Thanks you to the few who reviewed my first chapter I have no more excuses. This is too little, too late, I know that. My updating speed is comparable to that of a paralyzed snail, and for that, I'm sorry. I guess it counts that I'm still going at it though, right? Hopefully :(

Summer is just starting, and this should be a time for most people to enjoy the great outdoors and some time off of school, or work, or whatever. I, however, am not the typical person. I'll be looking for a place to work during these warm days. But I did make a promise to myself that I WILL finish this story. And also, I WILL be publishing my original Fighting The Truth by the time those trees start to turn again, or so help me... makes an intimidating fist

This message is for my anonymous reviewer, Calicocar: I don't know if you will be reading this, but if you do, there is no other way to contact you for a proper reply on what was one of the most heartfelt and thought out reviews I've ever gotten. Don't sell yourself short, and don't you ever think that a writer doesn't appreciate every single review from anyone. Your words greeted me this morning and were just the swift kick-in-the-pants I needed to finish up this chapter. They also made me smile a deep, grateful smile that I haven't had in a really long time. So thank you. And thank you to all reviewers. You make me feel like I'm this absolutely exquisite writer, and that motivation pumps me up to do bigger and better things.

Chapter 10- A Temporary Solution

"And then he said that there's no one else in this world who cares about him as much as you do. And he didn't even stop to think who he was saying this to!" I vent, releasing a string of angry run-on sentences into the receiver. Kyle's been silent the majority of the fifteen minutes we've been talking. Rather, the fifteen minutes I've been screaming.

I breathe for a second, allowing my heart rate to calm down.

"That's harsh," Kyle responds softly. I can tell he's relishing in every word I'm saying, and that further pisses me off. I'm in such a lose-lose situation by now though, boosting his ego is the lesser of the two evils.

"He's such an asshole, Kyle. Why did I think it was a good idea to follow him like that?"

He makes a noise with his throat and takes a few seconds to respond. "Uh…I don't know. Why did you?"

I frown at his obvious distraction from our conversation. I wasn't actually looking for an answer to that last question. "Kyle if you're busy, we can talk later."

"No…that's okay…." His detached words frustrate me. "No, I'd pick the blue one."

"Huh?" I ask, baffled.

"Yeah that one."

"Kyle…"

"Sorry Wendy! My new roomie was asking my opinion about which tie to wear to this honors banquet he's going to. Did I mention he's in the top 5 of our class here?"

I sigh exasperatedly. "About seven times."

I hear him frown. "I'm sorry. I'm just excited to be paired up with someone I can relate to."

"Sounds like someone has a schoolboy crush," I tease, temporarily giving up on my big news for the day. I'd think Kyle would be more interested than this to learn that Stan has confessed. Maybe he's starting to get over him already.

Kyle laughs and I hear another question from his roommate in the background. "Not likely, I've got enough baggage with me to keep me single for the rest of this year."

"That's not long," I remind him. "Then you and Intelli-Boy can romp in the Gumdrop forest and feed each other grapes under a moonlit sky."

Again, Kyle laughs. "You think all gay men are fairies? I take offense to that scenario." He lowers his voice. "And for the record, Carter is straight. I don't think he'll be romping in that forest unless it's with Tinkerbell."

"A single straight smart man? Those are hard to come by," I muse.

"He keeps asking if you're my girl-friend," Kyle continues. The word friend is with that over exaggerated lisp so it sounds like "frand". "And supposedly I'm the fag."

In truth, I'm extremely surprised that Kyle outed himself to his brand new roommate the first day of his new school life. I would've thought he'd at least wait until he got to know everyone to let them in on that tidbit. Just the same, I'm proud of him. I guess he really was sick and tired of hiding who he really is.

"See ya," Kyle says, and I can only assume its to Carter. "Okay, now I'm all ears, Wendy. Sorry about those interruptions."

"Quite all right," I reply, finding myself oddly calmed down by his humorous quips. "I just figured you'd like to hear about what happened today."

"That you and Stan went to the cabin after school?" he clarifies. "Sure, I guess."

"No!" I exclaim. "Before that! Why we left together in the first place!"

Kyle ponders this for a second, and I can sense that he is taking all too long to respond to what should be big news. "We never really got that far, Wendy. You began this conversation by screaming at me for Stan being his usual douche bag self. I figured it was just another day of the same ole' thing."

I blink and scoff at this information, realizing that I do get a head of myself sometimes. "Um, not so much. Stan came out to the entire school."

