"I wish I could promise it'll be alright in the end. I can't. But we can make now alright. We have to." –Lori Grimes, The Walking Dead

Chapter 10: With You Around

All my life, I looked for you
For arms that I could fall into…

I'm right here, so don't get blue.
It's not just you, I need this too…

I was falling hard; you were barely hanging on.

Carlos has just finished conducting some "business" in the park when Lucy shows up. He had a feeling she'd come out here sooner or later. He just had to decide whether or not he wanted to stick around. Because he knows what she wants to talk about, what she wants to say to him but hasn't yet because she didn't want to hurt his feelings. His chest tightens as he counts the money in his hands, but he ignores the feeling and tucks the bills into his wallet. Lucy approaches silently, looking a little lost.

"Business is good," she comments, trying to find a way to start conversation.

"It always is during midterms," Carlos shrugs. "People get stressed out. Want to relax. Or the smart kids come around looking for stuff to keep them focused."

"I can't imagine any Logan-types coming around trying to find drugs."

"You'd be surprised," he replies. "The Logan-types are a significant market that can't be ignored."

"You sound like a business owner," Lucy snorts.

Carlos smiles and glances at her, watching the way she hugs her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, as if trying to protect herself from the rest of the world. She stares quietly into the distance, thinking about something, and knowing her, it could be anything. If pressed, Carlos would say he knows Lucy pretty well, but he's not delusional enough to think she's let him in on all of her secrets. He knows that she loves spicy Pad Thai and her favorite color is red (hence, her hair), that her favorite movie of all-time is The Breakfast Club, and that—when she's sober—she likes to listen to Kings of Leon before bed. But he couldn't tell you a thing about her childhood, or her what her family's like, other than her grandmother, who she loves more than anyone in the world. He couldn't tell you why she first picked up a razorblade and thought it would numb whatever pain she was going through, or how old she was when she smoked her first joint. But what he does know is that no matter what she says or how she acts, she needs help. And he's willing to give it to her, if she'll let him.

"So what's up?" Carlos asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you know you only come out here when you want to see me or have something to tell me. So, what's up?"

"I… I just—I don't know what I'm doing anymore," Lucy says. "Sometimes I think I can hold it together, and then something happens that makes me feel like all of it's pointless. Like nothing I do will ever be good enough."

"You want to talk about her, don't you?" He asks softly. "Lauren Murray."

"I don't know," Lucy whispers. "I don't even really want to think about her… but I have to. It feels wrong not to."

"We didn't kill her. You know that right? What she did… she did it. You need to stop blaming yourself," he tells her.

"I know we didn't kill her. I did. How can I not blame myself? It's my fault."

"Luce... I know you feel bad, but you can't put the whole thing on yourself. If anything, I'm just as responsible as you are. I was the one with the idea to go on the roof in the first place. And…"

"And what?"

Carlos looks down at her, watching her stare at the ground. "You gave her the drugs, sure. But did you really think I didn't realize where you got them from? Come on. I know I'm the only person you've bought from this year."

Lucy glances up and meets his gaze briefly but doesn't hold it. She chews on her bottom lip and tangles her fingers through her long hair, distressed. "Doesn't matter. That doesn't help. I still… I feel sick to my stomach all the time. I feel fucking terrible. I feel like shit. And I can't do anything except… feel it."

Carlos wraps an arm around her protectively, unable to think of anything helpful to say. She leans into him, grateful for the contact and looks up at him one more time. He's still watching her, and her heart starts beating fast when she sees that he's moving closer. He rests his forehead against hers, hesitating to make sure she wants this too. Her eyes flutter closed and she breathes in his scent, so he closes the distance between them and presses his lips to hers. She brings her hand up to his cheek, kissing him back, losing herself in the moment and getting caught up in the fact that she's supposed to be stopping this. She's supposed to quit going back and forth between Carlos and James.

But how? They make her head swim and they both make her feel worth something, they make her feel like she's wanted and loved, which isn't something she's felt very often in her eighteen years. Carlos makes her feel safe when she's with him, always has, like nothing can get to her and nothing matters. Like he could stop the world if she wanted him to. Not that she'd ever ask that of him, but the thought is nice. Comforting. But then there's James, who challenges her, makes her think, and helps her find strength from within. After all, it's because of him that she hasn't been cutting herself,even though it's really the only way she's ever known how to deal with pain, how to feel in control of something in her life.

