I think it's fair to say that Hicks was both brave and crazy to go into Wierzbowski's room the next morning and attempt to confront him. I guess actually hitting someone had woken up Wierzbowski to the notion that his actions were not helping anyone, because he didn't get angry at Hicks.

I didn't witness the incident, but I heard that Hicks found not one, but two whiskey bottles in Wierzbowski's possession. Hudson and I were both heartbroken.

"This is opening up a shit-ton of old wounds I thought were finally taken care of, man," Hudson mumbled, sitting with his legs crossed on my bed.

"For you, him, or all of us?" I asked.

"All of us. I mean, was what you said really that bad?"

"I guess so. No, really, I . . . I know Wierzbowski and I believe he and Eliza would make incredible parents if they ever had children. I said what I did out of anger and I certainly didn't mean it."

"I think there's more. Remember how he's been saying he doesn't feel good for anything? I think that's the thing we need to be looking at. What you said was just the spark to set off the fire, man."

"So, we . . . no, I sent him backwards." I rubbed my face, a dull ache starting up in my chest.

"Don't blame yourself, man. It was a heated moment. Anyone coulda said something dumb like that."

I sighed, feeling sick to my stomach. I drove Wierzbowski back to drinking. Me. The guy he trusted originally with his problems. I shattered that trust.

I was certain at that moment that I had completely destroyed my friendship with Wierzbowski. Sighing again, I looked toward the door, and then back at Hudson. "How long is he gonna be kept in sick bay?"

"Ranelli's talking to him right now, I think," Hudson replied. "Can go check and see. Why?"

"I dunno. I feel like I've . . . I've ruined everything. I always have."

"Come on, Drake, don't pin this too hard on yourself. Everything's gonna be OK. Wierzbowski's got help. He'll be fine and we'll all be talking together again before you know it." Hudson squeezed my shoulder. "It's not your fault, man. Keep telling yourself that."


The sick feeling of guilt continued throughout the day, and I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep that night. At the same time, I didn't want to be around anyone, and simply went to bed after showering.

I don't think Casey really knew what happened, but I didn't exactly put a lot of effort into concealing how I felt that day; he knew something was wrong. He's a kid, but he's not an idiot. Several minutes after I turned my light off and tried to make it look like I was sleeping, I heard the door slide open a little.

"Drake? Are you OK?"

My back was turned to him, and I was kinda hoping he didn't check whether or not I was actually asleep.

Well, I was wrong. Casey leaned his crutches against my nightstand before climbing on the bed. "Drake?"

Even though I knew he could plainly see I was awake, I didn't respond.

"You seemed really upset today, Drake. What's wrong?"

Tears were rolling down my face, and I was starting to feel it was pointless to hide my emotions anymore. Casey gave up on getting an answer out of me, and put his arms around my neck. He grabbed the tissue box from my nightstand, and began trying to dry my face.

In the past, I would've dismissed this because Casey is a child and doesn't know how much of a shitty person I am. Now, I actually felt better. I didn't feel like a terrible person.

To be honest, I couldn't explain that feeling. At least not to anyone. I guess it was a sense of someone seeking to comfort me. There was no string of advice or motivation. I will admit, sometimes, I don't want advice. I've gotten lots of it over the last several months. Sometimes, all I want is some form of comfort. I just need to know someone cares and wants me to feel better so I can process the advice later on.

I looked at Casey from the corner of my eye. "Thanks, sport."

"How come you're crying? You looked sad all day," Casey whispered. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. I made . . . a big mistake when we were at the amusement park a couple days ago, and . . . it's causing my friends a lot of hurt right now. I said something I shouldn't have said."

"That why we haven't seen Wierzbowski all day? He's mad at you?"

"He's . . . got some issues that I'm not going to go into detail with you. He'll probably be fine in the next day or so, but it's . . . it's my fault."

"So that's why you looked upset. Doesn't explain that big bruise on your face, though."

"Wierzbowski and I had a fight early this morning. Gave me a bloody nose, too."

"I'm just surprised he didn't break your face."

A weak smile came across my face. "Yeah, I'm a little surprised, too."

Casey seemed happy I was looking happier. He put his head on my chest before saying, "You know, I probably shoulda said, 'Thank you,' a long time ago."

"For what?"

"For saving me and taking care of me. You guys're like a group of big brothers and sisters, but you're not mean and bossy."

