to just do it instead of procrastinatin'. When you're retired, you've got nothing but time on your hands, which makes it easy to put things off."

Alex nodded along humming softly in agreement, finished with picking up the gardening supplies and moving on to the collect the tools that strayed from their box. He'd heard of Martin's retirement from his years of office work days ago, and just like then, he usually talked less about the actual work he did and more about how he was handling life now 'post nine-to-five' job.

"Let me tell ya, youngster," Martin went on, "I used to consistently get things done when I was younger, twenty-four-seven. Yup. So much energy then. Even played some basketball during my high school times too. I used to want to go pro, but eventually I realized the sporty life wasn't for me long-term. How 'bout you, youngster?"

"Oh," Alex said, finishing placing the tools back into their box, "I don't play basketball."

"Really? Hm, that's not what your pappy told me before," Martin replied. "He said some days ago that you are most definitely 'pro' material, but you don't dribble the rock lately."

Alex sighed. "Okay, fine. I don't play basketball anymore. I stopped a couple months before me and my dad moved here...It's just not for me, long-term, and I don't think it ever was even short-term."

Martin nodded along, slowly. He ambled towards the end of the fence nearby the shed as Alex moved on to cleaning up the overturned paint supplies.

"Bring those over here actually," he said to Alex. He lifted up a paint can that sat on the ground by the shed door, and gestured again for Alex to follow him as he ambled back towards the other end of the fence. He gave the paint can a quick shake from the handle, "this here is what they call 'Turkish blue'. Nice and calm. That pink was alright, but I've seen it long enough. Good thing in Riviam, house owners can re-paint their side of the fences any colour they want anytime they want."

"Cool," Alex commented. He really was a bit lured by the idea of giving the Prior side of the fence a new paint job.

"Yup." They had reached the other end of the fence and Martin placed the paint can down next to it, then gesturing once more for Alex to do the same with the paint tray and brushes. "Mind giving me a hand and opening that up?" A flat head screwdriver appeared in his palm — Alex hadn't noticed that it had been sticking out of Martin's back pocket the entire time — and he used it to point at the paint can.

"Sure." He took the screwdriver from Martin and bent down to get to work.

"You know, it can definitely be heartbreaking when all of a sudden you stop doing something you've been doing for most of your life, especially so young," Martin started to say. "Some might feel liberated, but for others it's like the start of a slump. And slumps can come and go; one week there's no rain, the next it's drizzling for days. Is that maybe why you're looking a bit glum?"

Alex looked up at Martin surprised, just as the lid of the can popped loose. "Wha-? Oh, uhh...no..." Alex certainly hadn't noticed how 'glum' he'd been looking; hadn't realized he'd been wearing his 'heartbreak' on full display. "It's not about basketball. I just...there's this decision that I have to make...I think."

"You, think?" Martin repeated.

"...it's complicated. I don't know if I should even make the decision, because neither outcome's really preferable, but I think I have to. If I don't, it might be end of everything...It's just really complicated."

"Mhmm," Martin hummed. "You know what's not so complicated though?" He moved to Alex's side again and gave the back of his shoulder a few tender pats. "Things end, that's one thing for sure. But, things also begin too. Just like people, whether family or not; they go, but they also come. It's more so unexpected than complicated. Sometimes they come, and they become a kinda family to you too. And suddenly you're beginning again in another part of your life."

Alex listened, still crouching on the grassy-spotted cement, his gaze staying put on the vat of Turkish blue paint in front of him. The idea of family was uncertain for him. Though the only constant, stable part of it, was his father. Everything else — family, friendship, life itself — gushed with complications and unexpectedness. When was everything just going to become steady?

Martin's pats to the shoulder turned into a firm grip on it instead. "Go to your friends, youngster. That's why you have 'em. When they come, they come for a reason."

Alex glanced up at him again before standing up and returning the screwdriver. "What about your fence though?"

Martin shook his head. "That's a job for me to do. You've helped me out more than enough. Go on now, don't procrastinate these things. Maybe later after I've finished my side, ya'll Prior boys can borrow some Turkish blue for your side. We could match."

Alex's grin stumbled out into the open, and he shook Martin's offered hand before turning away and vaulting back over the fence. "Sounds good, Mr. Singh!"

He didn't look back as Martin yelled in return, "'member to use a door next time! These crazy youth, I'm tellin' ya!"

Alex chuckled to himself as he jogged back inside the Prior kitchen, shut the door, then deflated back against it.

Go to your friends, Martin had said.

Ziro obviously wasn't an option. Neither was Lev since he was the center of the decision after all. Alex wasn't sure if he was completely comfortable around Evan yet; considering all the side comments she had made about Lev in the past, Alex had a feeling she might take Ziro's side. And Carsyn — yes. She was a friend, and had been for a year.

Alex marched over to the sink, the dirty dishes beginning to give off an odor. First he'd clean, then, he'd make a call.