The next day, the rumor mill was circulating about Quinn, Sandi, and Megan, and Sandi was playing the victim every step of the way. People were flocking around her, asking her about the fight, telling her how much they supported her. I scowled when I saw it, but ultimately couldn't do anything. I could wipe the floor with that smug bitch easy, but I'd just end up in trouble, Sandi would be even more popular, and I'd be a slimeball, picking a fight with a girl. It wasn't as is I skilled enough in that intrigue game to take down Sandi with it, so I really had no options in front of me.

"Shame." I thought. Everyone was so stuck up Sandi's butt that Quinn wasn't mentioned at first. But during Mr. DiMartino's class, I saw the sheet of absent students on his desk. On the back, it carried a list of suspended students. Sure enough, Quinn's name was listed on it. Ten days, just like Megan.

"Dammit!" I moaned. So in the end, Quinn would look like a pugilist and a fool. Without her being here I had no idea how popular or unpopular this would make her. Students had been loved for doing greater things, and cast out for doing less. I was the prime example of that.

But I was furious, and powerless. Ms. Li would never listen to my appeals. There were security cameras, of course, but she was the one with access to the tapes, and could easily erase the footage or doctor it or however it was done on those crime scene shows. And she'd do that so that no student could dare challenge her. This entire month had bad news shoveled down my throat, and I was stomaching it and stomaching it and soon I was about to burst, ready to pick a fight with anyone who crossed my path.

It was Mr. O'Neill who picked up on my rage.

"Jeffy, might you stay after a moment?" He asked after English had ended, very pleasantly, as always. I was in no mood for his meddling.

"I did my essay, Mr. O'Neill." I tried to keep the topic on schoolwork, so that I could at least deflect him with my good performance.

"Oh, I'm not discussing that, but since you've mentioned it, I loved reading your essay about the parallels between Edgar and Mr. Lockwood. It's was so interesting how you mentioned their physical frailty and tied it with every tenant of Thrushcross Grange."

"Mr. O'Neill, I kinda need to get to class."

"I'll write you a pass, Jeffy. What I wanted to ask is if everything is okay with you? This past week you've been very...distant, and quiet."

"I'm fine." I lied through my teeth.

"Are there problems at home?" Mr O'Neill prodded. "Or with another student?" If I didn't know better, I'd say Mr. O'Neill was very astute. But no, he was as meddling as a parole officer, but with the spine of a jellyfish.

"It's alright, Mr. O'Neill. I'm not having problems."

"Jeffy, I know I can be strange to talk to, being an adult, but all I want is for you to feel good about yourself." He was so sickeningly sweet, I thought I'd get diabetes. I thought of brushing him off again, like so many other times he prodded. Despite his absolute denseness, he could, accurately, pick up when someone was upset. Didn't change the fact that he was as helpful as a football to Helen Keller, though.

"You want to know my problems?" I angrily shouted at him. "Fine, here goes. My dad's a lush, my mom's a no-show. I'm a senior in high school with no fucking clue where to go to college, every time I try to get a date, it ends up exploding in my face and I only end up embarrassed and poorer, and when I find the one thing that actually motivates me to learn, everyone despises me!" I said practically in all one breath. I'm not sure what I was thinking, laying out my problems in front of Mr. O'Neill in anger like that. I certainly didn't think he'd have an answer for me.

"Oh, dear..." Mr. O'Neill tried to compose himself. "Well, if you'd like to talk about your..." He started to speak, but I slammed my fist on his desk. He yelped in terror.

"Quiet!" I ordered. "Don't talk. I only wanted her to like me, dammit. So I started to learn to impress her, but then as it turned out, I was good at it, and I liked it for myself. I'd do it even if she hated me. Anatomy, physiology, all sorts of conditions and diseases. Yesterday I read and learned how to treat tension pneumothorax. I couldn't even spell that this time last year. So tell me, Mr. O'Neill. Tell me why something that makes me happy and would do such good for the world end up making everyone hate me!" Mr. O'Neill shrank in his chair at my increasing choler, and I heard him let out an "eep."

"Well, Jeffy...take a deep breath." Mr. O'Neill started.

"You. Are. Useless!" I shouted. "God, get me out of here! I'd rather be late then wait here for a pass." I turned out the door and practically ran to my next class.

School ended without me blowing up again, although that was probably due to Ms. Defoe's gentle quiet demeanor, followed by an intense math lesson from Ms. Bennett forcing me to concentrate. Barch and I may have come to a head if I had her after Mr. O'Neill.

It wasn't long after I got home that I heard the phone ring. It hadn't rang much since I was outed as a brain.

"Hello." I answered.

"I'm looking for Jeffy Mercer." The voice on the phone was an older woman's. It sounded familiar, but my phone was so old that everyone's voice ended up distorted.

"This is he." I replied.

