A/N: I know Judd Nelson's eyes are brown... but... it's not gonna stop me from describing them as hazel.

I've also noticed I have a minor obsession with hands. My bad.

Last thing, I think I'm in love w Cardi B. Her music is great.

"Hi."

Andrew looked like he'd seen better days. Dark marks smeared his red cheeks and patches of wet spots were all over his clothes. He indicated to the empty space by Claire on the table bench and she scooted over.

"Hey," She said politely. "Where'd you come from?"

"Courts," Andrew said, rubbing his cheeks with the back of his hand. "I played some basketball with Steff. Then it turned into a football game with the others and some fourth graders. I'm beat."

"I bet! Did you win?"

"Every game. What about you?"

She swung her legs. "No games for me."

"I can tell. Still…" He jutted his chin to the backyard, where Jennifer and some of their friends ran around bare foot. "You should be there with them. We'll never see most of them again."

Claire wanted to; she really, really wanted to. Jennifer and the other girls looked like they were having the time of their lives. But there was no way. Her mom would have a cow if there was even a single speck of dirt on her new skirt.

Claire couldn't imagine what would happen to her if she ever found out about the things her and John did. Though, the thought of it made her smile.

"I'm gonna miss everyone." She said quietly, looking thoughtfully at all the kids she'd spent the last five years with.

"Yeah, me too," Andrew used the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. Claire held back a curl of disgust. Why were boys always so dirty? "So you're going to Maryville, right?"

Claire nodded, folding her hands on her lap. "My letter came in March."

"Okay, cool! I'll see you there." Andrew commented. His parents managed to get him into the sports program. Andrew was always good at that stuff. They moved over two months ago and were making the long drives here just so Andrew could finish. "What about the move? Did your parents finally get a place?"

For the last half a year, she'd been trying to put it out of her mind. Her parents wouldn't stop bickering about it, making it so unbelievably difficult to not think about it.

Dad had been packed and ready to go the day after Claire got her acceptance letter. He'd always wanted something closer to downtown Chicago. More business for him.

Mom, surprisingly, was the reluctant one. She was the one that organized all of their vacations. She said it was better to stay in Shermer for reasons Claire never caught. For once, Claire found herself picking a side.

"We're leaving a week before I start sixth grade," Claire shrugged, hoping she sounded nonchalant though she felt like crying. "Leo's going to Stanford the week before."

"No way."

Claire nodded. "He wants to be some kind of engineer but it's so much school… I won't be able to see him a lot."

"Don't worry," Andrew noticed the shift in her demeanor and brushed her shoulder with his, comforting in his own way. "You'll see him again. Maybe he'll come home for the holidays. You never know."

"I don't blame him if he doesn't." Claire muttered. Andrew didn't catch her comment and she was grateful. She was honestly tired of talking about it. "Hey, did you sign my yearbook?"

"Not sure. Honestly, I've lost track of how many I've signed. Everyone keeps shoving them in my face." Andrew shrugged. "I put the same thing all the time."

Claire smiled. "Doesn't matter. I'll go get it."

The classroom was a couple of buildings down, towards the entrance of the school. It was a long walk but she didn't care. She needed a reason to get away from the ringing laughter of her friends. Being there was becoming too much and the grey walls were somehow more comforting than talking.

Claire froze when she peeked into her classroom. The room looked like a tornado had run through. Cabinets were open, contents spilling from the inside; desks were emptied out, textbooks and folders sprawled across the floor. The culprit sprinted across the room with a stride that could rival a cheetah's.

"John!" Keeping her voice to a low was hard when all she wanted to do was scream. "What're you doing?"

John didn't even stop. It's like he knew before she even arrived. He pulled open the drawer of the teacher's desk, throwing the papers in the air. "Redecorating."

"This isn't even your classroom!"

"…So?" He countered with a face. John flicked some of his hair out of his eyes, going back to his task. "I already did this to mine. And keep your voice down, it's blowing my concentration."