So what is she supposed to do? She needs both of them—they're so similar yet so different that she can't imagine choosing one over the other, yet she knows that she can't go on like this for much longer. It's only a matter of time before she causes some sort of confrontation between them, and then everything will be ruined. Whether she chooses one or the other or neither, someone or all three of them will be hurt, and it'll affect not only them, but everyone else as well. She can't afford to let this get out of hand.

Unfortunately, she's running out of time.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," a voice calls out. He sounds casual, but when Lucy looks up she can see the thinly veiled hurt in his eyes. An instant later, he blinks and shakes his head, adopting his usual James Diamond swagger, and she can't even be sure she saw the look at all.

"Hey." Carlos and James bump their fists in greeting, and James takes a seat on the ground on the other side of Lucy, who mumbles a hello but avoids making eye contact.

She automatically reaches into her pocket for her cigarettes, lighting one up and inhaling the smoke. She lets it out slowly, careful not to blow it in anyone's face, before offering the pack out to the boys. Carlos takes one but James declines.

"What brings you out here?" Carlos asks, looking over Lucy's head to James.

"Camille caught me after school. She has to get home, but she asked me to bring you this." James pulls a small orange pill container from the pocket of his coat, handing it over to Carlos. "She said you could pay her later."

"Sweet. Thanks." Carlos tucks the bottle away and rests his arm back around Lucy's shoulders. She stiffens slightly and glances at James, who seems not to notice.

"It's cool about Jo, huh?" James comments. "I hope that dick goes to jail for what he did."

"He will," Carlos says optimistically. "He has to."

"I have to go," Lucy announces abruptly, shrugging Carlos' arm off of her. "See you guys tomorrow."

She doesn't offer further explanation; she just stands and brushes dirt off her jeans, stooping to pick up her bag and leaves the two boys in the park to stare after her as she heads for home. She can't sit there with them any longer, like everything is normal—like they're just three friends enjoying the day. There is nothing normal about her or her relationships with them, or even theirs with each other. It's too fucked up even to try to explain, and the thought of sitting there between them, knowing what she's doing to them, is too much.

"Something is seriously fucking her up," James says when she turns a corner. "I don't know what it is, but she's been a wreck ever since the Lauren Murray thing."

"She feels guilty," Carlos murmurs. "Because she—er, we—went up on the roof." He decides against telling him the real reason she feels so responsible, thinking that if she wants to share it with him, she'll do it on her own time.

"She tells you a lot." James can't stop the hint of jealousy from showing in his voice. He rips up a bit of grass from underneath his palm, just to have something to occupy his hands.

Carlos watches James for a minute before speaking again. "You like her." It isn't a question.

The taller boy freezes his motions. After a moment, he continues. "Yeah. And so do you."

Neither boy denies it.

"So what do we do about it?" Carlos asks. "It's not like we can both date her."

"That'd be weird. Even for us," James snorts. "But no. She has to choose for herself."

"We can't make it a competition, though," Carlos says seriously. "You—I like her, but… you're my best friend, you know. And I don't want whatever happens to come between us. I don't want us to end up hating each other."

"You just want to help her right? For her to be happy?"

Carlos nods.

"That's all I want, too. And whether she gets it from me or you doesn't matter. Either way… you're still my best friend too."

Jo and Kendall walk side-by-side down the street as they make their way towards her house. Kendall's taken to walking her home every day after school both because he doesn't like the idea of her being alone and vulnerable, and also because he likes having an excuse to spend time with her alone. She's gotten so much better lately; she doesn't flinch when he accidentally brushes her arm, she doesn't get that heartbreaking look of fear in her eyes when he looks at her anymore. She still goes silent sometimes, when she gets lost in her thoughts, but now she doesn't mind it when Kendall nudges her and breaks her free from them.

She honestly can't believe how patient he is with her. They haven't brought it up since the day she told her therapist what happened to her, but every so often she finds herself wondering if she could see herself being in a real relationship with him. He said he would wait until she was ready, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she's finally at that point. Kendall makes her happy. He makes her feel safe. He makes her laugh when she never thought she would again, and he makes her feel like nothing and no one else matters when they're together.