"Jeffy, it's Quinn's mother." The voice stated. "I was hoping you could stop by our house and give me notes on what Quinn missed today. I understand you and her have many of the same classes."

"Ummm...sure. I'll be right over." I replied.

It had been quite a number of months since I had been over Quinn's. Quinn never spent much time there, and there was no other reason for me to go there. Mrs. Morgandorffer answered the door when I rang.

"Hello, Jeffy, how are you." She was very pleasant to me, and I felt a little faint in the knees. I was always weak to an older woman's kindness, which made Ms. Defoe's class a little difficult. It always made me think of how much I wanted my mother.

"Where's Quinn?" I asked.

"Well, you took a little longer then I thought, so I had sent her to the store for some snacks." Mrs. Morgandorffer replied. "But she should only be a few minutes. Please, take a seat in the kitchen." She invited me to the back. Mr. Morgandorffer was already there. He stood up to greet me and we high-fived.

"Something to drink?" Mrs. Morgandorffer offered. I accepted a soda.

"Well, while we wait for Quinn, Jeffy, I wanted to ask you about that fight yesterday." Mrs. Morgandorffer asked as she invited me to sit. We all sat down.

"Our little Quinn picking a fight with anyone is just weird." Mr. Morgandorffer stated. I agreed.

"Well, didn't we already talk about that?" I asked.

"Jeffy, Ms. Li and that insufferable Linda aren't here." Mrs. Morgandorffer reminded. I silently acknowledged the point's truth.

"Like I said, I only saw Quinn and Sandi talking before that Megan showed up."

"What were they discussing?" Mrs. Morgandorffer asked.

"I wasn't close enough, I didn't hear anything. But they were standing far away from each other. Neither of them were fighting."

"That's what I thought." Mrs. Morgandorffer replied.

"I knew it was just a story." Mr. Morgandorffer chuckled. "Thanks, dude." I laughed. Mr. Morgandorffer had a bad habit of trying to act cool whenever we guys showed up to take Quinn out. It was kind of sad, but harmless, and we always indulged him.

"After all." Mr. Morgandorffer leaned back in his chair. "She'd never hurt someone like that. She knows better. She would never hit another person or leave them with a skinned knee or ship them off to military school!" Mr. Morgandorffer started to talk pleasantly, but then his hands balled into fists, and he started to speak with rage.

"You hear that, Dad! Your tyranny will never live on in my daughters!" He rose his voice and shouted at the ceiling.

"Mr. Morgandorffer?" I puzzled.

"Jake!" Mrs. Morgandorffer scolded.

"Sorry." He returned to his meek self. "I'm going to go...uhh...check the oil on the Lexus. Yeah, that's it, the oil." Mr. Morgandorffer fled from the kitchen.

"I do apologize for that, Jeffy." Mrs. Morgandorffer was apologetic.

"It's no big deal. It's more fun then my dad, that's for sure." I smiled at her. Mrs. Morgandorffer forced a laugh.

"You know, Jeffy, your parents didn't show up to Ms. Li's. Was your father working?"

"Yeah, my dad worked." I had no idea where my father worked anymore. He never discussed it, and I doubted he had the same job when I was 12, the last time I knew what he did. He would have gotten fired for being drunk long before five years. But we never lacked for money.

"And what about your mother?"

"My mom walked out when I was five." I told her. "I have no clue where she is."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Mrs. Morgandorffer apologized.

"That's okay." I shrugged her off. "It's no big deal. That's why I like coming over to places like here. I can see what it's like to have a good mother for once." I turned her faux-pas into a compliment. Mrs. Morgandorffer blushed like a young woman.

I then heard a crashing sound from the garage.

"Agh! Helen!" Mr. Morgandorffer's voice shouted. "The shelf fell down again!"

"Jake!" Mrs. Morgandorffer let out an exasperated groan. "I'll be right back." She darted off towards the garage. I sat there and drank my soda for a minute, then I heard footsteps coming from the living room. I turned to see if Quinn had returned.

But it wasn't Quinn walking through the kitchen. Instead, it was Daria, Quinn's older sister. Wasn't she at college in Boston? She went into the fridge for a soda, and noticed me when she turned to leave.

"Oh!" Daria was surprised to see me.

"Hi, Daria." I was pleasant to her.

"Hello...ummm...It was Jamie, Joey, or Jeffy."

"Jeffy." I smiled. "I thought you went to college."

"It's our Fall Break." Daria replied. "Well, excuse me, Jeffy." Daria turned away.

"Hey, Daria!" I called to her. She stopped.

"You know, I never said thank you for what you said to me."

"Huh?" Daria looked puzzled.

"When you told me I wasn't a half-bad student. Remember, when you taught our class last year. I mean, I think you were talking to me, right?"

