Author's Note: It's been a while since I've published anything here, so I feel a little bad having this chapter be so short. However, there's more to come, and I'm hoping you all like it. Happy reading, and please review.

Avarril could hear the whispers as he entered the classroom, and once again, he wished that he were a few Turns older. At thirteen, he was just young enough to still warrant lessons with Keroon Hold's harper, Jenselin, however much he wished otherwise. Lately, he and all the other youngsters had started to feel the pull of adolescence, and the drastic changes in body and mind were enough to make anyone scream. Or cry. Or hide in dark, unused passages in the depths of the hold. But he could do none of those things in class, even though that's where he wanted to the most. As he made his way to an open spot near the back of the room, he could feel his classmates' eyes following him. There was Avarril's usual seat next to Parder, the round-faced boy who had been his best friend since early childhood. Avarril took one look, saw how Parder avoided his gaze, and took the seat two rows back. He didn't have to see the boy next to him scoot farther down the bench and angle himself away to know what, exactly, they were all whispering about. He looked straight ahead without seeing anyone and waited for the harper to arrive.

"Hey. Avarril."

Don't turn around.

"Hey."

Don't say anything.

"Is it true?"

Nothing at all.

"Do you really like Farlor?"

There's nothing to say.

"You know. Like that?"

Just shut up.

"Did you have a crush on Parder too?"

On Parder?

"You're always together."

What...?

"Did you guys ever kiss?"

Avarril could feel his cheeks turning red. Why did they jump to that conclusion? Wasn't he allowed to have just a friend? If they were even still friends. After this...he wasn't sure Parder was the kind of friend he wanted. Avarril had trusted him. He'd thought he could tell Parder anything, but obviously he'd been wrong. He shouldn't have said anything; he should have just kept his mouth shut. It was bad enough that he found himself thinking of Farlor all the time, but now everyone knew and hated him for it. He'd never been particularly good friends with any of them, but couldn't they remember that he was still the same as always? Or did that disgust them too? They weren't even the ones who had to deal with knowing the person they liked and admired more than anyone else was totally and completely off limits. Even he knew that. It didn't stop him from wanting to be near Farlor whenever he could. The heart and the head just didn't connect on some things.

Jenselin arrived then, and the class turned its attention to the harper. Avarril knew it wouldn't last; the class would end, and things would be right back where they started. As always, they would start with the Duty Song before moving on to their Turn's End selections. First the Crafts, then the Weyrs, and last the Holds, all built separate, to perform their necessary duties autonomously. All coming together to make Pern beautiful and safe, despite the Threads that bore down every Pass. At the thought of Thread, Avarril gave an involuntary shudder. They were just Turns into the Seventh Pass, and the novelty of Thread's devastating hunger had not yet passed. Avarril privately thought it never would, but he supposed that fifty Turns was a long time to be in constant fear of setting foot outside the stone Holds and Crafthalls. That would be especially true for the dragonriders who had to face it at every Fall. They couldn't afford to be afraid. They were brave and noble, risking not only their own lives but their dragons' as well, all so that the people waiting below could be safe.

Even people like Avarril.

Class was over quickly. Or maybe Avarril just thought so because he couldn't remember much of it. Rather than listening attentively to Jenselin's instructions for the four songs they would perform at the Turn's End concert six sevendays hence, Avarril was daydreaming about dragons and riders flaming Thread. He hadn't been chosen for a solo, and everything he would participate in was simple chorus singing, as always. Then, suddenly, his classmates were standing and filing out the door. Some glanced back at him to smirk or sneer, and quite a few managed to jab elbows into his sides as they passed. He looked down and took a very long time standing up and moving toward the door.

"Avarril."

Avarril's head jerked up and his heart dropped into his stomach as he looked to see who had spoken. Just outside the doorway was a tall boy several Turns older than Avarril with mousy brown hair and hazel eyes leaning against the stone wall of the corridor. Avarril's breath caught; it was Farlor. He glanced back at the harper, who was gathering up his instruments and packing them securely away, taking no notice of the two stragglers.

"Can we talk for a bit?" Farlor asked.

It looked like he might be blushing, but the light was too dim to see.

"Sure."

It was almost a whisper, but not quite. It got the words spoken, at least. Farlor glanced briefly at the harper's back and began walking down the corridor. Avarril followed without a word, and for a while they just walked. Avarril couldn't take the silence; it seemed to press in on him like something tangible. He clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking too badly and shoved them in his pockets. Farlor hadn't said a word, hadn't even looked at him since they'd started walking. Was he waiting for Avarril to say something? To say it directly? No chance of that. Not in a hundred Turns. Avarril pursed his lips tightly in case his body decided to rebel against his better judgment. Finally, Farlor stopped.

