Imagine having no secrets. Depending on your point of view, this could be a good thing, or a bad thing. It could be helpful. Or…

It could ruin your life.

Derek takes a breath and looks them in the eyes.

Now imagine being in his shoes, he says. He has to tell them all about his personal life. His secrets, his innermost desires and urges, all of the confusion is being laid out bare for them to examine.

We have no choice, they say. This is one of those situations where we need to know.

Derek looks down at his hands in a rare show of giving in. It doesn't have to be like that and they know it. They're just too curious for their own good. But all he's saying is…just keep that in mind when making judgments. Keep in mind that all of this is personal for him. In a lot of ways, it's sacred. This is him growing up. All he's asking for is respect. He just wants to tell his story and have things finally, finally be okay.

So he tells them this, and they agree.

Okay, they say. We respect you.

"We're in a bad state, but tonight, my love, it only gets worse."

He was sitting in his recliner on a rainy Sunday afternoon watching a hockey game when she thundered down the stairs screaming.

"Derek! Give me back my dream diary!" She stomped over the hardwood and the rug to stop in front of the television.

"Despite how you've completely alienated yourself at school, you're not invisible." He made a point of trying to see around her legs to watch the game. "As in move, Spacey. Now."

"Not until you tell me what you did with my dream diary!" She clenched her fist before her face broke into horror. "Wait – did you read it? Derek, please tell me you didn't read it!"

He sighed.

First off, there's something Casey should have known: she wasn't good at hiding her dream diary. He had already found it and read it and made copies for future use, in case something like that would be necessary, and he had already digested all the strange dreams she had about him and the random thoughts of Truman thrown in. He knew from her dream diary that she was nervous for graduation – already, yeah, and it was months away – and he knew that she wanted to kiss Truman, and he knew that she wanted to kiss him, and he knew that she was afraid of being alone. All of this was basic information.

What Derek really wanted to know was what she was going to do about these dreams. These wants. Was she going to act on them? Was she going to go out with Truman, or was she going to go around kissing people? Was she going to suffer a mental breakdown weeks before graduation and do something stupid to flunk and stay behind? No. No, the last one was ridiculous. If anything, that would be him. But he had to wonder.

He gave up on watching the game momentarily and threw his hands in the air.

"I don't have your stupid diary, now can you please leave me alone and go bother someone else?"

Casey bit her lip and rocked forwards and back.

"Are you lying? Because I would really, really, hate to find out that you were." He stared at her for a moment. He took in for the first time her tight black yoga pants, the thin gray t-shirt, the innocent face. He swallowed thickly.

"What would I want with your dreams?" he sneered. She furrowed her brow and looked taken aback for a moment. She hunched her shoulders and deflated.

"Derek…"

She crept forward and sat on the far side of the couch closest to him. She crossed her legs and looked at him from below her lashes, unconsciously playing with the waistband of her pants. He stared at her fingers, folding and re-folding the pink edge back, and he could have sworn he saw lacy white before she spoke and his eyes were drawn to her face.

"It's very important to me. And I swear to god, if you took it, I'm going to steal your jacket and put it through a wood chipper."

He blanched. She leaned forward on the arm rest to look him in the eyes, her own bold and laying him bare, and she raised a brow. "Got it?" she demanded.

He nodded. "If I see it I'll be sure to rip out all the pages and put them through a paper shredder."

She rolled her eyes. "Jerk."

"Princess," he muttered half-heartedly, carefully watching her go.

At school, he saw her talking to Truman by her locker. She looked flustered.

"What's up with them, D?" Sam asked. Derek looked over his shoulder to see Sam and Ralph watching the pair too.

"How should I know?" he scowled. Backtrack – if this was how he was trying to convince them he didn't have f…ew. Feelings for Casey, he was failing. "I mean, uh…why should I care?"

Sam gave him a look – the patented I'm-your-best-friend-and-I-know-better look – and Derek wanted to hit himself upside the head. So much for playing it cool.