"Oh yeah, I do remember that. Well, you're welcome, but you don't need to thank me. I didn't need to say it; you earned it on your own. A number of you did." Daria was surprisingly humble at my compliment, although she didn't brush it off.

"But all the same, it really was nice to hear. It was the first time anyone said something nice to me about my schoolwork. Well, except Mr. O'Neill, but he doesn't count." I noted. Daria smiled a small smile when I talked to her, and rather then continue on her leaving, she took a seat at the table.

"You were a junior in high school and that was the best compliment you ever received on your academics?" Daria looked at me as if I was a museum specimen. I nodded.

"That's pretty sad." She noted. I didn't deny it.

"I heard from Quinn that you were learning biology." Daria noted. Did she and Quinn even talk to each other? They had only ever avoided each other in school.

"Yeah, but everyone thinks it's weird. Like I'm some sort of freak."

"Who cares what they think." Daria didn't raise her voice, but she became a bit more forceful.

"It's not just them. I mean, my dad says I can't do anything else but football, and..." I started, but Daria cut me off.

"Listen, Jeffy. Learning isn't a crime. If you don't want to be stupid, you don't have to be. It's your decision to make. Stop worrying about what they will say. You're the one living with yourself your whole life."

"But Joey and Jamie. I haven't heard from them once since everything happened." I noted sadly. "It really hurts that they're not around."

"If, after they knew you wanted to learn, and they still reject you, screw them. They don't matter, put them out of your mind. But, Jeffy, ask yourself something. Did they reject you, or did you reject them?" Daria posed. I paused at her question. I would have expected the aloof Daria to say something to the effect of screw other people, but was she actually telling me to give my two buddies a chance?

"Well?" Daria asked.

"I...I was the one who rejected them." I admitted sadly, the realization that I was the asshole depressing me. It was true, I was the one who filled in the blanks, not them.

"So that's your fault." Daria noted. "That part of your misery is on you."

"So...what should I do?"

"I already answered that." Daria replied. "You don't have to be stupid if you don't want to be." We sat there in quiet silence for a moment.

"You're pretty good at this stuff." I praised.

"I just said what I thought was best." Daria replied.

"How good are you with mothers who left their children at the age of 5."

"I'm not your therapist." Daria stood up. I chuckled. Now she was returning to the Daria I remembered.

"I wonder where Quinn is?" I noted.

"She's been listening in to the entire conversation." Daria replied. She motioned her head towards the living room, and I turned to see a brief flash of red hair dart away from the corner.

"Your mom said she went to the store."

"Mom wanted to ask you about the fight for herself." Daria informed. "Do you want me to tell Quinn you're here?" I paused and thought about that question.

"No, don't bother." I stood up. "I've got something to do."

I went back home, feeling better about myself for the first time in ages. Even the huge storm clouds in the sky couldn't put a damper on my spirit. But when I saw my dad's car in the driveway, my good mood evaporated.

"Oh well. Just another day." I tried not to let it bring me down when I went inside. Dad was lying on the couch, beer around him, just like before. Normally, we would have just ignored each other. Now, though, he slurred out my name.

"What, Dad?" I sighed.

"That any way to talk to yer father. That principal of yours called. What'd she want?"

"There was a fight at school yesterday." I informed. "Nothing major, I was just there."

"So why the fuck did she call me?"

"Probably because parents are supposed to show up for those things." I noted. "She had no idea I wasn't part of it until the story was told."

"You weren't fightin'? What're you, a pussy?" Dad insulted.

"It was a girlfight." I replied. "I just stopped one of them from killing the other. Now, I've got to go study." I turned away.

"Study? Why the fuck you doing that?" Dad's speech slurred even more as he pounded his brew.

"Because I'm going to college, moron." I scowled.

"What happened to the football scholarship."

"I'm not getting one, the season's almost over. Besides, scholarships don't work unless you're accepted. That's how they work."

"Don't you insult me, you prick! You be damn grateful for all the work I put into your useless self."

"Useless? Yeah, because I really benefit when you scratch your balls for several hours, pound back a 12-pack, and pass out." I replied. "The useless one in this room isn't me, it's you." I dared to accuse.

"Fuckin' boy, watch your mouth!" My dad moved towards me.

"Please." I shrugged. "Why the hell should I care about what some drunk loser says to me. You're the one who never amounted to anything." I knew very little of my dad's personal life, but I knew here was where he ended up.

"You couldn't get into college because of your grades or your skills at ball, you can't even raise your own son, and when you go find the woman of your dreams, she rejects you cause you're such a loser." To that, my dad actually laughed.

"You think yer mother left because of me?"

"No, she left because she wanted to go back to the stage." I replied.

"Yeah, that's true." Dad pounded another beer. "But when I went to see her, she told me she thought about comin' back to me. Livin' a quiet life away from the stage. At least fer a while. But she couldn't do it. And you know why?"

