The summer before the year that would end up going down in Hall history as the Wizzle War, was a peculiar one for Melvin P. O'neil. The previous year had been far more strange, if you looked only at the events that transpired, but the summer felt even stranger. MacDonald Hall was a sort of alternate reality to Boots. Summer and breaks existed in a hazy fog. They were so much slower, yet infinitely more stressful than the months spent at the Hall. And of course there was no Bruno.

That was precisely the problem. Boots was a separate person from Bruno, of course. Bruno was all charm, charisma, and untapped potential. Boots was much more rational and reasonable, not to mention slightly more athletic and scholarly. He supposed, that when you compared the two, he was rather boring. But that didn't matter, did it, because Diane had chosen him.

That was the other problem. Bruno had built him a pool, Diane had kissed his cheek and smiled sweetly while the smell of chlorine surrounded them.

And so, as Boots packed up his room to head back to his province for the summer, he was thinking of Diane. He was thinking of her smarts, her ingenuity, and he was wondering, why him? It seemed like Diane would have been better suited to someone more...well, less like Boots, they both had a shared experience, of dealing with their respective counter parts, but... that's it. Boots had always thought that his first girlfriend would be a little different. He expected a crush to feel a little bit more strong. It wasn't as if he didn't think that Diane was pretty, it was that it didn't matter. He wanted to be Diane's friend, he didn't mind kissing her (it was nice, she had soft lips and smooth skin, but it didn't exactly do it for him), but the idea of being her boyfriend-the sappy dates, the romantic commitment-it scared him. Not in a 'I'm nervous about this girl I like' way, but in a 'I have no romantic attraction to her, oh god, am I leading her on?' way.

So when Bruno asked Boots what he was thinking about, he answered "Diane". Bruno's nose scrunched up for a moment.

"I'm happy for you guys. A perfect example of the union between a MacDonald Hall boy and a Scrimmage girl. I think I can do something with this. Maybe some inter- school activities next year?" Bruno says.

"I didn't mean it like that," Boots answers, rolling up one of his posters.

"Ohhhh, were you think something a little more PG-13?" Bruno says. He's wiggling his eyebrows and Boots thinks he looks slightly deranged.

"No!"

"R? Melvin P. O'Neil!"

"NO!"

"X? Jesus Christ!"

"Bruno! I was just wondering why..." Boots trails off, still slightly embarrassed by Bruno's accusations.

"Wondering about what?" Bruno has stopped the admittedly pathetic job he was doing at folding his shirts. Boots sits down heavily on his mattress. Bruno takes this as his cue to come and sit next to him. Bruno looks at him expectantly. Boots sighs.

"I don't understand why she wants to be with me," Boots says. "Or what she even wants from me," he continues.

"Obviously she wants to be your boyfriend because she thinks you're totally awesome!" Bruno says with an enthusiastic slap to Boot's back. Bruno has misinterpreted his concerns, but Boots supposes it's for the best. He has no idea how to put what he's feeling into words. He likes Diane, he really does, but he just cannot accept that this is what love, or even a small crush

Boots doesn't worry that Bruno would laugh at him. He trusts Bruno more than that, it's just, it's the last day of school, they're about to go their separate ways, and Boots doesn't want to try to explain something this complicated, this dense, and dampen their already slightly mournful moods. Not to mention, everything is a bombshell to Bruno.

Leaving the Hall is always a sad experience. Boots doubts that he'll see Bruno at all. He feels like he becomes a different person at home, and it's not the person he wants to be. He wants to be an intellectual, but he wants to have fun. That's how he's decided to define his ideal Melvin P. O'Neil. He has that at the Hall. He's never bored, and he actually gets to go to classes where he learns something. At home, the focus is on sports. If Boots isn't at a summer league, he's doing conditioning, weight training, or eating disgustingly healthy meals. There's no real spirit, no tradition that needs to be upheld because no one even considers that theres anything else, thus the transition are simply routines that they hopelessly fall into. A tradition is the Fish reading Shakespeare to all the english classes. Tradition is competing with the York turkeys. Tradition is committees and planning and the gong.

Boots can only hope that he can get a summer job, or something like it to save him from endless runs and constant talk of protein. To do anything that would jeopardize Bruno's communications to him during the summer just isn't worth it, and there's no reason to give Bruno things to worry about. When Bruno is worried, Bruno plans, and when Bruno plans, Boots gets in trouble.