The sun is shining but it's still a pretty crisp day—springtime hasn't quite come out in full force yet, though it is finally starting to get warmer. Kendall kicks a rock down the street as they stroll along, in no hurry for Jo to get home and thus end their time together. It's as he's telling her a story about his little sister beating him at Texas Hold 'Em that it clicks with her. It's the way he smiles when he talks about Katie, the way his tone of voice is a perfect mix of proud and overprotective, the way she can tell that he really loves Katie and would do anything for her. It makes her realize that he was right—all guys aren't like Jett Stetson. Some of them are great and would never do anything to hurt her. Jo slips her hand into his as he's talking, locking their fingers together. He glances down at their joined hands, grinning as he continues his story without missing a beat.

He's been waiting for this for a long time.

"…little pest conned me out of thirty bucks! You wouldn't believe how good she is at bluffing, it's ridiculous."

"You really love her," Jo smiles.

Kendall snorts. "She's a pain." But he's smiling too as he says it.

"And you wouldn't have it any other way."

"Nah," he agrees. "She's the best. I mean, she butts into my business all the time and cons me out of my allowance every chance she gets, but she's… the best person I know. I—she's the reason I agreed to go to therapy."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Kendall nods. "I had to go to the hospital to get my stomach pumped, and my mom practically had to drag her out of the room when visiting hours were over. I thought she was gonna throw a fit. Anyway, when we started talking about what we were gonna do about it, I kind of just refused to acknowledge anything was wrong, you know? I didn't need help, it was just a stupid mistake. But Katie knew I was lying. She'd caught me coming in drunk a few times before that. She looked so scared and sad that I couldn't do it. I broke down and told my mom the truth and told her I needed help."

"That's… heavy. You seem really close to her."

"I am. After our dad left… she took it really hard. She was only like, nine, and she didn't really get why he was leaving us. Hell, I was fifteen and I didn't get it. I still don't, actually," he mutters. "But the point is, she means more to me than anyone."

"That's sweet. You're a good guy, Kendall." Jo squeezes his hand a bit, watching him while he thinks.

"I try," he says doubtfully. "I screw up a lot. Maybe that's why my dad took off," he jokes bitterly.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" She asks.

"Not really. It's just… I don't know. I thought we were happy, but I guess he was just missing something he couldn't get with us. I used to wonder every day if it was something I did or didn't do that made him leave. I wondered every day what I could've done differently."

"There was nothing you could do differently," Jo tells him softly. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know that now," Kendall replies sincerely. "It doesn't make it any less shitty, though."

"True. But you have us now."

"'Us'?"

"You know. Logan and everyone."

"And…?" He looks down at her and grins when she blushes.

"And… well… me." They pause at the edge of her driveway and Jo steps up on the curb to be a little closer to his height. She puts her hand on his shoulders and looks at him seriously for a moment before leaning in and lightly kissing him on the lips, catching him by surprise. "You have me."

Kendall walks her all the way to her front doorstep, waiting while she turns the key in the deadbolt. Her cheeks are just slightly flushed, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She doesn't invite him in—she never does, and he doesn't blame her for that—but she does step toward him and wrap her arms around him in a firm hug, which he returns gladly. He ventures another quick kiss on the top of her head, catching a whiff of her sweet-smelling hair in the process.

When she goes inside and closes the door, Kendall's thankful there's no one around to witness what must be a ridiculously goofy look on his face. He knew she'd come around if he was patient enough, and it seems like she finally has. He never wanted to do anything to make her feel like he was pushing her, or make her feel uncomfortable; he just wanted her to know that he was there for her. He's not sure what it was about today that made the difference, but he's not complaining. Sure, eventually they'll have to actually talk about it, but they could figure that out later. Right now, all Kendall wants to do is enjoy this feeling, this moment. Right now he's invincible.

Be home late tonight. Sorry. Don't wait up. –Dad.

Camille sits on her bed and reads the text again. He sent it over an hour ago and Camille hasn't moved from her spot since then. It's nearly about time for dinner and she knows she should get up and go to the kitchen. Her doctors have her on a strict diet plan, mapping out what time she should eat her meals and how many calories she should consume so that she can continue to gain weight in a healthy manner.

