So sorry for the late update. I had major blankage going on and everything I typed would sound wrong. So I'd backspace and start again. And so on and so forth. Plus I'm trying to revive my first story, which I have so terribly neglected.

It is a strange predicament I find myself in whenever he comes here. To my house.

I can tell he does not want to be here. He never really does. But our parents meet often and that means we have to accompany them.

And he can be so charming around the parents. So sickeningly charming. He actually smiles when he speaks at the table. Though nobody notices that the smile is a forced one and that he only really talks to me when he has to. We just stare at each other the whole meal, only looking down every once in a while at our food and when our parents acknowledge us. That is how it has always been.

And then they send us to the parlor or outside or wherever so they can talk and we can play. But since we are older we do not really play anymore. We never use to play with each other. We would just play in separate corners of the room with whatever toys were there, consistently looking over at each other to see what the other was doing; if they were having more fun, as silly as is sounds.

Now we watch television on opposite sides of the couch. Or if we are at his house he would sometimes have one—or more—friend come over to entertain him. I would just sit, half watching the program, half listening to the boys' conversation. But we are at my house now, so it is just the two of us sitting in the front room watching random television shows.

There is usually thick air between the two of us when we have to spend this time together, but none of the other visits are like this one. There is so much tension in the air that trying to cut it would be like trying to cut a brick with a butter knife. Useless.

Twice today I almost told him about Liang coming over and dishing out that pathetically futile apology. But Liang probably had no intention of letting him know he was going to do something as feeble as apologizing. But I should not care what he intended to do. Every time I think about him I just get so upset. I just want to grab a hold of his shoulders and shake some sense into him.

I glance to the side to see him looking at me strangely. I feel my face go flat and I realize I had been showing my thoughts on my face for him to see. I look away, embarrassed and wait until I no longer feel his eyes on me.

Twice today I almost told him about Liang coming over and dishing out that pathetically futile apology. Five times today I almost made an effort to start a casual conversation with him about school or television. Three times today I almost asked why he hates Dre so much. Seven times today I almost asked how Kung Fu practice is going. He sneezed twice today. I almost said bless you both times. Not like he would have thanked me anyway. And about a million times I've snuck small glances at his still form.

But the anxiety is killing me in a slow and painful way. And the sound of nothingness is buzzing so loudly in my ear, even with the volume of the television at a pretty good level. I cannot concentrate with so much…nothing. And when I sneak my million-and-first peak at him, he still looks so composed and blasé. So calm. Slouching down in the couch, with his arm on the rest and legs parted comfortably, his eyes half-lidded in what is either boredom or sleepy. And I am sitting here, crushed against the far end of the couch, legs crossed, hands folded stiffly in my lap.

And I have to do something. I have to say something. Somebody has to.

So I look at him again and—

ooo

"Cheng?"

It just kind of comes out without any thought of what is next.

He turns his head slightly towards me, but keeps his eyes glued to the television screen. That means he is listening. But I stay quiet because I do not really know what to say. I just needed to break the silence in my head.

After a while, he turns to look fully at me expectantly.

"Well, how is, uh, practice going?" I blurt out. Seven times today I almost asked how Kung Fu practice is going. I guess it only took the eighth time.

As expected, he stares at me for a while blankly before his expression shifts to one of slight surprise. Whether it is because I sounded genuinely interested in his training or because I had the will to even ask in the first place is unknown to me. Then he turns back toward the television.

"Okay." he murmurs when he is looking at the screen. And I smile a little smile to myself, at least a bit content that he decided to answer. Though I half expected him to go into detail. I do not know why. I should not really expect anything from him.

ooo

Dao-Ming showed up a little earlier today. She said she was sorry for getting upset about nothing. Well she didn't really say it was nothing, but, she might as well have. Because it kind of was for nothing. But she still asked what Liang wanted when he came over.

I told her he came over to make me mad. Because, well, he kind of did. But she still asked why, so I ended up telling her what happened. She asked why I called him a jerk and I told her because he was acting like one. She asked why I did not accept the apology and I told her because it was not real. She asked how it was fake and I told her it made no sense. She asked if I was still mad at him and I told her I did not know.

Then she asked if his being mad at me meant he was also not talking to her.