"WHAT?!" Kyle roars into the phone.

I nod. "This afternoon during lunch. He came over to ask me about you and one thing led to another until we were screaming at each other cause I wouldn't tell him where you're at and he wanted to know and I kept telling him you're not there and he got so pissed at me but kept going until he just blurted out that he's gay in front of the entire cafeteria." Kyle doesn't say anything in response, and I figure he needs time to absorb it all.

"Everyone and everything knows about you two by now, I'm sure. He said he had to get home before his parents found out from someone else, and I don't doubt that's true. By the end of school the whole student body knew. Good news travels fast, huh?" I chuckle, trying to lighten the stone-cold silence on his end.

"He got angry at me of course," I continue. "Saying it's my fault I didn't shut him up. But he needed to do it anyway, right? And we had said it would be best for him to do it himself, right?" Still no response.

"I wonder how his parents will take it. If I know Randy, I bet he'll have a hissy fit that his son isn't the 'perfect' specimen anymore. Though some would tend to argue with that fact," I ramble. "Sharon'll probably be okay though. She loves her son no matter what circumstance."

"Wendy could you just…stop talking…for like a second," Kyle asks meekly. I immediately clamp my jaw shut.

I give him a few minutes of peace as he collects his thoughts, makes an attempt to understand them, and re-distributes them. He takes a deep breath before speaking. "Let me get this straight," he begins. "Stan told me that he wasn't ready to tell anyone—not even parents, close friends, or even just you—for a year, for risk of being found out by everyone in town. He said he didn't want that kind of publicity. And he didn't want to tarnish the Marsh family name." Every statement Kyle is clarifying grows with apparent anger, and I anticipate the time of reaching his boiling point to be nearing.

"He didn't want his parents to think ill of their son. He didn't think it was a good idea to share the details of our private life with the whole town. He fucking made being gay a sin because he was convinced we'd be shunned as soon as the truth was exposed and yet…he thought it was a good idea to make a public announcement about his sexuality to the entire senior class? After I've left town?"

"…Yeah."

"After he destroyed any hopes of us having a real, honest relationship?"

"…Yes."

"After he broke any sort of trust you or I had with him? After he severed all ties of friendship between us?"

"That would be a yes as well," I reluctantly admit.

"That…that…bastard. He's fucking hopeless."

I breathe a deep sigh of relief. Part of me thought Kyle was going to jump on the chance to come back just for a chance to be in Stan's arms again. "He is, yes. And his misery has spiraled into a pathetic excuse for existence."

"He waited until after I'd given up to try. I fucking hate him," Kyle bites back with a hint of remorse. Its clear he's hurt, and it's clear he doesn't hate Stan at all.

Part of me wants to console my newfound friend, but the part of me that still has trouble adjusting to what's going on prevents me from doing so. That part is a slight bit glad to hear how off Stan's timing is. If it weren't, he and Kyle would be together right now. That would mean I'd be out a boyfriend and out a friend. This way I'm just out the lesser of the two. Plus, I hate to admit, but I'd be bitter if they were together. Hell, I'm bitter because they're miserable without each other! How would seeing them happily together make this situation better for me?

Still, I feel a little guilty for not preparing Kyle further through padded words of encouragement to soften the blow. I've been angry with Stan for so long, it seems I've forgotten how to be sensitive toward others. And I was so infuriated with him for today. It took me a good three hours just to calm down from my blowout before I could call Kyle. I knew my feelings for revenge would fade just as soon as they appeared. Besides, it's rare for me to act on impulse like that. I would've regretted doing or saying anything that would falsely detour Stan and Kyle's progress or lack thereof. I want to butt out of their relationship as much as possible. Let them make their own mistakes. Let them destroy fifteen years of friendship.

"You don't mean that," I finally state, in reference to Kyle's earlier statement of hating Stan.

I hear Kyle sigh in defeat. "You're right, I don't. But I hate that I don't hate him, does that count?"

I smile. Kyle is so cute, it's no wonder Stan fell for him. I'm beginning to think I fell for the wrong friend. "Sure, that counts," I agree through my grin.

"Good, cause that's all I've got right now," he adds quietly.

"I hate that I don't hate him either," I admit, trying my best to make him feel not alone.

He scoffs. "We're prize acts, you know that, Wends? At least we can lean on each other for support."

From downstairs, I hear my mom call out my name. I glance at my clock before I respond. "I'll always be here…except for now. Mom's calling me for dinner."