She hates that all it takes is a small slip up from her routine to make her question everything. When her dad's home, she feels fine. They make dinner and eat it together, they talk about their days, sometimes Camille talks about her friends, and he tells her about what's going on at the office. Afterward, they clean everything up and Camille finishes her homework before reading or watching some TV before bed. She ignores the feeling of heaviness that weighs her down, and it usually passes because she knows her dad's working hard to understand her and help her, and because she knows if all else fails she can call Jo or Logan for some reassurance.

But days like today are much harder. Her father won't be here to make dinner with her, to make sure she eats it and keeps it down. It's like trying to learn calculus. It seems fine and easy when she's in class looking at the examples and listening to the teacher, but when she gets home and has to try it on her own, she's lost. When she's alone it's too easy to listen to the voice in the back of her mind telling her she doesn't need those calories, that they'll make her feel heavy, that she needs to do something about the fat she can pinch around her hips.

Camille takes a deep breath and gets up off her bed, grabbing her cell phone and going into her bathroom. She glances down at the toilet but quickly looks away from it, instead turning her gaze to the scale in the corner. Slowly, carefully, she steps onto it, waiting for the needle to point to her doom. She hates doing this, but she has to know.

One hundred and sixteen.

It's so high. They keep telling her to be in healthy range for her height, she needs to gain at least five more pounds, but they don't understand that it kills her. But she has to admit, therapy has helped, in a way. It's helped her be able to separate her disordered thoughts from her rational ones. She knows she's underweight still, she knows that her negative body-image is psychological rather than founded in reality, and she knows that starving and purging has damaged her body. But those facts don't do anything to quiet the voice that speaks up when she least expects it, telling her she's not good enough, that she feels heavy, and that only emptying herself will make her feel free again.

Her stomach rumbles and she steps off the scale to sit on the cool tile of the bathroom floor. She stares at the toilet, suppressing the automatic urge to gag. It's like her body knows where she is, trying to push her into doing what it wants. She pulls her legs up and rests her chin on her knees, thinking about what to do. She can't call her dad and interrupt him while he works; he's already stressed enough with work without having to deal with her too.

Camille grips her cell phone tightly, opening her contacts with a tap on the screen and scrolling to the one person she can count on to get her out of the mess inside her head.

"Hello?"

"Hey." She doesn't really know what to say to him, so she falls into silence. She's already regretting calling him.

"Um. Did you need something?"

"No, I… Yeah. I guess. I don't know." God, she's such an idiot. What is she doing? Breathe, Camille. "This is stupid, I'm sorry."

"What's stupid?"

"My dad's not home. And he won't be home until later tonight. And I just… Fuck," she mutters. She doesn't want to have to admit out loud what she knows to be true. "I'm not going to be able to make myself eat dinner if I stay here alone."

"I—oh."

"Forget it, forget I said anything," Camille backtracks quickly. "This was dumb, I'll be okay—"

"Camille!" Logan interrupts her. "Calm down. I'm glad you called."

"You are?"

"Well, yeah. This obviously means that the rational part of your brain is fighting against your disordered part. It wants you to seek help. Your body is pretty much trying to tell you it wants to be healthy. It's just having a hard time getting your brain to believe it."

He says it so matter-of-factly that Camille has to chuckle. Leave it to Logan to bring up his own personal encyclopedic knowledge of psychology at a time like this. He's a genius, after all. He can't help it.

"Anyway… my dad's working late too, but do you want to come over here? My mom and I were about to start making dinner for us."

"Oh… um. I don't know if that's a good idea," she stutters. "I won't want to impose or anything, I just wanted to—and I mean, I don't have a car or anything, so—"

Logan cuts her off again. "Be ready in fifteen. I'll come get you."

"No, Logan, you don't have to, I'll be f—"

"You're not fine. And you shouldn't be alone," he says firmly. "You called me because you needed help right? So just let me."

He's right. He's always right. "Okay."

"Good. I'll see you soon."

"You have a nice house," Camille tells him. "It's so big."