"Do you have a mean and bossy older sibling?"

"No, but some of the kids at school do. I'm probably gonna be that someday, 'cause I got a little sister. Didn't you say you had an older sister?"

"Yeah, but . . . let's not talk about that."

"Why not?"

I took a breath. "I don't want to."

"Why? You say that for a lot of stuff."

I looked toward the door, and let out a sigh before sitting up and putting Casey on my lap. "Do you want . . . my whole story?"

Casey gave me a slightly confused look.

"I'm really not the hero you think I am. I . . . I didn't originally want to join the Marines. I was in prison." I rubbed my face, preparing for the onslaught of memories-and for Casey to have his entire view of me flipped on its head. "I did something wrong. I was supposed to pay for it the rest of my life. Instead, I got the chance to serve in order to do away with my sentence, and I took that."

I could tell Casey was thinking real hard about this. I could tell he wasn't sure whether to believe me or not.

But, he did believe me. He trusted me.

"What'd you do?" he asked.

I took another breath. "I killed three people."

"Why?"

"I would've been killed if I didn't do anything first. No way around it. Then I stole one of their cars, and . . . ran away. Got caught, but . . . that was it for me."

There was silence for a minute, and Casey looked up at me with big green eyes. "I still like you, Drake. You're good to your friends and teammates. You showed you're not a bad guy. You pulled me outta the house after the hurricane. Bad guy wouldn't have done that."

I wished I knew how to explain the details, but I didn't want to at the moment. "Are you gonna go to your own bed now?"

"Yeah." Casey got off me. "Good night, Drake."

"Good night, sport."


I guess I'm surprised that Casey just accepted what he heard. He didn't look at me differently and he wasn't suddenly scared of me. Truthfully, I should just take that as a sign I need to stop beating myself up.

In the morning, I got to talk to Wierzbowski in the courtyard. He looked tired, pale, and I noticed (I could've been mistaken, though) that he had lost some weight. Originally, I had thought I was going to talk about how this made me feel and how I was sorry, but I changed my mind; saying that would sound like I felt everything was about me. I guess this was one of those moments where I needed to just suffer in silence and-

"Are you OK, Drake?"

Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief. That was the Wierzbowski I knew. He's a good guy, he cares about me. He's not punching me in the face at ungodly hours. I can be honest with him. "Not really," I said, softly.

"Dietrich told me that I didn't break your nose. When . . . W-When you fell away, I was worried that I did. There was blood everywhere. I thought-"

"I'll be fine," I replied. "Just a bruise."

"Good."

I sighed again. "So . . . what happened?"

Wierzbowski bit his lip before looking down at the cup of tea Ranelli had given him. "I fell apart, honestly. I thought too hard on something I should've let go. It . . . It almost felt like I'd been sent back to the days . . . after my divorce, when I felt so unbelievably worthless . . ." Tears filled his eyes. "I-I know, now, I'm not worthless, but it was . . . it was really overwhelming."

I opened my mouth to say, "Why didn't you talk to me or Hudson?" but I stopped, knowing that probably wouldn't be helpful. "I've been there," I said.

"Well, I was mad at you for no reason, so . . . I didn't say anything. And I was mad at Hudson. I was mad at . . . everyone, so I turned to the one thing that didn't make me angry anymore."

"What's Ranelli gonna do about it?"

"He said we caught it early enough to where we shouldn't have to worry too much, but he wants to see me every couple days to make sure I'm still moving forwards and not backwards." Wierzbowski glanced at me. "I'm never looking at whiskey the same fucking way again. I-If I ever decide I want to try alcohol with dinner or something, I am not having whiskey. Can't do it. Anything else, but not whiskey."

"Pity. Whiskey's my drink of choice," I said, grinning a little.

"I know. Enjoy it all you want, Drake."

"Have you told Eliza?"

"No. I don't know how I'm gonna tell her. I know I haven't spoken to her in three days and I should. I don't want her to get worried." Wierzbowski took a breath, putting his head in his hands. "I have to be honest. I have to tell her exactly what happened, and let her know it wasn't her fault."

"Yeah. It was my fault."

"Oh, don't start that, Drake. It wasn't your fault at all. We were all hot and bothered and angry and made mistakes that day. We'll try not to do it again."

"So, we're still friends."

"Absolutely."

I gave another lopsided grin. "Thanks." I glanced back at the main building. "Vasquez and I are gonna take Ferro and Spunkmeyer somewhere for their first date. Should be fun."