"I think she might like him a little," Derek said lightly. He feigned indifference, looking to his right to watch a group of girls at the water fountain.

"Oh," Sam breathed. He understood, Derek knew.

"Who, the guy from France?" Ralph asked. Sam and Derek shook their heads, identical smiles they saved only for Ralph gracing their lips.

"Truman, yeah," Sam said.

"I don't get it."

"What is there to not get, Ralph? Boy likes girl. Boy pursues girl. Girl likes boy. Girl and boy get together. The end."

Ralph shook his head. "No, dude, I get that, but why would Casey like Truman? He was mean and lied to her about her rating."

Derek stilled. "Wait, what? Lied?"

He had known that a 6 and a half was shit for a girl like Casey. But why would Truman lie?

"If that's his way of getting somebody's attention, it's fucked up." Derek concluded. He saw Truman smile at Casey and her hesitant smile back, and he knew he was going to have to do something about that. He couldn't have her ending up with a dick.

Well…a dick of the Truman variety. Ha.

"Yeah, but D, look at what happened – he not only got her attention, but he got her to parade around in a hot little dress," Sam reminded him.

Derek took a moment to turn that over in his mind. It was true – Truman had bothered Casey, but attention was attention. And he had gotten her to look differently, meaning he had gotten to her. Isn't that what pissed him off in the first place…?

"I think I hate him," he finally said.

"We know, man. We know."

His jacket was missing. His mind immediately jumped to Casey, assuming she had followed through on her wood chipper threats. But he thought better of it and tried to go through where he had been that day. It couldn't be in the car, he had brought it inside with him. It wasn't in the wash. He didn't wash it. And it wasn't in his room, because he was in there. So…

"Casey!" he yelled. He heard a thud from her bedroom and the scrambled opening of a door. She burst into his room in a flurry of panic.

"Derek, what? What's wrong? Are you on fire?"

He gave her a blank look.

"Why the fuck would I be on fire. My jacket's missing and I know you have it, since you so obviously think I took your stupid diary. Which I've already read, by the way! And there is nothing so interesting in there that I would need to read it twice!" He stepped towards her. "I don't –"

"Wait, wait, wait. You've read it?"

"Yeah, I have, and that one about the fish tacos was really goddamn weird, Casey."

Her eyes widened. "I can't believe you! You – you – you privacy invader! You are the most vile, repulsive – "

"Repulsive? Repulsive? Ha!" he laughed. "If I'm so repulsive you wouldn't be kissing me in your dreams, now would you?"

She scoffed. "Dreams? Nightmares, Derek! I wouldn't kiss you if – if my life depended on it!"

"Oh, oh, Casey, don't get ahead of yourself. I wouldn't go that far."

She seethed, her teeth clenched and her hands curled into fists so tight her fingers were white. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" he murmured. She looked at him, chest heaving, and he stood to match her and she wasn't backing down, but it was okay. Because neither was he. "You'd kiss Truman, too."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Not you. Truman."

"Careful…it sounds a little like you're convincing yourself, not me."

She screamed.

"That's it! I have had it with this crap!" She lunged at him, and he caught her torso before they tumbled to the floor. He smiled a little despite her pounding fists on his chest, head, face, anywhere – because at least he could evoke something out of her. At least he could make her feel something. He was becoming such a pathetic pile of steaming hormones it was sickening.

When she actually began to hurt him, he grimaced and flipped them over, grabbing her wrists and pinning her body down.

"Not…fair," she struggled. He watched her silently. "Get OFF of me."

Huh. Just like before, only this time she was wearing more than a towel. He was beginning to notice a pattern with her.

He let go and rolled away. She stood quickly, watching him with fierce eyes before making a pissed noise and leaving his room.

But he still didn't have his jacket back. The kicker – he wasn't worried about it being put through a wood chipper. He was far too engrossed in the memory of her in his hands to even think about jackets or diaries.

"Derek!"