They're sitting together in the upstairs game room so as not to bother Mrs. Mitchell while she does some paperwork for a client. She'd been very polite to Camille, asking her about senior year and the like, careful to avoid any touchy subjects that Logan had asked her not to mention. Mr. Mitchell was on call at the hospital, so there was no telling when he might be back. They'd saved a plate of food for him, just in case. Logan had made some grilled lemon-pepper chicken, while Camille helped his mother prepare a nice salad and a side dish of green beans.

She feels full.

But this time, it's different. She's not longing to lock herself in the bathroom and stick her finger down her throat. She's not obsessing over how many calories she just took in and how much she'll have to run to burn them off. All she's thinking is that she feels warm from the inside out, that she's comfortable sitting here with Logan, that she's not worrying about tugging on her clothes so that they don't hug her body. She feels content, for once, and it's wonderfully freeing to be able to just eat dinner with someone without it turning into a whole torturous ordeal.

"Thanks," Logan mutters, responding to her compliment. " All the easier for my parents to ignore me."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Just, you know. All the space. I get left alone a lot."

"Most teenagers would love that."

"I know. And I mean, I dunno, don't get me wrong. I like that they give me my privacy, I guess, but it's like… at what point does it stop being privacy and start being indifference?"

"Is it really that bad?" Camille asks quietly.

Logan nods. "My mom's getting better. She's trying harder, I think. It's just—they both work so much, and it's not like I can blame them, you know? But sometimes it just feels like nothing I do is worthy of paying attention to."

"How could you think that, though? You're like, the smartest guy in school. You've won all those science contests and that essay scholarship. You're valedictorian. You've already gotten into like six schools. You've accomplished so much."

"Yeah, but that… I dunno, it sounds nice when you say it like that, but to me, that stuff is no big deal. School and studying and whatever, that comes easy to me. The real accomplishment would've been if I could have found a way to like, make my dad care about it. He's just so busy and stressed all the time, I can't remember the last time we had an actual conversation. You want to know the real reason I study so hard all the time? Why I wanted to be a doctor?"

Camille nods.

"It's because I thought if I did that, it would make my dad happy. I thought if he knew that I was trying to like, follow in his footsteps, he would pay more attention to me. So I started reading all these science and biology books, and getting really good grades on everything, and it just became expected of me. So when I do something like win a science fair, it's no big deal. It's just… what I'm supposed to do. Nothing impresses him; nothing makes him proud of me. And the thing is, I don't know what else I can do above and beyond."

He looks down at his wrist, seeing the scar there that's a constant reminder of what he tried to do. She looks down too, finally starting to understand what drove him to do it.

"Tell me about it. Please." She runs her thumb over the line, making his skin tingle.

"Oh, I'm just your typical, every-day, suicidal teenager statistic. It was a cry for help," Logan says nonchalantly, though Camille can see how his eyes darken when he says it. He's not fooling her. "So one day when no one was home I just decided to do it. But, well, my mom came home early and found me. And you know the rest. I was having a hard time, and it felt like no one cared… so I thought I had to do something to make them care. I thought… I thought if I tried to kill myself, they'd have to pay attention to me. And if I actually happened to die in the attempt… well, so much the better."

"Logan—"

"I don't feel like that anymore," he goes on. "I don't want to die. I'm not even sure if I ever really wanted to. That part still confuses me. At the time, it felt like that was the only solution. But now that I'm here—alive—I just feel stupid for spiraling that badly. And I feel embarrassed that my parents know why I did it, and my whole family, like cousins and stuff, they all treat me different now."

"You're not stupid," Camille tells him. "You just needed help. We all did. Do."

"I guess. And like, things aren't perfect now, but I just feel like… ever since I met you guys—this is gonna sound cheesy—with you guys around, I feel like I have kind of a safety net, you know?"

"I think that's how we all feel. Before you came in, we all just kind of dicked around in group. It's weird. We knew everything about each other, but we were still strangers. You changed that for us. We're actually friends now. None of us ever thought that would happen."

A small smile graces Logan's face and Camille's heart flutters. She's so ridiculous. Romance should be the last thing on her mind right now. She should be focusing on getting her head screwed on straight, or on getting through the remainder of senior year, or applying to colleges. Not Logan's brown eyes and his spiky hair and his soft cardigan sweater, or the way he has a nervous habit of biting his lip, or how her skin tingles whenever they touch.

"Anyway. Your turn."