"Man is it that time already?"

"Yep."

"Alright well…I better get some food myself, you know, before the commons area closes."

"Sounds good," I mutter, distracted by the suddenly audible rumblings of my stomach.

"We have a commons area here," Kyle proudly states.

"I heard you the first time."

"Like they do in universities."

"Looks like you're getting a jumpstart in campus living," I tell him, and I know he takes it as a compliment. He's so enthralled with his new school; it makes me happy that he's so happy. I hear mom call me again, this time more impatient. "Well, I gotta get downstairs, but we'll talk later, okay?"

"Definitely."

"Okay, bye!"

"See ya. Oh and Wendy?" I've all but hung up the phone when I hear his postscript.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For telling me about Stan. You could've 'failed' to tell me cause you thought I was going to jump right on a bus back to South Park. And I'd be lying if I said the thought didn't cross my mind. But…I'm a big boy. And I've gotten my dose of being treated like shit from him, so I'm in no mood to reward him. Like I've said before, he'll have to do a hell of a lot more than the expected for me to even turn my head."

This statement stops me in my tracks. It's a lot of words trying to disguise what he really meant to say. "You…you really would take him back?"

"If the price was right," he answers quickly, much to my disappointment. "And just so we're clear, I'm not talking about money."

"I gathered that," I state softly. I can't believe he'd actually want to take him back! After everything that has happened…Kyle is so much stronger than that! "So you'd ship your stuff and move back to South Park for a chance to be with him again?"

"Hell no," Kyle says through a scoff. "I'm not going anywhere."

"So then…what would you do?" I ignore my mother's out-of-patience yell from the foot of the stairs.

"I'm just saying that I'm leaving my options open," he concludes mysteriously.

"For what?" I snap. "A reunion? So, in other words, telling you about his accidental confession really does make you want to hop on the first bus home?" I feel my inside temperature starting to rise. "You know he wouldn't have confessed if you were still there. You'd still be at square one, and he'd still be the clueless idiot who has your heart. Nothing would've changed, Kyle. You know this."

"…I know," he responds reluctantly.

"Then what is this crazy talk about you leaving your options open? I thought you were done with him. I thought we both were!"

"Your dinner is probably getting cold," he informs, purposely changing the subject entirely. "I've kept you long enough. Talk to you later, Wendy. Take care." And with that, the line goes dead.

It takes all I have not to chuck the phone directly into the wall across the room. And like that, my anger has been restored. Almost worse than before. Why would he want to get back together with Stan? How could he possibly have any desire?

Why am I so angry about it? Its not like I stand a chance with either one of them…I mean…not that I'd want that or anything. Especially not with Stan.

I sigh and instead toss the phone on my bed before exiting the room. Maybe Bebe's right. I think I'm starting to replace my feelings for Stan with feelings for Kyle. Maybe spending this much time talking to him isn't good for me. Maybe I should find something better to do than obsess over the love triangle that I've never really been a part of. The more time I try to analyze the situation, the more confused I get about my feelings. I just need to stay away from both parties. Only then will my life be able to resume to normal.

--

Returning to the scene of the crime is never a good idea for a criminal, so why can't I call in sick for school today? Ten bucks says Stan won't have the courage to show his face, and after the reaction from yesterday, I don't blame him. Yeah I think he should suck it up, but it can't be easy for him. Not when the whole school has been breathing down your back since day 1 of kindergarten. I wonder how he told his parents. How they responded…

'Ole Betsy sputters with every tap on the gas pedal I make, and it arouses my curiosity about whether she knows something that I don't. She's normally not this stubborn, even in the dead of winter. This morning she is barely pushing twenty. I should take this as a sign.

Bebe's chatting away, which is par for the course whenever I pick her up. It seems that her car is 'in the shop' every month. She probably just doesn't want to spend the gas money. Which is fine, because today I welcome any kind of distractions.

"Tell me, Wends, how long has it been since you last had a facial?" she asks me with a concerned tone, as if an on-time facial is at the top of my priorities. I don't even go unless she convinces me to go along with her.

"Probably last time you dragged me there," I inform her sarcastically. Betsy shutters as I slow down to stop for an intersection.

She makes a disapproving face. "Well those bags under your eyes are absolutely unsightly. You need to look into another one."

I scoff. "Thanks for the tip."

"Wendy I tell you these things because I care. No one wants to walk out in public when they look like they've been run over by a two-ton dump truck." Her descriptions are so vivid. "I don't wish that on any of my friends."