"Cause she didn't like the idea of cleaning up your crumbs and vomit?" I snidely commented. I knew it wasn't fair; my dad only became this way after meeting with my mom.

"Because of you, dipshit!" My dad dared. Now I was livid.

"How the fuck was this my fault!" I shouted.

"You were born, asshole. That was the problem. She told me she loved living quietly with me, just the two of us. Then you were born. She tried to take care of you, but she couldn't do it. And then when I found her again, she told me she couldn't start her life over again, because of you. Because one you have a child, she said, you have to deal with it. Yer mother never loved ya, Jeffy. She wanted nothing to do with you the second you were born. And she wouldn't have me either." I balled my fists in rage. I was certain that fucker was lying. He always lied and just brought me down because he blamed me. It had nothing to do with her.

But my rage started to be replaced with despair. As much as I didn't want to admit it, it made sense. If my mother wanted me, it would have been easy to avoid my father. He was never home most of the time.

"You screw everything up, you punk." My dad insulted, and I hadn't the effort to deflect it. "Yer own mother didn't even want you. Face it, Jeffy, you're the loser. I tried to be fucking nice and not tell you about it, but you had to go blamin' the only person who ever did anything for you. Now get out of this fuckin' house!" He shouted. And, to my surprise, I walked out the door.

I didn't go in my car, instead, I walked, going anywhere that wasn't that horrid den. Soon after I started walking, the sky let loose and I was caught in a torrential rainstorm. I immediately became soaked, but I continued to walk through it. All I could think about was my mother. I had always thought my mother didn't like my father because he was a jackass. It was easy to hate him, after all. Easy to watch him change from devoted if stretched thin single father to pathetic reject. And if Mom had told Dad that I was to blame for her leaving, it would be easy to see why he'd treat me like he did.

I could feel tears falling from my own eyes, but they quickly mixed with the rain. All the happiness I had felt in my whole life had been crushed in one feel swoop. Not even Sandi was that thorough. Medicine no longer mattered to me; medicine never cured hatred. Football didn't help, my mother would never be cheering in the stands for me. Thoughts of my friends didn't help; their mothers never blamed them for being born. Even Daria's encouragement didn't bring me any warmth. After all, my mother was doing what she wanted, and damn the rest. Damn her son.

I don't know how long I walked, but eventually, I made it to the bridge. I lived on the outskirts of Lawndale, and the bridge across the river was the way into town. I don't know where I thought I was going, but here was where I made my stop.

"I quit." I thought bitterly to myself. I leaned against the railing of the bridge. "I'm never going to be happy." I propped myself up onto the railing and looked at the river. It was a wild thing, and had a really swift current. It never froze up, even in winter. It was about 40 feet down from the bridge to the river. I was already cold from the rain, and my clothes were already soaked. I'd probably sink and be carried to the bottom if I fell from this height. And that would be it. This pathetic existence would finally be over.

I stepped down from the railing, turned around to face my back to it, and tried to prop myself up again. I could lean backward and fall. That would be the easiest way.

"I'm sorry." I thought to myself. "I'm sorry I just screwed everything up, Mom. You were right to just leave. It's my fault, I shouldn't have been born." And that's when I slipped. But instead of falling backwards into the abyss, I fell forward back onto the bridge.

"Damn hands. I can't do anything right." I tried to prop myself up again, but, between the slippery stone and my cold clammy hands, I wasn't getting me the traction I needed, and fell down before getting on the railing, getting a nice bruise on the back of my head when I slipped. I couldn't muster the effort to try a third time, and I leaned against the railing of the bridge.

"What the hell more do you want from me!" I raged at the sky, who made no other sound than that of the rain. Who the hell was I talking to? I didn't believe in God, not anymore.

The sky continued to rain upon me, and my vision started to lose focus. I could only make out the white glow of the street lamps, not that there were any other things around. I was very, very cold, but soon I couldn't even feel that. I didn't move a muscle.

"Maybe it was just supposed to be here." I thought. If my eyes shut, would they stay shut forever? I didn't know. My head tilted back, into the glare of the lamps. And then the lamps darkened, and I couldn't feel the rain anymore. My eyes still weren't focusing on anything, but I saw something in front of me. Something white. A white figure, silhouetted against the darkness. I heard a low voice, but I couldn't make out any words.

"What is it, an angel?" I thought. "Did I make to Heaven?" At first I couldn't make out any features, but then I saw an arm reach out to me. I tried to reach it, but my arms weren't budging. I couldn't even feel them.

And the figure's arm grabbed me by the shirt. I was lifted off the ground to my feet, but my legs couldn't support me, and I fell forward into the creature's body, which supported my weight. I tried to move my head, but I was too close to make anything out. But my ears were still working, and I could hear the low voice again. This time I could make out the words that the creature said.

The only thing the creature said was my name. But the voice belonged to Jamie.