Claire threw her hands up. "Do you know how much trouble you'll get in if they find out?"

For a split second, John looked wary and actually stopped. "You gonna tell? You'd sell me out like that?"

"No, of course not! You know I'd never!"

He turned to face the wall of lockers directly behind the teacher's desk. "Then I don't got anything to worry about."

"But this is still wrong!"

"They should've locked the door," He interrupted smoothly. "It was begging me to come in."

Claire rolled her eyes. What was with this boy? Only he could drive her so crazy.

"The better question is:" John continued. "What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be outside with your friends?"

Claire looked side to side, making sure the coast was clear before stepping in the cold classroom. Out of all the desks, hers was spared from his wrath—not that he'd have anything to throw since Claire had cleaned out hers last week.

"I just came to get my yearbook," She made sure it was still inside her bag the way she left it, then zipped it up. She hooked her shoulder under the strap. "Andy hasn't signed it yet."

John scowled and Claire knew it wasn't at what he was doing. If destroying school property were a sport, he'd be an international sensation. He'd been suspended from school a few times already. How he managed to pass even with all his absences and suspensions, Claire would never know.

"What was that for?"

He fumbled with the combination to the teacher's wall locker behind the desk. "You know I don't like Sporto."

"You guys should really get over it," Claire chided, repeating Andrew's earlier words. "You'll probably never see each other again."

"Let me know when he does first." John huffed, patting down the pockets of his jacket and pants.

Claire sighed exasperatedly, letting him be. School wasn't going to let out for another hour and a half. She thought about reading her yearbook while everyone played. It might provide the distraction she needed. The more she thought, the more she realized it'd make everything harder.

Leaving this town never crossed her mind until mom talked to her about private. She thought she'd be here forever, with all her friends… and him.

Claire heard something click, snapping her out of her thoughts. But it wasn't the lock that opened. She whirled her head in the direction, the blade gleaming under the lights.

"John, don't—"

John ignored her, slipping the very tip of the blade into the keyhole. How and why did he still have that thing? Didn't they confiscate it years ago? Groaning internally, Claire realized he must've found it sometime today while everyone was away, even the teachers.

Claire rushed over, afraid he'd cut himself with just how much he was twisting and turning it. "Stop it!"

"Stop yelling," John said eerily calm through grit teeth. "I know what I'm doing. You gotta have faith in me."

"You should—"

"Claire," He said so unbelievably gently. "Relax."

Things had changed between them, something Claire didn't want to admit. It was another bulletin on the list of things she'd been trying not to think about. She didn't know what exactly happened.

One day, they'd been walking side by side to the ice cream stand down the street from her house. She turned to say something to him and just stopped, at a loss. He'd gotten taller. They'd always been the same height until that very moment. How did she never notice?

And when he was being mischievous—like right now—a faint emerald twinkled against the honey brown color of his eyes. And he had such nice dark lashes. She always knew he had pretty eyes but she never knew them to be so dangerous to her heart.

John's eyes flicked from her face to somewhere behind her. With his free hand, he reached up and plucked out one of her bobby pins.

Claire didn't have time to stop him, only to clutch her dismantled bun. "Hey! My—"

He stretched the pin with his teeth then put it in his mouth, chewing. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Your hair took forever. But you're gonna be fixin' it all day 'til you get to the studio. You always do. It's not like you don't got thousands of 'em in your bag."

Claire pouted, letting her hair fall down. Her scalp still itched and her hair felt disgusting with all the hair spray, but the looseness was a lot better. "You could've just asked for one, you know."

John shrugged, sticking the pin in the locks' keyhole and twisted around. "Your hair's nice when it's down."

Claire watched, intrigued as well as a little disturbed, as he maneuvered the pin then scowled when nothing happened. He retracted the blade, sticking it back in his pocket. He pulled out the pin and bit it again.

"How do you know all this?"

He stuck it in the keyhole, turning. "Rob."