I told her most likely. And so now she is upset with me again.

ooo

Just as predicted, Liang has not talked or nodded at me today at all. He barely even looked at me; and when he would, he would grimace deeply and look away quickly. At least I was acknowledged by him though. At least he cares enough to be angry with me and send heated, though fleeting, looks my way when he does decide to spare me a glance.

Cheng, for whatever reason, seems annoyed with me. Well, he never really seems too pleased with me, but today he just seems mad. In class and at lunch, I could practically feel the irritation radiating off him like heat from a clothing iron. But unlike Liang, he is not giving me evil glares. He is not even looking at me; and that is how I can tell he is aggravated. He just acts like I am not even there.

And since Dao-Ming is also somewhat upset with me, we only murmur our hellos to each other. This will pass tomorrow. Or maybe even as soon as later on today. But I have Dre—and occasionally Harry—to talk to. I only saw him at the beginning of school and in between a couple of classes since I had practice at lunch, but that was fine.

ooo

And so now school is over for today and I hope things are better tomorrow. I do not think I have violin practice tomorrow at lunch. So I need to go home and practice a little. I have to get straight to it; Cheng has Kung Fu practice today. And as much as I hate admitting to myself that I love watching it, my desire to protect my dignity dulls down quite rapidly.

I wave goodbye to a couple of friends before heading out of the classroom. I hear my name called and stop to chat a little with some of the students in my class. It is not long before I hear whispers begin to arise behind me. I turn around and see a small crowd gathering. I roll my eyes when I hear the sound of Zhuang's voice rise above everyone else. So now it is obvious that this is their doing.

And then it hits me that it might be Dre in the middle of that mass. So I rush over to them. Penetrating the little mob is not all that difficult, and when I do reach the center, I am surprised—but thoroughly relieved—to see that the kid opposite Cheng is not Dre. But it is another American. We have lots of foreign exchange students.

I spot Liang on the other side of the duo at the same time as he spots me. He glares at me, and then starts cheering Cheng on in a loud voice. I know he was not encouraging this with so much enthusiasm prior to my arrival. And I know he is trying to get to me.

I hear a shrill and obnoxious whoop right in my ear causing my hand to automatically fly up and cover it. I turn to my left in annoyance at Zhuang. He takes a while to notice me, as I observe— in disturbance—the gleam in his eyes as he looks ahead. He looks happy, inspired even. This kid worries me. Then he looks at me and his beaming face gets brighter.

"Stupid Americans don't learn, huh?" he says, nudging me in the arm as if I am going to agree with him. I give him another disturbed look.

"You have a serious problem," I tell him.

"That's what she said." He calls back, but I am not really sure why he is yelling when we are right next to each other. And I just look at him because though I have heard people say that, I have no clue what it is supposed to mean. Who is she?

Turning back toward Cheng, I am glad he is not really beating the kid up. He is just pushing him around and spitting insults at him; he is trying to embarrass him in front of everybody. And I know he loves the response the majority of the crowd is giving. Most of these people are just scared of him, and don't want to be the next person in the center with him. It really is sad.

I work up all the nerve I can muster and start to march over to him and stop him, but Zhuang grabs my arm and pulls me back roughly. I glare at him and nurse my arm.

"Stay out of it," he commands, "he's not even messing with your precious American weakling right now."

"He needs to stop being such a bully," I mutter.

Cheng must have heard his obnoxiously loud talking because after shoving the boy into the other side of the crowd, he turns to the right to look at the two of us. He looks right at me for the first time today. And it is as if a weight is lifted off my shoulders.

He looks back at his 'opponent' again and sneers. "Go home," he shoos him off, "if you really want to continue this, do something to irritate me tomorrow." The boy only glares daringly at Cheng when he is sure that Cheng is no longer looking at him, but at me. The crowd begins to disperse slowly as Cheng takes a few steps toward me.

"We have practice today," he tells me, amusement evident in his cocky tone. Liang and Zhuang laugh (with Zhuang a little too loudly) as they all brush past me to leave. I stand there for a few seconds, my face a little red from embarrassment, even though that small comment probably meant nothing to anybody else around.

ooo

Dao-Ming and I are talking regularly again. She is never truly mad at me. I guess it is kind of a spur of the moment thing. And she really does like Liang. Almost to the point where it can get rather irritating and get in the way of things. She believes they are meant for each other. I think otherwise—and apparently so does Liang—and that she should wait for someone even more special. But I still support her.