"My turn?"

"Yep. Now you know all my secrets. I think it's only fair you tell me one," Logan grins his ridiculous crooked grin with those dimples and twinkling eyes and Camille knows she's done for. He could ask for the moon and she'd find a way to get it.

"Okay… um…" Camille hesitates. He knows pretty much everything. Except one thing. "When I started… getting weird about food, it was right after my mom left. She just… one day she was just gone. She left a note for my dad and me and we haven't heard from her since. At first, it was just depression. I wasn't sleeping or eating or doing anything, really, except crying or freaking out. I was a wreck… just a total mess."

"Understandable."

"Yeah. I spent a month just wondering why she left, why she didn't tell us she was having problems, why I wasn't a good enough reason for her to stay, you know? Depression kind of runs in her side of the family, so we knew there were things to work through, but she didn't really let on how bad she was getting. Anyway, everything was just kind of falling apart by then. I was messing up all my auditions, even the ones I should have easily nailed, my grades were just down the drain completely, Stephanie didn't know how to help me, and I couldn't talk to my dad because he was just as upset as I was."

Camille stops again, deciding if she should keep going.

"She didn't leave because of you," Logan frowns, unhappy that she's placed this burden on herself.

"I know. But it felt like it. So… restricting my calories and not eating and later, purging, it all just felt… You remember how you said when you finally decided you were going to try to commit suicide, that you didn't feel happy, but it made you feel in control of something? That's how I felt. It didn't really make me happy, but I associated the weight loss, the hunger pains, exercising obsessively, the lightheadedness, all of it, with taking control of my life. It was like I finally found something I was good at, and I had to keep it up or else I'd just be a total failure."

"And now?"

"Now… I know now that me trying to be in control of my life is actually what caused me to lose control of it. I know that, rationally, but it's still hard to separate that from whatever's in my brain that tells me I'm a quitter."

"You're not a quitter," Logan smiles. "You're way stronger than you think you are. I can tell, even from when I first joined group to now. You've gotten better."

"You have a lot to do with that, you know."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Do you remember that first day back at school after you started coming to therapy? I walked into class, and we were the only two people there, and you asked me how I was. I told you I was fine, and you knew I was lying, and I knew that you knew I was lying, but you just smiled at me and chatted about the vocab quiz."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, really. Nothing and everything. You were just…nice to me. You asked me how I was and you actually cared about the answer. I needed that. And… yeah. There you have it. We officially know all each other's secrets."

"It's a good thing we're friends," Logan jokes. "We'd have excellent blackmail material, otherwise."

"Just don't get on my bad side, Mitchell," she grins.

Kendall and his mother arrive at the Palm Woods on Friday afternoon at the same time as Jo and her father. Kendall waves at her, but she doesn't seem to see it. She looks pale and rather nervous, chewing on her bottom lip and wringing her hands. When they get inside, Jo signs in and is immediately greeted by her therapist, who shakes hands with Mr. Taylor and leads them all to her office.

Mrs. Knight kisses Kendall on the cheek before leaving him, and he stares at the hallway Jo has just disappeared down. She doesn't emerge from the room for hours, staying in there with her dad and her doctor all the way through dinner, group, and free time.

It's nearly time for curfew by the time she reappears, but Kendall doesn't get any time to talk to her because soon the staff are ushering the residents to their rooms for the night. He wishes he could follow her and make sure she's okay—she looks shaken up—but it's out of the question. Boys aren't even allowed on the girls' floor.

Instead, he and Logan settle into their room, changing into to sleeping clothes and getting in bed for lack of anything better to do. They complain for the hundredth time how they wish they were allowed a TV or a computer, or even just their cellphones, though they know they're beating a dead horse. Lack of technology gives them "ample time to focus on themselves and their treatment in recovery of their personal issues," according to the pamphlets and doctors.

Eventually Logan's responses start getting cloudier and cloudier, until finally Kendall can hear him breathing deeply and regularly, fast asleep across the room from him. He wonders briefly what Logan really thinks of him. Kendall's used to sharing space, having a younger sibling and all. But Logan, an only child who's been left alone for much of his life, must secretly resent it, right? He's used to having things a certain way. But if he does mind, Kendall reflects, he's quite a good actor, because he doesn't think Logan's ever expressed any displeasure at having to share a room, a bathroom, his mealtimes, his free time… Then again, maybe Logan's just happy to have someone to talk to.