"I couldn't really care less," I voice aloud out of frustration for her bluntness. "I feel like shit so what's the point in masking that? I want the world to know how incredibly miserable I am."

"Knock it off, you're sounding helpless." She looks over at me—I can feel her stare burning into my cheek. "Its quite easy to mend yourself back together again after such a blow, sweetie. All you have to do is distance yourself from the injurer as much as possible."

I turn onto the school drive. "Again, thanks for the tip, but its kind of hard when the injurer voluntarily walks up to you because he's got no one else."

"I'm not talking about Stan this time, dear."

Rolling my eyes, I pull up behind the last car on the curb to avoid parallel parking. "Don't start with this again, Bee. I'm not the mood." Little does she know that I not only agree with her, but I fully intend to prevent further injury by laying off the communication with Kyle for awhile. It'll be better this way.

"Start with what? I'm just concerned for you. You have such natural beauty but you're wasting it. If I looked like you when I rolled out of bed, I wouldn't need to buy 100 worth of products to keep myself looking that way. You're very unappreciative of your God-given talent, Wendy. Give yourself a pat on the back and go out there and flirt! I know about a dozen guys who want to be there to pick up the pieces."

I release the gear shifter and place my car in park, turning off the engine. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, I turn to her. "If I let you do my hair and makeup in the bathroom, will you stop trying to make me feel better?"

Her eyes light up with unimaginable delight. "You'd let me do that?!"

I nod, albeit hesitantly. Last time she did that, I looked like a porcelain doll whore. I went off on her for days and told her she'll never be allowed to go near me with a curling iron or eyeliner again. And I've honored that promise for three years now. But today…today I'm in no mood to talk about Stan, or Kyle, or Kyle and Stan or Stan and Kyle. I don't give a crap about those boys because, like Bee said, they're ruining my complexion! And not that I care about how I look all that much, but if my looks slide downhill because of two gay boys giving me stress, I'm going to go after them with a hot iron.

"Oh my god, Wendy, this will be so inyourface! Everyone knows what happened yesterday and they all expect you to come in like the train wreck you are right now, but when you show up looking gorgeous they'll have no choice but to bow down and worship you like the Goddess you are. Trust me, you'll definitely score points."

"Just what I need."

"And it may not solve your problem, sweetie, but it will temporarily make you feel so much better!" she squeals. "You'll see."

Bebe glances around, and I note that students are starting file in through the back double doors. There is about fifteen minutes before we need to be in our first period class though, and I'm sure Bebe intends to spend every single last one prissy-ing me up. I sigh audibly as I watch her dig through her suitcase size-of-a-purse and pull out a makeup case, a bag full of hair products, and a miniature curling iron. Why a girl with as tight of ringlets as she has needs a curling iron, I'll never know. Half the time she spends 50 min in the morning straightening them out anyway.

"You have got to be kidding me," I express when she pulls out an extension cord that has a car charger on the opposite end of the plug. I stare at the contraption mesmerized. "I didn't even know they made those!"

Bebe expertly plugs in the heating device to the one end and pops the other into my cigarette lighter. "You never know when you'll need to pull over for a roadside emergency. Its possible to be beautiful at all times, Wendy."

"Its possible, but is it really necessary? Or practical?" I challenge, still amazed at what that purse of hers can hold. She continues to pull out spritzers and sweet-smelling sprays from its depths.

"Practical is in the eye of the beholder," she tells me as she places a comb between her teeth and yanks my hair to the passenger side. "Look down," she instructs through her teeth. I do so and focus on her impossibly perfect feet, which are a shade darker than the ivory stilettos she's sporting, and every toenail is neatly painted the precise color of her coral sweater. I reach down to touch one, discovering they're as smooth as piano keys. Whenever I'd try to paint my own toenails, they'd be so sloppy and bubbly it looked like a blind person painted them with a straw.

"Stop checking me out," she scolds, "and look up. Your hair is a rat's nest! Honestly, Wendy, do you ever groom?"

I make a face. "Only on Tuesdays when the breeder bathes me."

With that smart-aleck comment, she pulls my head back down to her ivory cloth-covered legs and yanks away at the tangles. I don't say much else as she sets the hot iron on the dashboard and "works her magic". I let her flatten my hair with a wide brush before curling the ends, and I even let her part it the opposite way of its very nature. I close my eyes and feel her brush on a dusting of her favorite color of eye shadow. I refuse to blink as she applies a thin line of eyeliner on my upper lids. I turn my cheeks when she sweeps a slightly rosy blush onto my cheekbones. I even pucker up when she applies the lip-gloss on my chapped lips. Ten minutes go by and I don't even notice.