Liang and I are not really seeing eye to eye at the moment, and so my thoughts of him are a bit lower than usual. And even with that being said, I am forever grateful that Dao-Ming sparked an interest in halfway sensible Liang and not Zhuang. Even Dao-Ming could not get me to put up with him. And yet there are still some people at our school who think he is just the cutest little thing. The 'cuteness' just is not there for me.

ooo

I was late to the Kung Fu practice today. I went overboard on violin practice, and then Dao-Ming called. I tried to be as subtle as possible about rushing her off the phone but I think she could tell. I do not want her to come to practice with me, ever. She would ruin the quiet—well my quiet, since anyone near the place could hear the continuous grunts and chants of the beginner boys in red outside on the field area and it is anything but quiet. She would most likely cause unneeded attention. And so my experience would be far less enjoyable.

Cheng has not looked at me since I have arrived today. I do not know if it is because he has not noticed my presence or if he just chooses not to acknowledge me. It is always nearly impossible to tell. And I do not know which I would rather it be, as silly as it sounds.

And when practice is nearing its end, my mind goes to war. I know I should probably get going right about now; nobody has shown any sign of spotting me, and it would be wise to keep it that way. But that's just the thing: I feel as though I want to be spotted. I want him to stare at me with those dark tunnels he has for eyes, and I want him to talk to me. He would probably say something rude or cocky, but half of me does not care. I just want him to say something to me. He has had some kind of an attitude with me, and has barely looked at me all day—just that once after school. He did tell me that they had practice today, so does that not mean he expected me to be here?

And yet that would be doing exactly what he expects of me. And with my dignity slowly deteriorating, I really should try preserving what is left of it.

But then the battle in my head is interrupted by a loud, demanding, "Hey!" and my head snaps up, my eyes leaving the dirt spot on the floor I had subconsciously been glaring at.

Master Li is staring me down. And thanks to that noisy bellow, the now scattered class has turned from their own conversations to look curiously at me. Zhuang lets out a loud, mocking laugh, but quickly shuts up when the Master sends him a look. Liang settles for a knowing smirk. Cheng is the only one not looking at me; instead, he is looking at Master Li.

Not really knowing what to say, I just stand there and look at the Master as well.

"Can I help you?" he asks in a voice that does not sound like he wants to help me at all.

I shake my head furiously and look at the floor.

"Well than what do you want?" he demands. "Little girls like you shouldn't be out spying on boys. Or did you come to learn Kung Fu?" He asked that last bit sardonically, like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

I shake my head again.

"Then what do you want?" he repeats with his voice a bit more firm and it scares me.

"N-nothing," even after clearing my throat and taking a breath to calm down, it still came out in a pathetic stutter. And Zhuang grunts a small laugh. "I was just leaving." And with that I swivel around and rapidly make my way away from the open door. I turn left to keep from being in his view and walk across the grass. I feel my face burning from humiliation and my eyes stinging from frustration, tears threatening to escape. But I suck them back up because I really should not make such a big deal out of this. I just hate being scolded—or almost scolded—in front of people. And I looked dumb in front of an entire advanced Kung Fu class. And Zhuang and Liang laughed at me. It's expected from Zhuang, but Liang is just mad at me. By now I wish he would stop being so angry. And Cheng. He didn't even bother to look at me. That upsets me more than if he had stared at me. And this confuses me.

By now I am jogging and I had not even realized it.

ooo

I had a strange dream last night.

It started out pretty uneventful actually. You know those dreams where you are just falling for most of the dream and you wake up before you have the chance to hit the ground? I had one of those. Well, I have been having dreams identical to that for awhile now. They are very consistent but not at all consecutive; I may skip a few nights before I dream that way again. It has become the regular.

But last night it was a little different. I started out in a slow, uneventful fall, as expected. But then everything started to pass me really fast and I began to fall faster and faster with so much force that I could feel the pressure weighing down on me like a sack of bricks had been place on my abdomen. And I began to panic, flailing my arms wildly and gasping heavily since I found I did not have the ability to scream.

And I woke up in a cold sweat six minutes before my alarm clock is scheduled to go off.

