A stress headache was oncoming. I could feel it already.

My brain was running a million miles per hours, ripping itself apart into a mess of utter chaos. Just walk up to her, just talk to her, and be super chill and casual, that's only three things you have to do. Come on, Evan. You can do this. This was the mantra I repeated until I was nearly shaking.

Originally, my plan was to wait until the concert was over. Then, when she was done performing, I would step in and make the coolest, most smoothest first impression she has ever heard. One that would be so charming, it would assure that she would never forget me. Then, when Zoe finally succumbed to my charms, we could proceed to have an extremely cheesy, romantic first date, like those couples have in those Hallmark Channel movies. And after some time, she would get to know me, and maybe even start to truly understand me in ways no one else could, and she'd really like me... for me.

Then, of course, we'd get married, and live happily ever after, with like, three kids. Anyways, it was the perfect plan, right?

But, my life can just never be that easy, because, here I am, in the men's bathroom balling my eyes out, and sweating like a Fudgesicle in Phoenix, Arizona, all because I'm so pathetic I can't even try to talk to someone. I can't do it. I can't talk to Zoe Murphy. Not now. If I approached her now, she'd just think I'm some moist, weird loser with a speech impediment, but if we're being honest, that wasn't too far off from the truth. I shake my head slowly, trying to clear my mind.

Futilely, I waved my hands waved under the hand drier, as if I thought shaking them would help them dry any faster. But at this point, I've tried everything to get them dry, but the sweat kept coming back. I would wash them off, and they'd be drenched not even a moment later. It stuck to me like glue. I silently curse the facility for its lack of paper towels.

After the machine's power trailed off, I stared at my hands with an expectant scowl. Of course, they were just as sweaty before, why wouldn't they be? but, I guess on the bright side, at least they were warmer now! I heaved a breath, wiping my hands on my khaki pants, which only served to acquire a large stain on my pants. I grit my teeth and force a smile to hold back a few colorful words.

That's just plain peachy, isn't it?

I make my way out of the bathroom, spitefully wandering down the halls with no destination in mind. I was so close to talking to Zoe Murphy this time that I could feel it, I thought bitterly to myself. It was just within my grasp, yet here I am, tromping around the school halls like a lost goblin. It was all ironic, in a pathetic kind of way. I mean, how is it that I so desperately want to be with her, but at the same exact time, can't stand to be around her? I can't just walk up to her and talk to her like a normal human being, no, I sit around doing nothing except daydream about it. Who knows, Zoe may even like me or want to talk to me, as an unlikely of a case that may be, but, because I can't even look her in the eye, I would have no clue whether or not that's even true.

I stomped down the school halls, mumbling to myself angrily, when abruptly, my thoughts were interrupted as a shoulder abruptly slammed into mine, which nearly knocked me to the ground.

"I—I, oh, um," I try to stutter out an apology, but I fail to do even that menial of a task. All feelings I felt before of viscous self-loathing was replaced by the ever-familiar anxiousness. "Sorry," I finish. The apologetic sentiment was not returned like expected.

I stare up at my 'attacker', and was surprisingly greeted by not a face, but a greasy, unwashed mop of brown hair, and the back of a dirty black button-up shirt or a jacket — it was difficult to tell which from behind. His combat boots clunked so loudly against the tile, I'm surprised I didn't hear them beforehand.

Connor Murphy, my mind filled in. Of course, I never pinned him as the type to apologize, and knowing him, he probably ran into me on purpose, but he wasn't yelling at me, or trying to blame me for the collision, which was unusual to say the least. He didn't even acknowledge my presence with a sarcastic remark, which was especially unusual. Actually, he was nearly running away. Wherever he was going, he was definitely in a hurry. As a sudden thought occurred to me, my brows furrowed in confusion.

What is he doing here in the first place? I never recalled ever seeing any of Zoe's family at these events, and would be surprised to see any of them, but Connor of all people?

I wince, and gently rub my injured shoulder. While I would like to say I could easily brush off the injury and move on, that wouldn't be the exact truth. It hurt a lot more than I would care to admit. The sharp sting eventually dulled down to an ache. A flash of movement in my vision caught my attention. I watched wide-eyed as Connor wrenched the door open, then slammed it behind him, nearly ripping it off its hinges. He seemed really upset... which, if you don't know him, may sound like an understatement, but he was always kind of this way — uncaring and pissed off — but tonight, something felt off about his behavior, and I couldn't shake it. I couldn't help but wonder if something happened to him.

Silently, I stared at the door he left through. Concern built up in my throat, and I tried to choke it back down, but it held fast. Why? This was so ridiculous, why was I worried? Connor has been nothing but hostile towards me, and while I sympathized with the fact he wasn't quite right in the head, it didn't justify me feeling like this. I wasn't his parent, I wasn't his friend, I wasn't his family, I was just me. I had no relationship to him, other than him being angry with me, along with the rest of the world.

Besides, even if something was wrong with him, it's not like I could just waltz up to him and ask, 'Hey, bud, you alright?' He would literally rip my head off if I tried anything remotely similar.

I sighed and shook my head. It wasn't any of my business, I decide. I turned heel, and took a step forward, back in my original direction, but when I looked up from my feet, I spotted a pair of black gloves lying unsuspectingly on the ground a few feet away. I abruptly stop and frown at the sight. I don't think they were there before. I walk closer slowly. No, they definitely weren't there before, I'm positive. Curiously, I picked them up, and turned them in my hand to examine them.

They looked like the type of thing you would find at a Spencer's or a Hot topic, so, of course, I knew it was Connor's. It was kinda ironic, considering his family was supposedly insanely rich. If he wanted to, I'm sure he could get his clothes from a designer goth-y brand, like, the Gucci for punks or something. I rub the material between my fingers, it was thick leather, with a symbol on the front I didn't recognize. When I looked inside, there were dark stains inside. I was too frightened to ponder what they might be for too long.

I turned my head back in the direction he fled in, and took a deep breath. I hesitantly walked towards the door, trying to look through the small window to see if I can spot him, but I only see faded white lines and a few cars parked. Connor was probably long gone by now, since he was old enough to drive and owned his own car, scarily enough. I stare down at the gloves, and sigh. I could return them in the morning, I guess.

Or you could give them to Zoe, a quiet voice in my head chimed in.

Oh. Oh, shit. I could do that, but wait, wouldn't that be dishonest of me? To take advantage of Connor's loss just to have an ice breaker to talk to his sister? I bit my lip, debating the options carefully in my head.

I could return them directly to Connor. Explaining exactly what happened could control any misinformation he might conjure up, and would eliminate any future suspicions he might have. Plus, I would be certain it was returned to him quickly, and it would put my guilty conscious at ease. And who knows? He might actually be thankful.

But... on the other hand, if I gave them to Zoe.

Well... I got the chance to talk to Zoe Murphy.

...

... I think we all know which option I picked.