Next chapter will hopefully be up later today (I can't help myself— I like writing this story too much!). Your reviews make me a better writer! Thank you!

In case you're wondering, it didn't happen during study hall. I wonder how things would have been different if it had.

Not that I particularly want to know.

I did see him for the first time during that fatalistic 5th period, though. It was funny how when I would see him, even after his mysterious disappearance, my heart would seem to pick up and go BINGBINGBING like it would on a game show when somebody had won the million dollars. Why? Dunno. I don't even know particularly why I like him. It's just… he always seemed so happy and friendly and helpful, and I love his smile so much…

But this time when he walked into the drab gray square that was our classroom, the first thing that came mind was:

Anabolic steroids are bad for you… right?

I hoped he knew that.

I mean, not that he looked like one of those gross body builders who put balloons in their arms, but good Lord, he was ripped. Like, you could kind of see his pecs through his shirt, and the muscles on his arms would kind of ripple whenever he moved... and I could have also sworn that he was a good five inches taller. Is that even possible?

Needless to say, any part of me that wasn't completely desperate for him before that just kind of shriveled up and died.

I jerked my head around and hid my face behind my textbook, really, really hoping he hadn't seen me ogling at him.

Him and one of his buddies, two hulk-lie figures, walked into the room. He had to duck his head to fit into the door frame. He silently walked in, sat down at one of the desks, and brought out a textbook that looked like a child's cardboard picture book in his hand.

Not unusual, right? That's what you were supposed to do. Sit down quietly, get to work. But the fact that he did this disturbed me so much that I had to bring down my textbook to stare at him again.

Seth never did that. He and his friends would laugh and joke around loudly until one of the teachers, smelling of cigarette smoke, would come in from the teacher's lounge and tell them to hush. Even then he never actually did any work— paper airplanes, thrown pencils, things that they would snicker over. That was the Seth I was used to—happy, cheerful, laughing all the time.

Of course, I had never actually talked to him, but I have had a hard-core crush on him for two years. After two years of silent observing, and you can really get to feel like you know someone.

But when I looked at him this time, he was definitely different. His eyes were dark, eyebrows drawn down, jaw seemingly more hard-set. He was glaring down at his textbook like it had done him some horrible wrong. Gone was the happy, boyish look to his face that I had loved. It made me sad.

What happened to you, Seth?

Three hours later, it was the last period of the day, and I was still thinking about him. The teacher was droning on about some formula for triangles that I would never use again in my life, so it wasn't hard to let my mind wander.

Had somebody died?

Was he really sick or something?

Was he on drugs or something? Seriously, how can someone get that muscled in two and a half weeks? Not that I was complaining or anything…

Stop it, Bailey. You are overreacting, and he's perfectly fine.

I had seen some of the other girls here already staring at him as he had walked into the cafeteria, and I was worried how intensely jealous it made me.

My stream of irrational thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of a cell phone.

Ooh, I thought, already feeling bad for that person. Whoever that was was gonna get it from the teacher.

Just last week we had an assemble about how being on your cell phones during school hours would not be tolerated (Who cares? We have less then two more weeks of school left for crying out loud). Probably one of those annoying snobby girls who put their textbooks up and texted behind it so that the teach-

Wait.

That was me.

God? You there? Help me.

Many a four-letter word that I will not repeat ran through my mind right then.

Everybody was staring at me.

I was gonna puke.

brriiiiiiinnng

The only part of my brain that was rational right now finally kicked in. Turn it off, turn it off, TURNITOFFYOUIDIOT.

I fumbled getting it out of my pocket, my blood boiling with embarrassment and horror. I was about to slam on the red "end call" button, smashing the traitorous machine if I had to.

But then I saw the caller ID.

It was Ian.

The last time Ian had called…

Oh God, now I really was going to throw up.

I was paralyzed. There was something stuck in my throat. I floundered around like a fish for about five seconds, looking down at the floor, trying to get some kind of explanation out of my mouth. I made the mistake of looking up again and everybody was looking at me and the teacher was glaring murderously at me and I tried to get something, anything, out of my mouth, but I couldn't. I couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, couldn't do anything but sit there and curse at my step-dad in my mind for doing this to me.

Actually, I take that back. There was one more thing I could do, which I did promptly once I realized that there was no way this could end well.

I set my eyes on the door, not looking at anything else, and bolted. All out sprint straight to the girl's bathroom, where I locked myself in one of the stalls.

"Ian? Are you okay?"