"Okay, finito!"

I crack open my eyes as she leans back in her seat, obviously satisfied. Her eyes dare me to look at myself in the mirror. Hesitantly, I peek at what I can see in the rearview mirror. My eyes widen in disbelief at the sight. I look…normal! Better than normal, actually. Scrambling to get a better look, I flip down my sun visor and glance from side to side at her work.

"I look good!" I turn to her, all smiles.

She smiles back and laughs. "Of course you do sweetie. I've told you that you've got natural beauty. I just found it again."

I glimpse at my watch. "And we're not late!"

She unplugs the curling iron, wrapping the chord around the body, and dumps all of her beauty supplies back into her purse. "Make up on the go. Maybe I should make a business that does just that!"

I grin as she daydreams about a potential new business idea, and gather my own books that have spilled out over the back seat. Together we walk into the building that I was condemning a few short minutes ago. Only this time, she's right. This really has boosted my confidence. It's made me feel like I'm not the victim anymore. I'm not helpless. I'm full of power! I'm full of grace! I'm full of-

"Shit!" Bebe curses, stopping in her tracks and pouting at the ground. I too stop, turning to look at the mess of supplies scattered on the ground from her once-functional purse.

"Get too heavy?" I speculate, bending down to help her with the clean up. She hands me the bag in a huff and sits cross-armed. It's made of a sparkly gold material and has a giant clasp on the top of it. It looks like an oversized change purse. I inspect the accessory, deciding that it's plastic. Not the cheap plastic that looks tacky, but its definitely hard and bendable. I rotate the bag 360 degrees and find the problem.

"You burnt a hole through your purse?!" I cry out, trying desperately to stifle my laughter behind my lips. I reach over and pick up the still-hot curling iron that has melted pits of plastic that are cool to the touch. "Looks like we found the culprit," I tease.

She yanks it away from me, muttering something under her breath. I scan over her supply on the floor and grab a roll of gold duct tape. Even her duct tape has to be fashionable. With my other hand, I pick her purse back up. "I have a solution," I say, and watch as her eyes widen with disgust.

"I can't carry around a purse made of duct tape!" she hisses.

"Would you rather carry everything around in your hands?" She grumbles, and I take that as a no. "Look, the bell is going to ring, this is just until we can find something else!" She continues to pout as I stretch out enough tape to cover up the hole. Its true—the tape clashes with the purse horribly. It looks like a giant geometric mustard stain. I would've never paired them up otherwise. But it's what we've got to work with for now. It's a simple, temporary solution.

I do a quick tape job and extend the bag to Bebe. She denies it and curses again. "Bee stop bitching and just take it!" I tell her, shoving the hideous accessory into her chest and dropping the rest of her belongings back in. I rise to my feet, pick up my backpack, and speed walk down the hall to make it to my class on time. "See you at lunch!" I yell back to her, sensing that she hasn't moved from her devastated spot on the ground. She'd rather be late than walk into class—in front of people—with a fashion crime like that.

The bell rings and I take off in a sprint toward class. Every door closes, leaving the hallways as silent as a graveyard. Surrounded by an eerie feeling, I continue at the same pace to avoid getting a tardy slip. As I round the corner of my first period class, I practically trip over a forlorn figure hunched over with his butt up against the lockers. "Whoa!" I cry, choosing not to slow down until my back is facing him.

I recognize that body from anywhere. I slow to a stop and put my hand on the locker, only inches away from my destination. Sighing deeply, I turn around.

Stan is in a heap on the floor, his arms braced around his elbows, his knees tucked inside the barrier. His head is dropped to his chest as well, his back shaking violently. His sniffles break the deafening silence.

I drop my head and move toward him—my body and mind telling me to ignore him and go into class. But I obviously can't do that when he's breaking his force field in the middle of the school hallways! When I reach him, I don't bend down. Rather, I stand looking down at him, as though he is of lower life form than I.

He senses my presence and peers upward through glassy eyes. "Your class is waiting on you," he whispers through a choke. He sniffs once more, making a desperate attempt to show me he wasn't crying. I know better.

"What's wrong?" I ask monotonously. I'm not really sure how to handle my encounters with him anymore.