And he doesn't want to seem weird. Weird, like gay. It's not that Boots thinks being gay is weird, it's that it seems like everyone else does. He's seen it a million times, on the sports teams he's on, he sees the wary distance that most guys afford to the gay guys on a team. No one says anything, it's just the slight hesitation some guys have, before they go in for the hug, or the slight angling of a naked body. It's subtle, of course, because it's not overt homophobia, it's just the learned fear of something they do not understand. He wonders why he's always so aware of it. It shouldn't affect him personally. Sure, he's the captain of a few teams, but it's not like he can tell a bunch of jocks to go unlearn their implicit biases. He's doesn't think he's seen it at MacDonald Hall, but that might just be his own wishful thinking. The point is, is that when another guy thinks you're gay, they think you're weird, and the smallest things change, but at the same time everything changes. Boots doesn't want a single thing to change with him and Bruno though. He doesn't think he could handle that. So he stays silent. Bruno takes his silence as a need for a longer pep talk, but Boots tunes his friend out. He needs to think about what to say to Diane.

"You should just text her," Boots hears Bruno say.

"Yeah, I should," Bruno looks slightly surprised to hear Boots listen to his advice, but only for a moment before he molds his face into a self satisfied smile.

"I give great advice," Bruno declares, "Now help me fold these shirts to repay me," Boots takes pity on his roommate, who's clothes and bedding should really have been packed several days ago. All Boots has left are a few posters and photos from the year still stuck up on his walls.

"We need some music," Bruno suggests.

"Bruno, we are not listening to any death metal," Bruno looks ready to interrupt, but Boots continues "or punk, or speed metal, or pop punk, or really any of that music," Bruno looks slightly deflated, but still plugs his phone into their shared speaker, courtesy of a secret santa in which Elmer crafted a sound system far nicer than two teenager would ever need. Boots some starting chords that sound dangerously rock-y. He's about to protest, but he hear Avril Lavigne's voice and sees Bruno start to lip synch. Nope, he's out right belting the lyrics to Sk8er Boi. Boots sighs happily.

"I'm not going to miss this over the summer," he says, but both boys know that it's a lie.

Boots' parents arrive before Bruno's, sweeping him away with little time to say good bye. Bruno is on his best behavior, a winning, face splitting smile sitting on his lips. He looks charming, but Mr. and Mrs. O'Neil are not impressed. They haul Boots' bags down the stairs while Bruno tries to be ass helpful as possible without actually doing anything. Boots is starting to fear that he'll have no time with Bruno before he's wicked off to a summer full of parental expectations and interrogations about his life at boarding school.

When their house counselor intercepts the elder O'Neils, Bruno and Boots steal a few minutes. Bruno engulfs Boots in a tight hug, with plenty of firm back slapping.

"Write to me," Bruno says, into Boots' ear.

"I have your number, you know. We text a fair amount," Boots says teasingly. He knows how much Bruno likes the idea of the tradition of letter writing. He's heard many tirades that include the phrase 'it's the principle of the writing'. Boots sees the novelty, but Bruno has rather messy hand writing and they both get impatient. Usually, they resort to emails between letters.

"You know what I mean!" Bruno scoffs.

"Don't worry, Melvin P. O'Neil knows how to write a letter," Boots assures Bruno, pulling away from the hug. He can see his parents power walking towards them, and he knows Bruno can too. But Bruno isn't looking towards them. He's looking Boots square in the eyes.

"Write. I'm serious. I want an email every day and at least 6 letters," If it was anyone else, Boots would say they sounded like a petulant child, but coming from Bruno, it sounds like a plan.

"Bruno Walton, I promise that you will receive no fewer then six letters and frequent emails," Boots pledges, hand raised in a pantomime of a Boy Scout. Bruno scoffs, but then Boots' parents are pulling him away, and he has to turn and walk to their car.

The car ride home is rather dull. His parents put on a constant loop of yacht rock, with a few jock hits from their days as collage athletes. It's so different from the alt rock station that Bruno and Boots usually compromise on when they play music on their crappy dorm radio. He believes that it must have belonged to a Hall boy or a Scrimmage girl, but that it was seized during the great yard sale fundraiser. He's pretty confident in this belief, as it did appear in their room around the time, but with how messy Bruno's things can get, it could've just been hiding under a large pile of dirty laundry all this time.

Boots gets a head start on his summer reading, but he finishes all the books he has with him before the car ride is up and he's bored. He could enter his parents' conversation, they're talking about the local little league hockey team for which his dad coaches. Boots was on that team when he was younger. The idea of joining in repulses him though. It's not that he doesn't like his parents-he loves them and they've always been good to him, or that he would have trouble finding something to say, it's just that he's feeling the loss of the Hall right now. He feels like a wild animal that has suddenly been brought into captivity. He has to reset himself, turn into the most charming, helpful, and impressive version of himself. He's a bit of a golden boy in his neighborhood. His parents know everyone, so everyone knows Boots. Everyone knows Melvin. It's not as if he's in some American teen movie where he's the star quarterback and the town is counting on him to win the big game. It's just that everyone thinks oddly high of him. When he comes home to visit, everyone wants to come see him, ask him about the colleges he'll get into, about what extracurriculars he does. They ooh and ahh, but Boots wishes they wouldn't.