In the morning before breakfast, a member of the staff comes into their room, announcing a random room-check for any illicit items. He makes it sound like he's checking that no one snuck in a cellphone or laptop, but Kendall can tell the real reason behind this is Lauren Murray. The residents are now subjected to random searches to make sure no one's managed to smuggle in drugs or alcohol. No one wants a repeat of the Lauren incident.

He checks their dresser drawers and makes them empty their pockets, checking inside the closet and underneath the beds for anything illegal. When he finds nothing, he leaves the boys to get ready for breakfast. Logan is staring into the bag containing his clothes for the day with a perplexed look on his face.

"What's the matter?" Kendall asks.

Logan holds up a t-shirt in response. When Kendall only continues to stare at him questioningly, he speaks. "I grabbed the wrong shirt when I was packing," he says morosely. "I didn't bring anything with long sleeves."

He looks down at his bare arm, free of bandages and stitches, pale from lack of exposure to sunlight over the last several weeks. He frowns at the lines that blemish his skin before resolutely pulling off the shirt he slept in and changing into the one in his hand.

"You want mine?" Kendall offers, beginning to shrug off the plaid button-down he has on over his own t-shirt.

"No, that's okay," Logan says determinedly. "It had to happen sooner or later. Let's go get breakfast."

He walks out confidently, hoping that his moment of self-assurance will carry him through the day. He hasn't worn anything with short sleeves since the day he got out of the hospital, always and constantly making sure that his scars were covered so as not to invite even more curious stares and whispers than he already gets.

Kendall follows Logan out of the room, clapping him on the back supportively as they walk to the dining hall to find their friends. James and Carlos are already seated with their trays of food. Carlos picks at what he suspects are fake eggs, bleary-eyed, while James sits across from, covering everything in salt, pepper, and ketchup in an attempt to give his meal some taste.

"This is terrible," Carlos says as Camille joins them. He looks up at her and grins. "No wonder you never eat it." Logan thumps him on the back of the head before sitting next to him. "What? Camille knows I'm joking. Don't ya, Cam?"

"Sure," Camille shrugs. They're definitely all familiar enough to poke fun at each other's issues by now.

She sits on the other side of Logan, her own bare arm brushing against his. They both look down when their skin touches, neither moving away and breaking the contact. No one mentions Logan's choice of clothing, but whether it's because they don't notice or they don't want to make a big deal of it, he can't be sure.

Lucy finally joins the table, sitting by Kendall and across from Camille. Jo never shows up to breakfast or any of the rest of the day's activities, but Camille assures them that everything is fine. Jo brought her dad in to finally talk about what happened to her and what their plan of action of should be, so naturally that's something that won't be a quick meeting. Kendall is mildly relieved, but he wishes he could see or speak to her, just to see for himself that she's all right.

Finally, near the end of free hour and right before curfew, Jo, her father, her therapist, and another woman dressed in a business suit who must be a lawyer all emerge from the hallway that leads to the doctors' offices. The dressed-up woman shakes hands with Mr. Taylor and Dr. Beatty, and finally places her hands on Jo's shoulders, a determined look on her face as she tells her something. Jo nods, not looking a hundred percent sure, but she's smiling when she shakes the woman's hand. Her father hugs her for a long time before also making his exit, but before she can rejoin her group, it's curfew time and the staff starts trying to shoo everyone to their rooms. Kendall straggles, trying to get a moment to talk to Jo, but she's still talking to her dad and her doctor, and she doesn't even see Kendall trying to get her attention.

He's about to give up when she suddenly looks around, as if feeling his eyes on her. She briefly smiles at him—a true, genuine smile, not a shy or forced one like she usually gives. It's real, and it's for him, and that's all he needs before allowing Logan to pull him away towards their room.

And another chapter done! Thank you guys as always for reviewing/favoriting/alerting! It warms my heart to see that even nine and ten chapters in, people are still finding the story and wanting to read it. Hope you guys liked it! Please leave a review! I respond to them as soon as I can, and if you have any questions or anything else, you can message me on tumblr too! Thanks everyone!