He snorts. "Why should you care anymore? You said so yourself, we're just two people who happened to date once. You don't have any interest in being my friend again."

Dammit, I hate it when he does that! Its like he never remembers a single thing I say…until I say something like that. I really did say that, didn't I? And I meant it…but…but…ARGH! I don't know!

"I don't like leaving someone alone when they're obviously sad," I instead say, trying to cover up my sincerity.

He turns to stare at the lockers opposite of him. "That's why you're a good person."

I give up standing and kneel down, instantly falling all the way down to my butt. "Not always," I point out.

"Don't feel obligated to talk to me, Wendy. You got your point across yesterday."

I growl under my breath. He's going to make me regret my decision to tend to him if he doesn't accept my company. "Good!" I say with little enthusiasm. "Maybe something I said sunk in for once."

He scoffs. "Looks like you're not finished."

I drop my sarcasm. It'll do neither of us good. "Look, don't be an asshole. I'm just trying to see why you're so upset."

He looks at me as if I just said something utterly preposterous.

"Okay, okay. I know why you're upset. But…what happened? How'd your parents take it? Did something happen at school?"

He drops his knees onto the ground and lays flat against the locker. "You could say that."

I hate how ambiguous he is. Its like he wants me to poke him for an answer until I anger him for prodding him too much. "Say what? What happened, Stan?" I ask in genuine concern.

"Dad fucking hit the roof. He didn't hear it from me. His secretary told him."

"Ouch," I say with a face. That must've not been pretty. Randy's an insensitive asshole when it comes to things. Ha, kind of like his son.

He smiles falsely. "Yeah. And mom…well she told me she knew. She figured something was up when he started spending the night all the time again."

"She didn't just figure you two enjoyed each other's company?"

"She claims she walked in on us once taking a shower," he explains, and my eyes narrow in jealousy. But that is my first instinct. I push it aside, and continue to ask questions.

"How could've you not known?"

He shrugs. "Glass got too steamy? How the hell am I supposed to know? I'm glad it wasn't dad who did that. I'd be shipped off to the Loony bin for sure. He told mom I need to look into some 'classes'."

"Oh jeez."

"Yeah. Said he had a buddy that went gay a long time ago and that he's all straightened up now thanks to Dr. whatever-the-fuck-his-name."

"They want to send you to a shrink?" I ask in disbelief. Even Randy wouldn't stoop that low…would he?

He shakes his head. "Mom won't allow it. She's being all lovey about it. Wanting to spend more time to get to know the 'new me'."

"There's nothing new about you!" I exclaim. "She even knows that!"

"That's what I said. But she's insistent. Oh, and she wants me to apologize to you. You know…for keeping you in the dark and cheating on you and stuff."

I scoff at how easily he can just say that. How it doesn't break his heart that the girl he pretended to love for ten years is nothing more than a joke to him. I guess that makes sense. But still…

He can tell I'm agitated. "Those were her words, not mine." He turns to me, and I take in those baby blues of his. "Wendy…I…there are no words to describe how bad I feel for all of this. I know I've been an asshole to you and I know you could've been so much meaner about it. I know that I fucked up and I can't even tell you how worthless it makes me feel to know what I've done to the girl I love the most. What you said yesterday hurt but…it helped me see how selfish I was being. So yeah…it did sink in." He makes an attempt to smile.

"I don't deserve your friendship," he continues, and I roll my eyes. "I DON'T! Even I can admit that. But…if you're willing to give me another chance, I can begin to make it up to you…somehow."

Is he being sincere? I can't tell.

He shakes his head when I don't respond. "I understand," he says before he pulls himself off the ground, dusting his backside. Looking around the hallway, he does his best to avoid eye contact. "You need to get to class."

I stand back up as well, meeting his reluctant gaze. "Don't do that," I warn.

"Do what?"

"Pretend that nothing's wrong and just change the subject," I answer, flustered.

"I have to get to class too…"

"See?" I cry. "You didn't even give me a chance to answer before you assume that I'm a cold-hearted bitch who isn't going to take your sincerity seriously!"

His eyes light up as he searches mine for meaning behind the words I just said. "Does that mean-"

"It means," I cut him off with my palm in the air and closed eyes, "that I renege my earlier statement." I drop my hand with a sigh. "We aren't two people that happened to date once. I know that. And even if I could ever act that way, I would always know the truth, and that's what hurts the most."

His shoulders slump. "I'm sorry for lying to you."