He feels like he's deceiving them. With a few small omissions, it sounds like many of Bruno's impromptu revolutions are great clubs, and he does have the position of swim team captain, and he loves MacDonald Hall, but it still seems like they think so much of him. There's so much he isn't telling them, like how he almost gave up on the school and the people that had given him so much, or about how much time he spends in the principle's office, or the fact that he doesn't like the perfectly lovely girl who kissed him on the cheek.

So, confronted with the realities of speaking to his parents and ending the Hall's slowly fading spell, or clinging on to it, Boots pulls out his phone. He clicks the little green button and scrolls to Diane's name. They'd been texting a fair amount, not about anything in particular, just making each other laugh and recounting the tales of their counterparts' wild plans.

'Hi' Boots types, but he erases it almost instantly.

'I don't want to date you' he tries, but that's clearly a terrible idea. Boots takes a deep breath. He wants to make this perfect. Well, as perfect as something like this can be.

'Diane, I'm not exactly sure what that kiss was for, and I'm not exactly sure if you want more, but I don't' he hates the rhyming, but he thinks the phrasing isn't terrible. 'You're my friend, one of my best ones, and I like it that way. I really hope I haven't offended you, and I'm going to be mortified if this was all a misunderstanding, but yeah.'

He finishes the text and presses enter before he can think twice and make a more rational decision. Boots tries to breath deeply, but the yacht rock is suffocating him and the anxiety is building, burning his stomach and throat. His phone buzzes, and it feel like he's going to burst.

'You're to sweet'

Boots doesn't know how to respond.

'Friends?'

Boots has to stop himself from making an audible noise of relief.

'Yes, please' he answers.

'Can we FaceTime later?' She asks. Boots wonders what this will lead to, but this has gone so much better then the had hoped. He owned what ever Diane wanted to her.

'Of course'

For some reason, this feels like the end of the fantastical cloud MacDonald Hall casts. He musters up the strength to begin a conversation. He's still vibrating from the fear of his short exchange with Diane, not to mention, he has no idea what they're going to talk about. They've FaceTimed before, but everything that was familiar territory to them is now tinged with a peculiar anxiety to Boots. He doesn't understand why he can't just like Diane. She's lovely. He and Diane could go out and then Bruno and Cathy could mellow out and date and they could get married and live side by side and send their kids to the Hall and Scrimmage respectively. It could've been perfect. Logically, Boots knows this would never work out, but in his head it sounds so picture perfect.

But its never going to happen. Boots couldn't even fake an attraction to Diane for a month. He doubts that he could do it for years. He figures he should find someone, but none of the other Scrimmage girls have ever interested him. He's always been too busy for things like dating, at least that's what he tells himself. That must be the explanation, because Boots is a normal guy, he wants a future with things like relationships, kissing, and sex. It's just never been the right time, the right girl, he figures.

Sometimes Boots wishes there was someone to talk to about this. He probably could talk to Bruno about this, but he kinda gets the feeling that Bruno was hoping for the same kind of picture perfect future that Boots has lost confidence in. Bruno is the type of guy that hates to change tradition, and the biggest tradition of all is Bruno and Boots and Cathy and Diane. Boots doesn't want to disappoint Bruno, so he doesn't tell him about this. He can't exactly talk to any of the other guys about this. He's good friends with all of them, he's been through thick and thin with all of them, but when it comes down to it, it's him and Bruno. And he can't even muster up the courage to speak to his parents about summer plans, so it's a given that he'll never be able to talk to either of them about this, ever.

"Melvin, sweet heart, have you thought about any summer plans?" He mom asks, breaking his train of thought. The question may seem innocuous enough, but 16 years have taught Boots that when his mom asks questions like this, she has a specific answer in mind.

"I was thinking about trying to find a summer job," Boots suggest cautiously. It seems that this was the answer his mother was looking for though, as her face lights up.

"I was hoping you would say that! My friend, Tracie, you know her, she has a nephew your age. Well, that nephew is working at a summer camp this summer. I was thinking, why don't you get a job as a life guard there? I already checked and they have some open life guarding positions!" His mom exclaims. Bruno does know Tracie's nephew. His name was, is, Jason. He was in the grade above Bruno when they were in middle school. He had also been the captain of the swim team and the student council president when Boots had been in the 6th grade. Basically, Boots had wanted to be him. He remembers the time Tracie brought him over once when she was at their house for book club or something. Boots was star stuck. They swam in the pool for a while before retiring to Boots' room, talking for a bit as they worked on homework and played computer games on the desktop that Boots had been graced with.