I do not know why it was so worrisome.

ooo

Stepping out of the car for school this morning, I feel groggy and like I have had little to no sleep. After murmuring a goodbye to my mother I reluctantly step out of the car, slowly bringing one leg out of the car at a time. Though stalling is useless because I still have to go to class. I close the door and my mother drives off, waving one more time. With a sigh, I make my way to the gate, down the short walkway, up the few stairs and through the open door, avoiding the shoving of other students. I do not see how they can be so happy and awake. But that is probably just because I feel the total opposite at the moment.

I hear Dao-Ming's voice call out my name before I see her. I turn my head just as she reaches me.

"Good morning!" she chirps gleefully.

"Good morning." My greeting is not exactly enthusiastic. But either she does not notice or is choosing to ignore it.

"Got violin practice at lunch today?" she asks as we walk to class. I shake my head no.

"Good," she smiles, "we can all eat together again."

I look at her. She sighs.

"Minus Liang," she mutters aversely. Then we part ways to head to our respective classrooms.

And thus the start of a long day.

ooo

I thought that the bleary feeling would go away, but I still feel like going home and curling up in bed and not getting up for several hours. And it seems the sky is matching my mood. It has been grey all day. It was harder to concentrate and staying awake was torture. Cheng does not seem so irritated with me today. We have shared glances with one another. Though his were blank and mine were groggy. It is not much, but it is what I am used to. Liang still seems irritated though. We caught each other's eyes. He just glared somewhat. I did not have the heart or the energy to reciprocate such hostility so instead I settled for a faint smile. He dropped the glare and looked away quickly. I could have laughed at the perplexity on his face. But I didn't have the energy.

ooo

By the time lunch rolls around, I feel a bit better, more awake and alert. My gray mood is lifting, but the sky is still looking a little dreary. I wonder if it is going to rain. I did not even notice the weather until well into my second class. I would have brought an umbrella. My mother was running late, and therefore, rushed the morning process considerably. She probably did not think about grabbing an umbrella for herself, let alone think to remind me to bring one.

I am the first to arrive at the lunchroom out of my small group, so I enter the short line for my lunch and then head to the table. Harry is next to come. He sets his trey down across from the spot to my right and smiles awkwardly. We do not usually speak all that much without Dre, so we just sit in a weird silence until Dre and Dao-Ming join us. Dao-Ming had to help Dre with his food, but he really seems to be trying harder with the chopsticks. He will get it soon. Dre takes the seat across from me, next to Harry and Dao-Ming sits next to me, across from Harry—in the opposite seats from where they were last time. I wonder if Dre did that purposefully,

We all exchange greetings. Dre has us laughing when he attempts to greet us in Chinese. His pronunciation is strange and a little off, but it is okay; we all get it.

I find myself watching the entrance. It is as if I am waiting for him to walk in. And when he finally does, I look back down at my food and try to join in the conversation at hand. But it is kind of hard to focus when his eyes are boring into me. And I do not feel like making an effort to ignore him so I look at him too. And I watch him as he walks with his tray to his table. And he watches me too, not really paying attention to whatever his friends are talking about. There are a bit more people with him today. They are not his other friends from Kung Fu—his other friends in that class are all older than the rest of us. They are a few others, some of them I recognize and some I do not. Liang looks at me next but it is blank, like he is debating on whether or to glower at me or not. So he just looks away.

I feel Dao-Ming's eyes on me. I glance at her and she gives me a wondering look. She looks at Liang and leans in to whisper, "Why's he looking at you like that?" She does not actually sound curious; she sounds disappointed. I just shrug because I do not feel like starting a useless bicker.

"They're looking at us, aren't they?" Dre asks, looking back and forth between Dao-Ming and I. I can tell he would rather not turn around. So Harry takes the liberty to look past Dre.

"Yup," he replies and purses his lips. Dre sighs, but looks to his right anyway. Cheng does not even glance at Dre. He just gives me one more blank look and then looks at his food. Zhuang, however looks at Dre. I can tell he is trying not to break into a grin; that would ruin the hard look he is giving Dre. Zhuang flinches threateningly at Dre and Dre's glare falters. Zhuang looks at Cheng, but is disappointed when Cheng does nothing.

ooo

It is not unusual to see The Cheng family more than once a week. So I do not know why I was slightly surprised when my mother told me that they would be joining us for dinner tonight. My father is running a little late at work, and would be here at about seven. So that is when we will have dinner. My mother told me to finish my homework and then come down to help prepare the food. It is not exactly my idea of a nice relaxing evening—especially with me sill feeling a little sluggish—but it is what it is.