"I forgot, they're having feelings for each other. Honestly, I'm surprised they haven't been dating from the start."

"Well, Ferro kinda told Spunkmeyer that it'd never work, way back when. Then they met me and Vasquez, and things changed."

"Jesus, that's gotta be, what, four or five years of bottled-up feelings?" Wierzbowski folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. "Poor souls."

"I just hope this date doesn't crash and burn."

"Are you taking Hudson with you?"

"No."

"Then you should be fine."


Things were quiet up until the day the four of us agreed to go out. Nothing exciting or interesting (aside from Hudson losing twenty-five more dollars to the swear jar last night during an intense poker game with donut holes) happened.

I'll admit, tonight's outing might be boring without Hudson, but I think the quietness was important for Ferro and Spunkmeyer.

I was helping Spunkmeyer with tips and the like, and as far as I know, Vasquez wasn't helping Ferro very much. I think it's mainly because Vasquez doesn't feel like she has any good advice to give. After all, I'm the only person she's had a serious relationship with.

Before we headed out, I reluctantly left Casey with the others in the lounge. "Now, behave, tattle on Hudson when he swears, and we should be back in a couple hours, OK?"

"Seriously, man?" Hudson moaned in the background.

"Why can't I come with you?" Casey pouted.

"Because this is a grown-up . . . date-thing, whatever. No kids. Besides, you'll have more fun with Hudson."

Casey shrugged.

"Maybe he'll show you how to play pool, if you're nice to him. And bribe him with cookies."

Of course, a certain someone chirped up, "Who's got cookies, man?"

I put my hands on Casey's shoulders. "We'll be back. Be good."

"OK, Drake."

I actually almost felt bad for leaving Casey, but I knew it'd be better for Ferro and Spunkmeyer to have no silliness tonight.

Even without Hudson and Miranda to make things . . . slightly uncomfortable, the first few minutes in the restaurant were loaded with an awkward silence. Spunkmeyer was pale, and I could see a bead of sweat rolling down his face.

Vasquez couldn't take the silence, though. She looked at Spunkmeyer, and probably would've backhanded him if we weren't out in public. "Talk to her," she whispered.

"About what?" Spunkmeyer asked. "I can't think of anything."

"Do we really have to talk?" I said. "Why can't we just sit and enjoy each other's company?"

"Drake, the silence has already become awkward," Vasquez replied.

"Maybe we should've brought Hudson," I muttered. "He would've made things more entertaining."

"Pissing in the plants right next to the bar doesn't count as entertainment."

"Come on, it's better than . . ." I looked at a sign next to a small stage reading "karaoke night," "people who can't sing trying to sing."

"Why didn't you check that before we came here?" Ferro asked.

I shrugged.

"Great." Spunkmeyer sighed. "Now we'll be stuck here listening to some tone-deaf drunk screech like a dying animal."

"We don't have to stay. Just . . . eat fast and we'll get outta here," I replied.

"Drake, you can't eat fast," Vasquez sighed.

"Why not?"

"Because it makes you sick."

I gestured to Ferro and Spunkmeyer. "Bingo! We're having a conversation."

Vasquez elbowed me under the table.

"Ow! Come on, honey, at least it's not, 'The weather's great today!'" I hugged her, nuzzling her face and kissing her forehead. "As long as you're grumpy, I'll be annoying."

"Now, this is something I've never seen before," Spunkmeyer whispered.

"Yeah," Ferro replied, "it's kinda cute."

"But . . . it's Drake."

"So? He loves her. Let him be affectionate."

Their conversation wasn't exactly quiet, so Vasquez whispered to me, in Spanish, "You're sleeping in your own bed tonight."

A waiter finally got around to us, and gave us all a few minutes to decide on drinks. I noticed Ferro was giving Spunkmeyer a slightly concerned look when a waiter set a good-sized glass of beer in front of him.

"You sure you're gonna drink all that?" she asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"I'll finish it if he can't," I said. "You're not an experienced drinker, are you?"

Spunkmeyer gave me the dirtiest look I've ever seen the little guy give. He kept looking at me, hazel eyes practically burning into my soul, and then picked up the glass and started drinking.

Vasquez glanced at me. "I think he's trying to prove a point to you."

"I can see that." I nodded. "I wasn't saying that to be mean, Spunkmeyer-"

"I know," Spunkmeyer replied, taking another long sip of his beer.