Claire wondered if she'd ever actually meet Rob. She'd seen him a few times picking up John from school on his beat up bicycle. Though Rob was super tall and slim, they had the same chocolate hair color. Rob's was outrageously long, spilling past his shoulders. John's was still growing out, wisps beginning to touch his cheek.

But that was all Claire knew. Claire didn't know the person behind the name other than the little stuff John said here and there. She knew she'd never meet their parents. Claire didn't think she'd ever want to. They weren't good people.

"John," She shook her head, willing her mind away from more depressive thoughts. "This is not correct."

"Sue me." With another twist, it unlocked.

John grinned wickedly, thrusting the door open. Claire stepped aside as he rummaged through the shelves, throwing anything he could get his hands on.

"Jackpot!" He exclaimed, pulling something in particular out from the stack of folders on the floor of the locker, holding it out in front of him. "I knew this son of a bitch had my comics!"

"I didn't know you liked to read..."

"I don't." He said, flipping through the pages to show her all the colorful pictures before stuffing it inside his jacket. "But it's not really reading, is it?"

Claire rolled her eyes, leaning against the cool wall. It was once filled with reports and projects but now it was a ripped mess.

As John kept looking and opening the lockers, Claire thought she heard something. It didn't sound like it was coming from him. She heard it again, a little louder. Dress shoes were tapping against concrete, and it was coming from somewhere in the hall. What's worse was that it sounded like whoever was coming this way.

"John," She whispered closely, tugging on his sleeve impatiently. "I think—"

"Yeah, I know." He grabbed her hand, leading her out the back door.

She'd miss stupid things like this.

If it weren't for the situation, John's laugh would've sent her feelings spiraling further down. It was rare when he smiled, much less that she made him laugh enough to show his dimples.

Claire huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "This is so not funny."

"Don't be such a baby, Cherry," John cradled the kitten on one arm like holding a football. "It's not my fault she likes me more than you."

"But I wanna hold her!"

He pushed her hand away. "You'll hold her all the time when you're gone. She's your cat. Let me get a minute."

Claire bit her lip. Everything inside her was a mess, jumbled and ready to burst. But Claire wouldn't cry about it. Crying wasn't a solution for something like this. She had to stop it. She was becoming a teenager, and big girls didn't cry.

The moving date was less than a month away now. Her summer had been divided between friends and ballet. She was supposed to start camp but Claire didn't want to. Leonardo would be gone by the time she came back and she didn't want to miss it. She guessed that was the right excuse mom needed to hear.

She figured mom was in a good mood so Claire tried talking to her about all her feelings. After all, she was always told talking helped. Mom's solution, though? She found more reasons to fight with dad, putting Claire in the middle of their war—which solved nothing.

So Claire told John about it. Again. He'd being hearing the brunt of all her complaints the last few months. And if he was sad about her leaving, he never let it slip. He actually had a solution to her problem, too.

He brought her a cat. She'd always wanted a cat.

"You name her."

"Nah," He tickled her belly with his finger though the kitten was fast asleep on his forearm. Her paw twitched. "She's yours."

"And I'm telling you to name her," Claire insisted. "You found her."

Everything about him was hard. Tan skin and sharp, intimidating eyes combined with a tongue full of insults. He wanted everyone to believe he was so detached from this world. It protected him when it couldn't protect him at home.

But the way he looked at this helpless, little kitten was so tender that Claire rethought everything she knew about him. She should've known better by now—known him way better by now. He felt like he needed to hide his frail heart.

Finally, John said, "Laureline."

Claire tilted her head to the side. "That's a pretty name. It sounds French. How'd you come up with it?

"I didn't."

"So where'd it come from?"

John's lip curled. "She's from the comics I read. That's not funny, Claire."

Smiling, she touched the small space of Laureline's head. She purred like a machine, slightly moving to curl further into him. "I hope they let me keep her."

"They will," He said confidently. "Long as you ask Georgie first."

Claire sighed against the muffled yelling from the hallway. "I'm tired of my parents fighting."