Dao-Ming called about coming over but I told her I had plans.

I finished my homework and helped with dinner like I was told. I even got a little violin practice in after. It was a little after seven when Cheng and his family arrived. They were here before my father. So dinner would have to wait for a little while.

ooo

I watch my mother and Cheng's parents converse to keep myself from staring at Cheng, who is seated on the couch along with his mother and mine. His father is settled comfortably in the armchair and I am left with a seat on the smaller couch by myself. But my gaze slips to Cheng, who is staring at the carpet, his face void of any emotion.

My mother suddenly claps her hands together and says, "Oh, I forgot to set the table!" She excuses herself and rises to do so but I stand up as well.

"I will take care of it," I tell her in order to escape the room. My mother looks at me gratefully and reclaims her seat next to Cheng's mom.

"Why don't you help?" Cheng's mother looks at her son expectantly. It seems as more of an order than a mere suggestion, Cheng nods obediently and gets up from the couch. I somewhat freeze as Cheng walks past me and to the kitchen. The point of offering was to escape. But with a sigh, I follow as the parents obliviously regain their previous conversation.

Cheng is waiting for me near the table when I arrive, though I am not sure why because he should know where everything is located. So since it is apparent that he is not going to begin unless I do, I walk over to the cabinet and remove six white plates. I turn around and yelp as I nearly bump into Cheng, who has managed to quietly make his way right behind me. I look down at his awaiting hands, and then at his stoic face. We stare at each other for a while.

"Plates." He says simply. And I break out of my reverie and quickly shove the plates into his hands before turning back toward the cabinet to hide my red face. I wait until I hear his footsteps saunter away to the table before reaching for the glasses. I take them all out two at a time and set them on the counter. I shut the cabinet.

Cheng has set the plates and is already over at the drawer to gather the silverware. So I take the glasses to the table, having to make a second trip to get the last two.

"Sorry you have to help," I say lamely. He does not respond. He just halts his gathering and stares at the chopsticks. I know this by looking out of the corner of my eye as I set the glasses by the respective plates.

"Liang isn't mad at you," he murmurs out of the blue. I look up at him.

"What?"

He looks out the window above the counter in front of him.

"That kind of thing upsets you, right?" He asks. I just look at him blankly. And when I do not reply, he turns slowly from the window to look at me with those eyes. "When people are mad at you." He finishes slowly. He makes me sound over sensitive, the way he says that. Maybe I am.

"I was mad at him," I reply.

"Why?"

I am hesitant.

"He—" I stop to think and finger the rim of the glass in my hand, "He just said some things."

"About that boy." It is not a question. He just states it. And looks at me with blank, ebony tunnels. He looks down at the silverware in his hands. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. The he looks out the window again. It is quiet for a few seconds.

"Then why aren't you mad at me?" He inquires finally. And I feel his eyes on me as my finger pauses in its circular journey around the rim of the glass.

Because you are different.

And I almost say it too.

He finishes gathering the silverware and shuts the drawer. Then he slowly walks over to the table. He steps in front of me and sets the silverware down on the table. The clatter of the cutlery all hitting each other at the same time makes me flinch. He keeps his hands over the silverware and stares at me. I am forced to look up from the glass and at his face. This is the closest he has been to me in quite some time. I look away.

I do not know how to answer that. Not even to myself. So when I open my mouth, I begin to ramble, "Dre is not a bad person. He is really nice and funny and just wants to make friends. Maybe you could try to be understanding of his situation and— "

He snatches the glass out of my hand and slams it on the table, next to the last plate. He then grabs the silverware and proceeds to set them around the table. I feel the annoyance emitting off of him as he does so. I just stand there and look at the table. When he is done, he stops in front of me, though at a bit of a distance this time.

"I didn't talk to you to talk about the stupid boy." He states bitterly.

And as if on cue, I hear the rain I had been expecting all day begin to hit the ground outside.

It may have not been all that great, but I'd love a review.