I can't believe I'm hearing what I'm hearing. Stan has finally realized what he's done! This is a glorious day! And I, for one, am rejoicing. Because I know Stan, and I know it takes a mountain of courage for him to ever apologize. So when he does, it's genuine. Saying the words 'I'm sorry' for him is as hard as it would be for a fourteen year old to tell her mom 'I'm pregnant'. And once the words are out there, there's no going back. He knows this, and that is enough for me. I still don't forgive him…but that will come with time.

Even knowing how hard it was for him to say those simple words, I don't let him off the hook. "Stan, what you did warrants more than an apology."

He sighs. "I know."

"You lied to my face for a year!" This is my time to really get the apology—and the reaction—I've been wanting all along.

"I know."

"You continued to let me believe there was more to us than a cover up scheme. We still dated, we still spent time alone, we still had sex!" I screech, suddenly finding myself unable to control my words.

Sighing again, he stares at my toes. "I know. I'm sorry."

"You didn't correct people when they said we were the perfect couple, Stan. Everyone—including me—thought we were getting married!"

He takes a deep breath. "I know. I kept telling myself that too, believe me. I was so confused about what was going on. Why I felt the way I did. The first night Kyle and I…you know…I was in shock. And I hated myself. And I couldn't for the life of me explain why I did what I did. But it felt so right. And that's when I started to realize that maybe there's a reason it happened to begin with. Maybe Kyle and I knew this moment would come since the beginning of our friendship way before I even knew you. And this life I was living before I knew how I felt about him seemed like a lie to me." He sighs yet again. "But I refused to follow my feelings. I didn't want to be that way, especially when I knew I had a good thing going on with you."

That's the most honest, heartfelt explanation I think he's ever given to me about anything. I stand silently, hurt, relieved, satisfied, angry, sympathetic, and jealous all at once. He opens his mouth as if to continue, and I let him.

"You were the first real thing I ever had in my life. Everything came easily to me growing up. I was good at sports, great with people, and everyone loved me because I was good at sports and nice to them. And you and I…we went through hell to get to where I was sure you were the girl for me. You saw more to me than what everyone else did, and I held onto that. Our relationship was real to me because I knew that you wanted to be with me no matter what.

"And Kyle, he was in the background. But he was also there for me, no matter what. I think that's why we stayed such good friends, because we just got along. It wasn't because we were both good at the same things. Shit, I'm not smart and he's no good at sports. But everything came easy to us. Our friendship was just…there. I didn't have to work to be with him. We didn't fight, and we didn't care what anyone else thought. When we were together…it was just us. I wanted that time more than anything, and when we weren't hanging out, I wanted to be.

"When I realized what that meant to me, things got all complicated. And he started acting really weird, and I thought I'd lost him. But then one night…his weirdness stopped and he told me he was only acting that way because he was scared what it meant for him…because he felt the same way and didn't want to admit it. And when we first kissed, I knew that everything in my life up that very moment had been one big lie. It wasn't who I was; it was just the person I was conditioned to become. And the fame, the popularity…you…they all paled in comparison to who I was when I was with Kyle. Of course I told myself that was all stupid, and I was just excited because someone else wanted to be with me." He frowns as if he's realizing something as he's confessing all of this to me. "I'm pretty sure that's why I'm here where I'm at now. Because I took him for granted. He wasn't just someone else to me, he was the real thing. But I'm so used to having things handed to me…I didn't want to work for him. I didn't want to give up the life that was given to me. I didn't want to give up a good thing for something great."

I gaze into his eyes for what seems like an eternity, awaiting the next part to what he has to say. But when nothing comes, it all sinks in. The confession, the admission of guilt, the realization that I was never the missing piece to his puzzle all hits me at once. And I'm sad again. But this time its not directed toward anyone. This time it's because I too, apparently, have been living a lie. I just didn't know it. And suddenly, just like this hair and makeup that covers up who I really am…I feel fake. Lost again. Everything I thought I wanted has been revoked from my grasp. I'm left with nothing familiar.

Then something happens that I wasn't expecting. With one hand, Stan grabs the back of my neck, pulling me in so that I can taste his lips on mine. His eyes clamp shut, as mine stay wide open, gawking at him. I feel my arms flail about, and I'm pretty sure we look pretty comical right now. But the confusion in his eyes shines through even through closed lids, and once I regain composure, I pull away gently.

