Age 17

Dean's staring across the lunchroom, watching Cassie get her lunch. Entering their senior year hadn't been very eventful, and now that the first semester was almost over, Dean finds himself wondering what was going to happen next. He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. Cassie is sitting down in front of him, slamming her tray of would-be lasagna down.

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" he asks, grabbing the fork.

Cassie huffs and starts peeling the orange, slicing the skin with her nail. "Chuck."

Dean nods and sticks a forkful of the glop in his mouth. Just as bad as it looks.

Chuck was weird, always obsessing over Cassie somehow. Once he'd gone as far as to ask what she was wearing under her school uniform. Cassie had slapped the shorter guy, and kicked him in shin before sulking off. Dean had threatened to rip his lungs out, but Cassie had assured him it wasn't necessary, that she had left sizable marks.

"What this time?"

Cassie blushes. "He asked if I was a virgin." The orange is finally free of skin.

Dean chokes on his bite of lasagna-slop. "What?" he grinds out. He reaches for the bottle of water to alleviate his throat.

"I told him no, and then I kneed him in the jewels." She takes a delicate bite of the orange.

Somehow the bottle of water tries to drown Dean, because he is suddenly coughing worse than before, and his shirt is wet. He jumps up from the table, vaguely gesturing to his mouth to explain, and darts to the bathroom.

He looks in the mirror, but all he is seeing was red. In his head, the running mantra is "I told him no," and he can vaguely imagine different scenarios. Cassie on her back, some faceless guy pounding into her. Cassie on her hands and knees, being taken from behind. Cassie sitting on top of the faceless guy, getting the ride of her life.

It only makes him angrier.

He slams his fist down on the porcelain sink, hears more than feels the little crunch, and roots in his pocket, digging out the keys to his clunker. He leaves the school campus to just drive around town, trying to cool off. He doesn't know why he was so angry.

Cassie is his friend. He is Cassie's friend. He isn't anything else, not an older brother, not a boyfriend, not anything more than just a friend. And friends are allowed to feel . . . concern for each other, right? Friends are allowed to be a little shocked when such interesting news comes their way. Friends, however, are not supposed to feel the way Dean is feeling. Not possessive, not so angry.

Dean ends up at the city park. It's empty, because the elementary school hasn't even let out yet, so Dean sits on a bench. He kicks the toe of his boot at the ground, making an indentation.

Dean sits there for a long time, long enough for kids to have shown up and left again, long enough for the sun to sink in the sky. Long enough for Cassie to find him.

She hasn't changed out of her uniform yet, so she's got the black skirt, white button-up, and blue tie like everyone else. She's put on her favorite jacket, a beige trench coat that Dean always makes fun of her for. Her black hair has been pulled from her usual braid, the waves billowing around her as she walks to his location. Dean doesn't think she's ever been more beautiful.

She peers down at him for a long minute before throwing her hands in the air and rolling her eyes. She slams her body onto the bench beside him.

He still doesn't speak. They sit there for a good twenty minutes before Cassie starts shivering. It's about fifty degrees now that it's dark, and she's got that trench coat that doesn't have much insulation. Dean shrugs off his leather jacket and tries to put it on her shoulders.

She stands up, glaring at him. Her face is clearly illuminated by the lamp post behind them.

"No," she growls.

"So you're just gonna let yourself get sick because you're mad at me?" Dean asks, trying to follow her with the jacket.

"I'm not the one who left in the middle of lunch, let his best friend walk home, let his parents worry about him, or hid in a kids' park!" she screams. She shoves her hands in her coat pockets, turning away from him. He can hear a frustrated growl coming from her throat.

"Just take the damn jacket, Cas. You know your mom'll be pissed if you get sick because of me." He puts the jacket around her shoulders, but she rips it off.

"Dean. Tell me why you left." She shoves the leather jacket back into his chest, holding it there until he lifts his hand to grab it.

Dean hung his head. "I don't know."

"Bullshit!" Cassie calls. "That's bullshit, and you know it." Her voice lowers into a whisper, shaking a bit at the end. Dean knows she's probably crying right about now.

"I—Sammy got sick and Dad needed me to come home. I came here after Dad got back." Dean was lying through his teeth, and they both knew it.

"Don't—don't talk to me if you're going to lie," Cassie hissed, stalking away.

The rest of the week, Cassie walked to school. Dean followed right next to her with his ancient rust bucket, begging her to just get in the car. She studiously ignored him. At lunch, Cassie sat with Becky Rosen, the girl who wrote porn in class. During the three afternoon classes they shared, Cassie didn't have a choice but to sit next to Dean, but she ignored him just the same. He put folded up notes on her desk, but she flicked them to the floor. Dean grabbed them up at the end of class. On the way home, their morning ritual was repeated.

On the morning of their last day of the semester, Dean is waiting outside Cassie's house with his car, just like always. He doesn't actually expect her to get in, so when she opens the door and plops herself in the passenger seat, Dean is shocked. Dean throws the car into drive before she can change her mind. He purposefully takes the long way to school.

Dean is prepared to start a rigorous inquisition, but Cassie starts first.

"I'm sorry for ignoring. It was childish and inconsiderate for your emotions. I have a somewhat valid excuse, but I'm not sure that you'll want to hear it." She's fiddling with the hem of her skirt over her knees.

"What's your excuse?" Dean asks, more out of curiosity than anything.

"I had PMS."

"Oh God."

"Told you so."

Dean laughs, and Cassie joins in, because it's so completely ridiculous. They've been friends for eleven years, and they have stupid fights, about stupid things, but it always comes back to this.

Dean tries to ignore the fact that his eyes keep drifting to her knees, that his gaze keeps cutting to her face to simply admire the curve of her cheekbones, her long dark eyelashes, her pink lips.