"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT," I heard my dad yell at me "YOU'RE NOTHING BUT SCUM!"

Keeping my head down, I slowly headed to the small room where I basically lived. Just a bed and a few old pieces of furniture and nothing else, no forms of entertainment besides the old radio next to my bed.

I flopped onto my bed, the broken sprigs in it creaked and groaned beneath my weight. In the other room I heard my dad muttering loudly about how I was such a burden and other horrible things all leading back to me.

That man hated me with every stinking cell in his body, the only reason he kept me was for the small income of money the state sent us every month, and although he was supposed to use it on me, he normally blew it on pot, drugs or cheap beer. Only when my clothes were quite literally handing in tatters would he buy me new ones.

My mother died when I was very young. Although I was only two, I vaguely remember yelling and a tinkle of glass. The yelling had stopped altogether and I remember a bunch of red. I try to expel the memory from my mind, and most of the time I succeed, but the red will always remain.

About 15 minutes late I hear my dad's snores and the sharp sent of a very strong beer. I tiptoe to the bathroom and take a quick shower, my teeth chattering the whole time due to the lack of hot water. I dry my hair, tug on a clean shirt and grab my schoolbag. Dad begins to toss and turn in his sleep, what he's dreaming about I could only guess.

Before I even realize what's happening I'm at school, first, second and third period going by in a blur. Sit down, do your work, next class, repeat. That's basically how I get through the day. I'm finally in my favorite class, which is art. I listen to my teacher's voice droning on, and on and on. He's telling us about how we have to do a mural on the school's wall. It's not going to help it, I think to myself The school's the ugliest in the state, and it has the lowest ratings.

I'm brainstorming ideas to paint on the wall when I hear the art teacher say something about having a partner I snap my head up and stare him in the eyes. He takes out a long sheet of paper and reads the names off for teams. I hear my name and then a student called Daniel Howell's name.

I look around the room to see who this mysterious Dan Howell is, and I am rewarded to find he's not a complete idiot. I've worked with him on a few assignments in my other classes, seeing as no one wanted to work with either of us, but I never bothered to find out his name. He gives a small wave and I give him a small smile back. he picks up his belongings and plops into an empty chair next to me, carelessly scattering his things along the table.

"So..." he says, looking at me with his chocolate brown eyes "Do you have any ideas?"

"Um, yeah, actually, I do," I say, pulling out a sheet of blank paper. "Not really anything specific, I just plan to paint whatever comes to mind."

"Well, that sounds like a good idea," he replies pulling out his own sheet of paper "Just let your mind go nuts" He doodles a llama on the paper. "That's really nice," I say, pointing at his doodle "Even if it's just a quick sketch."

"You can look at my sketchbook," he says, handing me a dark green book overflowing with papers "If I can look at yours."

I nod my head, and hand him my navy blue sketchpad. I open his book and inspect the wonderful drawings, doodles and paintings in his book. There's a few photographs of the same three people; there's a woman with reddish-brown hair and deep blue eyes, Dan and a boy who looks just like him who I assume is his brother. he's drawn the boy as well, over and over again, sometimes he's outside, sometimes inside, his nose tucked away into a book.

"Wow, this is really good work, Dan, you could get into any art school you wanted to!"

"You could too, you're an incredible artist."

Dan and I continue to chat and doodle throughout the class period. We decided to hang out after the school day was over, seeing as neither of us wanted to go home, although we both wouldn't tell the other the reason. I decided to keep my dad's physical and mental abuse a secret for now.

Although Dan seemed happy and was laughing and actually talking to someone, which I'd never seen him do before, I felt like he was far away from me, like he was here, talking to me, but his mind was far away, his thoughts tormented by something. His eyes didn't have a lively sparkle to them, some of his grins seemed forced. I wanted to know what he was feeling, but I decided not to push my luck.

I feel really close to him.

I want him to be happy.

Do I have a crush on Dan Howell? No, yes, maybe... I don't know. I'm not sure what to think anymore.