"Sounds great, Mom," he tells her.

"The certification should be easy for you," Boot's dad chimes in. Boots nods confidently. He may not have beaten the York swim team, but he's sure of his swimming abilities, and he enjoys swimming. It gives him a rush. He doubts he'll actually get to do much swimming as life guard, but he figures that working with kids can't be harder than dealing with Bruno. And he'll get paid, which is always a plus. Boots doesn't exactly have much to spend money on. The Hall has a uniform and his parents buy him the few clothes and other necessities he needs, but he's always glad to have a rainy day fund, just in case one of Bruno's plans goes horribly wrong.

"What do I need to do to sign up?" Boots asks his mom, hoping to bring his parents back on track, before they start talking about his swimming talents and completely derail the conversation. Funnily enough, he's looking forward to this. He's eager. Bruno has ruined him, made it so that he can't stand to spend his time idly anymore. It makes him antsy now. He almost turns to his side to complain to Bruno about this, before he remembers that Bruno is no longer glued to his side. Boarding school is peculiar, in that it forces you to be more independent, but it also makes you incredibly codependent. Boots feels at a loss, without the people that understand everything about him. It is nearly impossible to explain things that happen at school, without the context of the atmosphere at MacDonald Hall. It is wholly impossible to explain anything about school to his parents. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to keep them from going on about swimming. So, he tries again. And again. On his fourth try, he finally manages to extract them from their discussion.

"Mom! Do I have to do anything to get the job?" he almost shouts.

"Boots, don't raise your voice! We're all in the same car, I can hear you if you use a normal voice,"

"Do I need to do anything to get the job?" Boots asks again, returning to his normal voice, though slightly exasperated.

"Oh no, I already told them you'd do it," His mother says cheerily. Boots should've figured. It isn't that his mom knows him well enough to predict his decisions, it's that she never really gives Boots a choice. That, and the fact that Boots is terrified of disappointing his parents and will do pretty much what ever they tell him to. He likes to hope that he's a good son and he doesn't want that to change. "You start on Sunday," his Mom tells him. It's currently Friday.

"Ok," Boots replies, because was else can he say. He's grateful for the chance, but he would also be grateful for advice notice. He's gotten used to Bruno never giving him any warning, and he wonders why he still hates it when his parents do the same thing, though he should be more used to his parents. Maybe its just Bruno's charm.

Boot's father helps him haul his bags up to his room, thankfully not repainted again, as his mom heads out on a bike ride to the grocery store. The store is 30 miles away. Boots is athletic, but his parents are ridiculous. 60 miles, half with a weeks worth of groceries? Boots would never willingly do that. Meanwhile, his Father is possibly trying to make him, laugh or possible just flexing. Boots laughs, quietly just to be safe. It seems he made the right choice, as his dad amps up the flexing and begins wiggling his eyebrows. Boots is close to hysterics for some reason, and his father isn't even that funny. There's something about finally being back in his room, being out of the stifling environment of his parent's car, out of the strange world that exists on the highway between the Hall and home. His dad puts him in a light head lock, rubbing his hair.

"Good to have you home Melvin,"

"It's good to be home Dad," Boots replies. He thinks he means it too. As his father leaves, Boots thinks that this summer will be better than the previous. He can't explain why, in this moment he's so convinced of this, but something about not instantly feeling out of place in is own home bodes well. He misses the Hall, but the prospect of a summer job, of seeing an old not-quite friend, has consumed him. Again, he's not sure why, but he's just relived. Hopefully it will make missing Bruno more bearable than the previous summer when he sat in his room and missed Bruno, when he swam and missed Bruno, when he took long showers just to have something to do and missed Bruno.

Boots often wonders what he'll do when he and Bruno will inevitably have to go their separate ways, once they have girlfriends and jobs and maybe even kids. If he can barely handle a summer without his best friend, what will he do when there is no Hall to return to, no shared room filled with each of their stuff that, over time, becomes collectively know as 'our stuff'.

Boots thinks this all as he unpacks the recently re-seperated half of Bruno and Boot's 'our stuff' that had originally been his. His parents house no longer feels like home the way it did when he was younger. Somehow, the Hall has become more of a home to him, so it feels weird to place the items that he can usually identify by their spot in his and Bruno's dorm into new, strange places. There is also a distance lack of Bruno. His summers, Boots thinks, are pathetically lonely.

And so, like any sane person, Boots neglects his unpacking and starts his first email to Bruno.