"Hm?" The boy in question turned his body to look down the hallway and found Truman waving him down. "Ugh…just what I need." Monday mornings at school were not his forte. A little dose of Truman would only make things worse.

Truman's black head bobbed into view, his ever-present cheeky smile only serving to grate on Derek's already frazzled nerves.

"Can I help you?"

Truman blinked. The smile didn't falter.

"Yeah. I had a question to ask about Casey, actually." He held a hand out in what, to him, must have seemed like a gesture of friendship. To Derek, it looked like an open invitation to get a roundhouse kick in the face. He was already walking away by the time he opened his mouth to speak.

"Then you should probably find her and ask her, yeah?"

Truman hurried after him. "Derek! Wait."

He paused in his dramatic exit to pivot. "Dude, I can't help you. If you want to know something about her you should go ask Emily. I know as much about Casey as I know about…about algebra." Lies lies lies. "And let me tell you, my math grades are not exactly up to par."

Truman put a hand on Derek's shoulder. He eyed the offending fingers for a moment before turning his stony gaze back up to the boy's face.

"Don't be like that, Derek. We're all friends here. And I know that you and Casey have an…interesting relationship, so to speak, and since you live with her – "

That's right. Derek lived with her. He was already above Truman in her life on so many levels. Ha!

" – know so much. I mean, you see her on a daily basis. So tell me…"

He paused, giving Derek a second to raise his eyebrows in annoyance. "Yeah?"

"…What is her favorite kind of flowers?"

Silence. Derek blinked.

"Dude. What? Is that a joke?"

Truman shook his head. "You see, I'm picking her up for a date on Friday, and I wanted to bring her flowers. I just didn't know the right kind to bring. So I figured I'd ask you! Good call, right?" He laughed, and a normal person would have paired the chuckle with his smile and deemed him as charming. But Derek knew better. Underneath all the bravado, Truman was just a pathetic little boy who knew nothing about anything. He was a loser parading around like the football captain. And Derek knew Max, which said something about how lame that specific persona was.

"Get her lilies," Derek finally said. Truman was obviously not expecting an answer, because his smile fell for a second. But, in mere moments, it was back, vibrant as ever. And he was inclining his head at Derek like he had won something, proud in his own little games.

"And you know…she said something about not wearing navy…which I don't understand. Do you…?"

"Truman, I don't pretend to understand what the hell goes on in her head. So I really have no idea." Lies lies lies…

"Well…alright. Thanks, man. See you around!"

When he left, Derek unclenched his fist and smoothed out an eyebrow. He regained his composure. He was cool. And he was laughing a little, because Casey hated lilies. And she always told the boy to never wear navy on the first date, because she always wore a little black skirt, and there was something about 'blavy' that she hated.

Derek watched Truman turn the corner at the end of the hallway and frowned. "Alright. I know I hate him."

Casey was getting ready for her date. Derek knew this from the unfamiliar techno music she always played right before. He realized that it was partly because she was getting in the right mood to go out, to 'party', but he also understood that it was meant to get her in the right mindset to become something she wasn't used to. Just like every other boy, she was preparing to mold exactly to what they needed. He knew that if he didn't do something about Truman, she would become one of those girls that snuck boys in through their windows after midnight to have sex.

And he appreciated those girls, he did, but he didn't want Casey to become that. Because she would regret it later, he knew, and because she wouldn't be with him. Or…if he wanted to lie to himself, he could say that he was protecting her from somebody he didn't think was good enough. Or…something. Something equally brotherly. Some other bullshit.

But as it was, he needed to put a stop to her romantic inclinations towards Truman French. He was bad news. And Casey knew better.

He didn't bother knocking on her door, but he opened it with an audible click and pushed his way in.

He found her sitting at her vanity in the predicted black skirt – ha, he knew her so well, he was the man – and applying a strange silver eyeshadow.

"Going for the drag queen look, I see."

She glared at him in the mirror. "Why are you here? Get out if you're going to be mean. Seriously."