"Join the club."

She peeked at him, still staring down at Laureline. "How's your hand?"

"Better." He replied gruffly, not wanting to continue.

Ever since that night, John still kept trying to hide things from her and she still kept pulling his teeth about it. He was right when he told her all those years ago that somethings were better left unsaid. Claire still needed to know—even if she couldn't stomach it. Even if it made her sad.

Even if he hated telling her.

She slipped off his fingerless glove, careful not to move his arm too much for Laureline's sake. From the nightstand, Claire grabbed the scissors and carefully cut apart the bandage she'd wrapped around his hand a few days ago.

A jagged stream of flesh across his palm remained. Stitching it had been so disgusting, she really thought she'd throw up watching John do it. Placing his hand on her lap, she traced it with her thumbs. He'd managed to block his face from his dad's slash—but not without the mark. He always left a mark.

She wished it would all go away. After cleaning the cigar burn, he let her put coconut oil on it for a few days at a time. But it didn't work. Every time he lifted his sleeve, it was still there. John didn't deserve for his body to be full of reminders.

There had to be something, something she could give him... Something that didn't bring him misery. Something that was good.

"I wish you didn't have to go."

John was looking at their hands too—that same look that he gave Laureline. Claire felt her heart would explode into a million, tiny pieces. She couldn't think of any time when he'd been so open with her the same way she'd always been honest with him.

Any other time, it would've made her happy. But not now.

"Afraid you'll miss me?"

"Nah," He replied equally smug, all of that softness from before gone. "Just wondering how you'll get by without me. It's a tough world out there."

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "I'll miss you, too."

Jennifer called last night. They stayed on the phone for hours while John was knocked out with Laureline curled in a ball by his head.

She was going to Maryville, too. That made her mood lift ever so slightly. Claire liked having one more friend with her. She felt a little less scared of stepping into the unknown.

But that didn't stop her from leaving the one person behind she really wanted there with her. Nobody else could compare to him.

"Laureline," Claire whined, reaching for her again. "Come on!"

She hissed from John's shoulders, back arched and her pearl colored coat stuck up like needles. Claire groaned, backing off. How was it that he managed to find a cat whose moodiness was on par with theirs?

John tried not to grin. Cradling her in one hand, he gave her over to Claire. "Be gentle, Claire. She's sensitive."

Claire pouted, grabbing her carefully with two hands. Thankfully, Laureline didn't hiss or squirm in Claire's hold. All she did was yowl in protest.

Her coat was as soft as a bunny's. Laureline's crystal eyes against her brown face were like a newborn baby's. Ragdoll cats were supposed to be friendly. How could something that looked so small and angelic actually be a demon?

Laureline already chewed up her favorite bracelets and some of her toys were ripped at the seams. The bottom of her bed post had scratches all over, white paint peeling from the wood. Claire was getting a new set and a bigger bed for her new room but that didn't change anything. Taking care of a cat wasn't anything like she imagined. It was work.

And Claire didn't like this feeling—didn't like that she was the one responsible for taking Laureline away from John. He'd never say it but he loved her and she adored him. They were a match made in heaven. It'd taken Claire years just to get one smile that this kitten got a thousand times in a span of a few minutes just for rolling on her back and vying for his attention.

Laureline was something good in his life, and he couldn't keep her.

"I wish you could keep her. She likes you way more than me."

John shrugged, hands in his pockets. "She'll come to like ya. Everyone does."

"George!" Debra yelled restlessly from the rolled down window in the passenger seat of their BMW. "Can we please get a move on? Sometime today would be nice? We're already fifteen minutes behind schedule!"

Her father walked out the door promptly after, another pile of boxes in his arms. He mumbled something that Claire didn't hear but John thought it was funny. There was still space in her backseat but Claire didn't think those would fit because Leonardo always took up a lot of space with the way he sat.

Then she remembered Leonardo wasn't with them anymore. He was gone, safely in his apartment a block away from Stanford's campus. He would start his classes the week after Claire started school.