I bite my lip and look to the ceiling, struggling internally with how to address his most recent actions. Swallowing, I look back at him through shock and uncertainty. "Wow," is all I can manage. It's not a 'wow' as in 'oh wow does that mean we're together again?' like some loony teenage girl who doesn't see the truth for what it is. It's a 'wow' because, once again, I realize my feelings for him are nowhere near as extinct as I vow them to be. They're still as strong as they were when I first found out about the whole mess. Which means it still hurts like it did the first time I knew I wasn't the one he wanted to be with. And kissing me has brought back all of those painful memories.

"Sorry," he apologizes. Again. "I just miss you, Wendy."

So you kiss me!? That's what I really want to say, but I can't bring myself to alienate him further. Instead, I pull the 'ole Stanley standby of, "I understand."

He takes a moment to gauge my reaction before grinning with a hint of mischief. "You look really good today, by the way."

I scoff, unable to stop shaking my head. Wow is right. Just what exactly is he trying to do to me?!

"Mr. Marsh, I sincerely hope you don't think you'll be getting away with kissing your girlfriend in the hallway when you two should be in class right now. Please come with me."

We both turn to match the stern voice with its owner, and find probably the only teacher left in this building who hasn't heard about Stan's public outing. Or maybe he doesn't want to. He's the straight-laced geometry teacher that never looks at us straight in the eye. He only addresses us with a Mr. or Miss in front of our last name, with the type of emphasis that lets you know you're in trouble.

"Mr. Carson, I was the one who blocked Wendy from getting to class. She didn't really have a choice, and her class is right there," Stan tells him while pointing to the door a few feet down the hallway. "Please just let her get back to learning. She loves her classes ever so much."

I can't believe Mr. Carson eats up that ham, but he does. With a flick of the wrist, he dismisses me. "Go ahead, Miss Testaburger."

Stan gives me a half-smile before getting carted off by the shoulder. I stand in disbelief, wondering if Stan would've ever done that for me before. Luckily for us, we'd never gotten caught skipping classes. Then again, we were never just hanging out in the middle of a hallway before either. I suppose that wasn't the brightest move. I didn't really think about it.

I gather my strength to face my class with a tardy the size of Arizona. You can't fake that you're late to class for a simple reason when you're—I peer down at my watch—twelve minutes late. Maybe I can say that my car didn't start. Teachers love that excuse.

"So nice of you to join us, Wendy," Mrs. Walters greets me seemingly as soon as I twist open the doorknob. Perhaps she knew of my whereabouts all along. You never know with that woman.

I accept my late arrival without an office excuse and the detention slip that follows. Then I plop down in my seat with my hand on my cheek, desperately trying to focus on the day's topic. It's kind of hard to do that, though, when my mind is still stuck in that hallway on the conversation I had with Stan.

I've come to a conclusion. I have to help out Stan. He's hopeless without someone to give him a push—he's always been that way. And while I can't stand the thought of he and Kyle being back together, I can't keep doing this to myself. I can't keep putting myself in these heartbreaking situations, where every word he speaks is like a thousand arrows piercing my heart. I can't keep pretending that he wants to be with me anymore either. That ship has sailed, if indeed it ever came into the harbor at all. I mean, it's clear to me how deeply he cares about Kyle. Good God, I've never heard him speak so passionately about anyone before in my life. So while Bebe thinks I should distance myself from them, I think I should instead do the exact opposite.

Yes, I have to help Stan out for my own good. If I don't, I will never let this issue rest. I'll feel guilty for not doing all I could. If they mess it up on their own terms, then they'll be the ones to blame. But I can't let Kyle wallow in his own sorrow, and let Stan feed off of his own misery, and feel good about myself. I have to get those two back together. And if it doesn't fix things for good, maybe it can help me out temporarily. Because if I focus all of my energy on working to get them back together, I can stop thinking about how screwed up this situation really is. And my thoughts are what's really destroying me.

It may not be what I want in the end, and it may not be the right answer. Either way, it's something I need to do at this time. For all of our own good. The sooner I can accept the fact that this is how it should be, the sooner I'll be able to sort out my feelings and get on with my own life. People fall out of love all the time, right? If trying to avoid them hasn't worked, and trying to forget about them hasn't worked, and trying to believe I'm over them hasn't worked, then maybe doing something good for them will.

Immediately, I begin jotting down ways to execute this new approach. It occupies my thoughts for the rest of the period. I become so absorbed in my strategy that I hardly notice the extra glances my way from the male population in the room. They're probably just trying to see what I'm writing down anyway. I ignore them.