"Is it true, then?" he asked. "You know. That you...ah, like me?"

He was looking straight ahead, staring at nothing. Avarril couldn't move. He could barely breathe. He'd known they would have to talk, but he still wished he could have had more time to prepare himself. Maybe forever. Until everyone forgot. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth. Nothing. He couldn't do it. He couldn't say it. Avarril closed his mouth again.

"Listen," Farlor began. "I like you, Avarril. Just...not like that."

There it was. Avarril's breath caught, and he looked away as Farlor turned toward him.

"You're a good person," Farlor went on. "You always have been. I just think it's better if we keep things the way they are. I like just being friends."

The dreaded words. Just friends. The phrase no man or woman ever wants to hear from the person they like. Avarril felt his stomach clench and then seem to deflate. Even though he'd known this was coming, it still hurt.

"Is that okay?" Farlor asked after a moment.

"Yeah. It's fine," Avarril said.

His voice sounded flat and emotionless. He was sure that Farlor could hear the lie, but it didn't matter. What else could he say? The truth? That he couldn't blame him, but that it still hurt like Thread. What good would that do? Guilt wouldn't make Farlor change his mind.

"Avarril, I'm s—"

"It's okay. Can I...can I just be by myself?" Avarril interrupted. "Just...please?"

Farlor hesitated, but only for a moment. He moved to pat Avarril's shoulder but at the last moment thought better of it. Avarril was glad; he didn't want to be touched. Not now. Not by him. Farlor disappeared down the corridor. Avarril didn't watch him go; he just listened as the echo of the other boy's footsteps faded. Tears slid down his cheeks in silence. He'd known this would happen. It was exactly why he'd never once considered telling Farlor how he felt, however much it may have hurt to stay silent. He should never have told Parder; he never would have if they hadn't filched three bottles of wine from the store rooms. With his tongue loose and his guard down, he'd let everything spill out. How he felt about Farlor. How afraid he was that the other boy would hate him. That everyone would hate him. Obviously, Parder hadn't cared.

Avarril didn't know how long he sat in the corridor and let the tears run down his cheeks. All he knew was that the glows had dimmed considerably when someone reached out tentatively to touch his shoulder. He gazed up through blurry, swollen eyes at whoever had found him and tried to make out who it was in the dim light.

"Avarril? Are you okay?"

He recognized the soft voice and turned away in disgust. Parder.

"Get away from me," he muttered, too worn out to be properly harsh.

How could Parder have the nerve to come here now?

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," Parder said. "I didn't think it would turn out like this."

"Then what did you think would happen?" Avarril snapped. "Did you think everyone would be glad that I'm like this? Did you think Farlor would suddenly love me, and we'd live happily ever after? I suppose you thought watchwhers would fly Fall too."

"How was I supposed to know Farlor would go and tell everyone?!"

What? Avarril jerked around to face the other boy.

"I thought maybe if I told him how you felt, he would start paying more attention to you," Parder continued. "As it was, I don't think he even knew you existed. I was just trying to help, okay? I'm really, really sorry. This is all my fault."

"You just told Farlor?" Avarril asked, not quite able to believe it.

"Yes, and I'm really sorry. I… Wait. You didn't think I blabbed to everyone, did you? Shards, Avarril, I don't hate you!"

"Everyone else does now," Avarril said bitterly. "I thought you must too."

"Everyone else isn't your best friend. Here."

He dug in his pocket for a moment before offering a plain handkerchief. Avarril took it and began to wipe at his face and still runny nose while Parder sat down beside him.

"It doesn't look like he was particularly kind," Parder commented a few minutes later when Avarril handed the damp cloth square back. "Maybe you should rethink your crushes?"

"It wasn't really his fault," Avarril said. "I knew he wouldn't like me back. He was as nice as he could be. It still hurts being rejected though, even when you know it's coming."

"Sorry."

Avarril shook his head. Enough with the apologies.

"It should be almost time for supper," Parder said. "You want to head back?"

"Sure."

He got to his feet, sniffed loudly, and blinked his eyes a few times. He couldn't help the red nose and eyes, but at least his face was clean. Smiling weakly at Parder, he started back down the corridor with his friend beside him.