"Thomas, you can't just throw a knife at him and expect him to not go crazy," I hiss, pulling him behind the Homestead.

"I threw it at his feet! No, more like— I dropped the knife to the ground, and it landed in front of his feet," he says.

I sigh. "Why did you even grab a knife in the first place? Why would you run into the cafeteria full with kids, and why the hell did he call you that name? Stephen?"

"See?" He crosses his arms as he leans against the wall, face sadder than before. "As he said, everyone gets upset with me—"

"Hey." I slap his arm, hard. "Don't listen to him. Yes, you for sure made us upset because of this, but that's partly Janson's fault. He shouldn't have called you out like that, and you need to realize throwing knives at camp instructors isn't very appreciated. Now explain why he called you that— or just explain everything. What does he mean, your mom before your stepdad? Your real father? The divorce? Why—"

"Lelia, stop." Thomas rubs the back of his neck. I quickly close my mouth, now ashamed. I'm just too curious.

"You told me your parents had a divorce," I retry. This time, I speak slower. It's hard to keep calm, but I do my best.

"I did?"

"Yeah. When you and I were drunk. But you don't remember what you say or do when you're drunk. And most people always tell truths when they're drunk, so I'm confused how you didn't."

"Perhaps I got so used to the lie that I also memorized it while being drunk." He gives me a poor smile, then shrugs. "But yes, my parents divorced."

"What's with the name?"

He bites his lip.

I'm going way too fast again. "Uhm— alright. We'll sit down. If you even want to talk about it."

"Everyone else knows anyway."

"So? That doesn't mean you don't get to decide which other people can or can't know. It's your story."

"Right." He stares at the ground, nodding. "Well, Stephen was my name before. All my friends know because the first I was here, at eleven years old, my name was still Stephen. Oh, Newt wasn't at our camp that time yet. He came two years later. I don't know if that's important for the story or not, but whatever."

And Jorge said all the kids my age are here because of parties and drinking.

I swear— if Minho has a crazy backstory, I'll go crazy, too. Jennifer hasn't mentioned it, so that's either good or bad. I don't think Newt is here because of parties— as he's both not the biggest partier, and he is quite shut down about why he got here.

"I was crying and kicking and everything at once when I arrived. I didn't want to leave Mom with my father. Yet I didn't have much of a choice. I did make the most amazing friends, so it got a little better, but I was still worried he would hurt Mom. I mean, he had hurt her before. He had hurt me before— that's why she sent me away from him.

"A lot happened after that one summer camp. Things got out of hand." He lifts a part of his shirt up. "Perhaps you've seen it already." Thomas points at a tiny, white scar I for sure have not seen before.

I can't keep myself from gasping. "Is that—"

"—from a bullet, yeah." He readjusts his shirt. "Before that, when I got home too late, he already got aggressive as hell. I was running through the house, away from him. In the end, he squeezed my wrist pretty hard, but that was it. When Mom finally managed a divorce, they also diagnosed him with antisocial personality disorder. Better known as sociopathic behavior. A psychopath."

Clearly, I almost say out loud, but I quickly seal my mouth shut.

Sometimes I wish I was like Lyndon. He's able to react normally, or more emotionally, to stories like these. And I only make it worse by trying to cheer the mood up, or not knowing what to say.

Not even sometimes. I often wish to be like Lyndon. Or at least have a look in his mind, which is probably very confusing, but still.

"Blah, blah, blah— he got out of jail after a while. Went to search me, then shot me. Luckily in the stomach. And he somehow got way less years in jail than he's supposed to have. That's what Mom said, at least. I think he'll be out in a year. And we changed our names. Mom married my stepdad after a while, so she immediately changed her last name, and I got a whole new name. I didn't like it at all, but I had no choice unless I want to risk my father searching for me in the future. But I doubt that's gonna happen."

I still don't know what to say. What would Lyndon say? I don't know what he would say. He'd speak wise words, or be confused, or get emotional.

"You don't have to say anything," Thomas tells me. "It's pretty weird. I don't think I even want you to say anything. It's been about five and a half years anyway. I'd rather forget, if that stupid rat hadn't mentioned it."

I nod. At his last words, I bite the inside of my cheek. Didn't know it was possible to be even angrier at Janson than I already was.

Then his arms suddenly wrap around me. My eyes spring open wide at first—it's been a while since a friend hugged me—then they automatically close. It's pretty nice, if I have to be honest.

All my friends here are nice. I don't think I ever shared one hug with my old ones. I shared my money and time with them, sure. If they hadn't ran off like that, maybe all the debts would be payed.

"Wait— no. How much did we just spend? We can't afford all of this, not even if we hand all our money in. We're gonna have to give it back."

"Sorry, girls. No receipt, no giving it back."

"Excuse you?" I remember raising my voice. "We just bought it! Five seconds ago. You saw we didn't take anything from it."

"Rules are rules. But you can pay me back later on. I just want to see your ID, want to write your name down. If you want some discount, give me a picture of your face."

And just like that, they ran off.

Literally ran away with their high heels and thick jewelry smashing against each other, creating an effect that hurt my ears.

Oh, and the drugs, too. They ran off with the bag.

And I was so shocked they hadn't even told me they were going to run, that I stood frozen in my place.

I remember being nice. I figured I would talk to them later. I gave the man my ID so he could note all information about me down. I have him all the money I carried with me. I even gave him that picture for discount.

Him, with the purple satin button up. The smelly breath. His own greasy blonde hair and the blonde woman lingering around me. His thick eye bags and weird way of talking.

Eventually, I told my friends what I did. They ignored me. I asked for money so I could pay the debts equally. They ignored me.

I should've never been nice, I had realized. They had never treated me right in the first place.

I shouldn't have done what Lyndon would've done, so I never did again.

I went out to try and pay Him, but knew Lyndon was watching. To not seem suspicious, I only bought more stuff.

I knew, and still know, that I if I would tell Lyndon, I won't be his first choice ever again. I know that if he helped trying to fix it, it would only destroy him. I know we'd argue about how we'd solve it. And there are a million other reasons why telling Lyndon wouldn't be the right thing to do.

I won't tell Dad for sure. At first, I knew that left me with no choice but to keep it to myself. I had no one else.

Now I have plenty people. Teresa, Sonya, Harriet, Miyoko, Thomas, Minho... Minho so my freaking boyfriend at the moment, which is crazy, and I'm still doing my best to become better friends with Fry, Winston, and Newt.

Maybe Minho would understand. He wouldn't find me too ridiculous for wanting to buy drugs in the first place, I think. But I'm too scared he will, and that'll immediately mean that Jennifer is out of my life, too.

And even if he does understand, he'll be in danger. I don't want anyone to be in danger.

It's the usual click that shakes me out of my thoughts.

Thomas lets go of me so he can look past us, eyes squinted, but I can tell he doesn't see anything. "Guess there's a photographer or something. Maybe someone stood on a stick."

"Yeah, maybe."