In all honesty, I could sense that Spunkmeyer wasn't happy about my comment regarding him not being an experienced drinker. I mean, I haven't really seen him drink. Frankly, I don't care; I just need to be mindful of myself so we don't have a repeat of the amusement park.

However, a part of me felt like telling Spunkmeyer he shouldn't be taking in that much on an empty stomach, but I also felt like he'd just give me that dirty look again.

The waiter was taking his time with our food, and Spunkmeyer was steadily becoming more talkative.

"Alright, remember when we were talking about love back at the grill in Spain?" Spunkmeyer said. "Let's go back to that conversation, 'cause I remember me and Ferro were saying how we weren't going to date 'cause we didn't think it'd work out."

"That was a couple months ago," I replied.

"So? You and Vasquez've been dating . . . four years?"

"It'll be five in September."

"Only you are keeping tracking of that, Drake," Vasquez sighed.

"Someone has to remember all the anniversaries, sweetheart." I kissed her.

"Ferro and I kissed once," Spunkmeyer slurred. "Twice, actually, if you count that time in the hotel on our way to Tampa to meet Apone and the rest of the guys for the first time."

Ferro blushed a little bit.

"I don't think I'm a good kisser. She's a good kisser, I remember."

I looked at Vasquez. "I'm a good kisser, right?"

"The best kisser," Vasquez replied. "Actually, I don't know, because you're the only guy I've kissed."

I nuzzled her cheek, and kissed her again. "I love you."

A small smile tugged at the edges of her mouth, and that made me even more happy.

"I love you more than life itself," I whispered. "Come on, kiss me back. Kiss your favorite dumbass in the whole damn world back."

"I'll kiss you later."

"Don't leave me hanging, honey." I nuzzled her again, and she finally took my face to kiss my right cheek.

"Your room later tonight," she whispered, quiet enough to where only I could hear her.

"This is still not as bad as Miranda and Hudson," Ferro said.

"OK, I never seen them in public. What exactly do they do?" Spunkmeyer asked, hiccupping.

"They try to be cutesy and lovey-dovey and it's just obnoxious. Miranda kisses Hudson and cuddles him and pokes his belly like he's a giant fucking teddy bear."

"I told her he's like a big teddy bear," I said. "That's probably why she does it."

"Oh, so it's your fault no one else likes hanging out with them?" Vasquez replied.

"Maybe."

"Nice job, Drake."

As the evening went on, Ferro was looking disappointed. I couldn't tell if it was with herself or Spunkmeyer or me and Vasquez, but after spending a lot of time around Wierzbowski and Eliza, I started to wonder if she just wanted alone-time with Spunkmeyer.

Spunkmeyer, on the other hand, was pretty tipsy. "Honestly, Drake, you're right," he slurred. "This's my first time drinking."

"OK," I said.

"I'm not even twenty-one!" He laughed. "That's right, I'm twenty! Oh, oh, I gotta tell you this, Drake-" Spunkmeyer leaned in to tell me, "I ran away from 'home' at sixteen! I ditched the bitch, lied about my age, and got in!"

I suddenly felt uncomfortable. He's just drunk. There's no way any of that is true.

"I don't even have a driver's license!"

"OK, sweetie, you've had enough!" Ferro pulled the glass away from Spunkmeyer. "You're saying stupid things right now and you need to stop drinking for tonight."

"Stupid? How's it stupid? It's true, ain't it?"

"No, it's not. Eat your dinner; you've had way too much alcohol with nothing else in your stomach. No more." Ferro looked at me. "You're not actually gonna drink his beer, are you?"

"Nah, probably not," I sighed, trying to mask my anxiety over what Spunkmeyer said.

My nervousness was a breeding ground of bad thoughts and memories. There's no way Spunkmeyer can be underage; Jesus Christ, I just allowed a minor to have alcohol! I can get in a lot of trouble for that. I could get kicked out of the Marines. I could get sent back to jail.

I heard sirens outside the restaurant. Every second of the day I got caught and arrested outside Pittsburgh flashed before my eyes. My heart was pounding hard and fast in my chest . . .

Standing up, I walked quickly to the bathroom, feeling unsteady. Without a second thought, I locked myself in a stall, letting panic grip me in its sharp talons.


Question: What might Drake's biggest mistake be in regards to Ferro and Spunkmeyer's first date?