He ignored her comment and sat on the bed, leaning back onto a pillow. He felt a hard corner press into his neck uncomfortably and frowned.

"Do you need something?" she continued. "Because – "

"Is this your stupid diary?" Derek held up the offending square book, which had only moments before been hidden under the pillow, and shook it. "Is this where it's been all along? And you thought it was me that took it. Honestly, Casey…"

She was quiet. "Oops?" she offered. He threw it at her. She fumbled with it before it fell to the floor. "You didn't have to throw it, Derek."

"Did you know it was there all along? Did you just take my jacket for no reason? What is your problem, Casey?"

She stood and he stood, matching her. He was taller. That was new.

"Did you know where it was this whole time?" he demanded.

She shook her head, eyes betraying the lie. "Not really, no, I didn't…"

"You're a shitty liar. So what the hell."

"I just…I don't know."

He watched her carefully. "Did you just want to cause a problem with me? Is there a reason you made things difficult?"

She put her hands up in defense. "God, no, okay! I didn't do it on purpose! I just – "

"You just what? You couldn't deny such a perfect opportunity to create more tension between us? I can see how appealing that is, I really can," he scoffed.

She shook her head. "No, dammit! This is not one of those Louis Friend situations. Nothing is happening."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Louis Friend…?"

She stomped her foot. "Of course you wouldn't get that reference, who am I kidding? It's from Silence of the Lambs. It's an anagram for Iron Sulfide, more commonly known as 'Fool's Gold'. As in whatever you think you're getting at is crap, because it's not real. So get over it."

Funny she would say that, because he wasn't getting at that at all. She was obviously thinking he was hinting at sexual tension when really all he was referring to was bad blood. Interesting.

He clapped slowly. "Way to go. You have not only told me that something we both know to be true is bullshit, but you've managed to poke fun at the fact that I don't understand vague movie references from twenty years ago. You showed me, Case. Kudos, props, take whatever you want…because you got me."

"Shut up."

"Well isn't that just your answer for everything, nowadays? I think you're just scared of something you can't control."

"No, Derek. Stop. Shut up."

He advanced towards her. "There it is again…does that bother you? The fact that you have no control? Just face it. Just…let…go."

She shook her head in a sudden onslaught of panic. "No, no, no, no, no – it doesn't bother me – just stop – "

He pressed against her chest, her back flush against the wall.

"You pretend to be a good little girl, when inside, I know there's something bad just itching to get out," he whispered in her ear.

His nose trailed from her temple down her cheekbone to her neck. He kissed her collarbone slowly, lips working their way over the delicate skin to tease the corners of her lips. Her breathing was ragged to his overactive senses, and he shuddered out a breath as his hand found its way under her shirt to move slowly over the soft skin of her stomach.

"Derek," she breathed. She was soundlessly lifted off the floor as her legs wrapped around his hips, and he could feel her through his pants, and he knew she could feel him through the thin cotton of her panties, and at that exact moment, he would have given anything in the entire world for her to just give in.

But this was Casey. And Casey was never one to just let things happen. So instead, she pushed against him, and he opened his hazy eyes to watch the indecision flash over her eyes. And that was all he needed to let her go. Her feet hit the floor with a thud that seemed to match the sound of his hope flying out the window. He sighed.

"Just accept it," he mumbled. He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. When he pulled away she brought a hand up to feel the spot.

"Truman will probably be here soon," he said lightly. And he left her room, left her standing in the corner with her skirt rumpled and her eyes blank and lost in struggle.

And he knew she was finally beginning to get it, too.

The good part, he tells them, is that he got his jacket back.

The bad part…she lost a little bit of herself.

But they would both win in the end…right? So it was okay.

Right?

They have no idea. But he already knows. A clock ticks away from somewhere in the room, matching the flurried beat of his heart.

Tick-tock. They'll find out soon enough.

Disclaimer: Music belongs to Steven Strait. I don't own any copyrighted materials.