"Claire," Mom started as dad popped open the trunk. "Are you sure you didn't forget anything? Everything we need for the cat is with us, right? Your China dolls are all safely put away in boxes like I told you?"

"Yes, mom!" Claire cradled Laureline, looking up at John. "Are you sure you don't want a ride home? You know dad wouldn't mind."

John glanced at the car, eyeing her mom. He must've not liked whatever look Debra gave him so he turned back to Claire with a raised brow. "What do you think? As much as I enjoy your mom's swell company I know she doesn't like mine."

"That's never bothered you before."

"It doesn't," He said nonchalantly. "It bothers you."

Claire sighed, looking down at their feet.

He'd been wearing the same soiled converse ever since the last few months of the third grade. They were Rob's old shoes and John had actually been happy to get something new. He wouldn't shut up about it for days.

George slamming the trunk almost made Claire jump. "It's time to go, honey."

"Be there soon!" She called back.

He regarded John affectionately—almost like his second son. Leonardo looked to him almost like a little brother, too. He actually pulled him into a hug the day he left and Claire thought it was hilarious. John was so mortified.

"Goodbye, John."

His face was unreadable but those big, hazel eyes betrayed everything he worked to put up. George probably didn't notice due to the distance. "It was nice knowing you, sir."

George gave a curt wave and climbed into the driver's seat. When the engine roared to life, everything came crashing down inside her.

Claire was out of time. There was nothing to think about anymore, nothing else to say—just do.

"Here." She gently placed Laureline on the floor.

Laureline actually didn't go straight towards him. Instead, she sat and waited by their feet.

John watched, confused, as Claire dismantled her earring from her ear. Dad bought these beautiful pair of solid diamond earrings for Christmas about a year after they met. She remembered John complimenting them and thought it was really strange for a boy to say that.

But this particular boy came from nothing. He had absolutely nothing valuable other than his sense of freedom—the one thing Claire didn't have. There was nothing weird about his comment at all. And he was wrong when he said that they'd never even be friends.

They always had a peculiar friendship but it was something she'd gotten used to. And he did, too, after some time. Where one lacked, the other made up for.

And now Claire was leaving and felt like she was being torn to bits like a paper shredder.

She picked his hand out from his pocket, holding it in front of them. She'd been holding his hand lately in some way. He never protested so she thought it was okay. Uncurling his fingers, Claire placed the diamond in his palm and closed his fingers around it with hers on top.

She wasn't sure if she could let him go and frankly, she didn't want to. If things went her way, she'd stay in Shermer forever—as long as he was here, too. They'd always have fun together. Every day.

"Keep it." She said gave it a light squeeze then finally set him free along with her heart.

"Claire, I…" John caught himself, stunned. She couldn't see but she didn't have to. The way his mouth opened and closed was enough. "I can't keep this."

"It's yours now." She insisted. He'd gotten his ears pierced recently, he could use something to put in it aside from that lighting bolt earring. She added nonchalantly with a shrug, "It's not like my mom won't make my dad buy another pair when—"

She let out a sound when his arms went around her. One snaked around her waist and the other around her shoulders. His fingers easily slid through her hair. It felt so nice and unbelievable and she was honestly so glad her hair was down today. He'd never actually touched it before like this.

It wasn't until John squeezed her tighter against him that Claire realized she hadn't responded. Her arms hooked under his, fingers clutching the cotton of his flannel. He breathed slow and steady against her shoulder, some of warm exhales seeping into her skin.

Her eyes shut tightly. She was glad he was composed; anything less and she'd be rendered into a hysterical mess. She didn't want a repeat of that night. She didn't need it. There was no need for tears. She'd see him again, some day.

But when John said his goodbye, so thoughtful and honest, her resolve was hit with a bat and it took every ounce of her not to shatter.

"Thanks for everything, Claire."

A/N: Ya, I know. Y'all hate me but he'll be back.