This is an early Christmas-or Hannukah, Kwanza, Christmaska, Festivus, whatever you celebrate-present. Anyone who reads this story is great and anyone who reviews is great. I really appreciate the feedback. This is the longest chapter, but don't worry, you'll still find my dependable cliffy at the end :p

The Truth-finally

"What's up," he asked, still smiling.

Unwilling to let my nerves stop me now, I inhaled a breath before asking, "Why did you guys move here?"

He was taken off guard by the unpredictable question, but besides a quick tightening around his eyes, there was no indication that my question targeted something that was intended to be kept hidden.

He laughed a bit shakily before responding, "Nice to see you too, Chloe."

"Simon," I said, hoping he'd be able to pick up on my seriousness.

Apparently, he did for he ignored what could certainly be considered as odd behavior and answered my question. "Well, we were living in a small town in a really good area upstate. I'm talking people who should have been in a J. Crew catalogue or part of the Brady Bunch. My dad's in family law and where we were living, there was either no problems, or if there was, they weren't mentioned—you know, keeping the image intact and all that. So, when a job came up here—one that offered more potential—he took it without question. And none of us were upset to be moving either. Our blended family didn't exactly fit in the surreal mold of perfection." He shrugged and offered a quick smile, the only indication that he was nervous being that he was speaking slightly more quickly than usual.

"That's not what I'm talking about," I said quietly. Straightforward was the approach I was going for. There was no need to drag this out any longer than necessary.

As understanding dawned on him, he stiffened and I could see the gears turning in his mind. I only caught a glimpse of panic before he managed to regain control of his expression and all traces of emotion slipped away—something he must have picked up from Derek, I thought dryly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said definitively. The oldest line in the book and I wasn't about to fall for it.

"Simon, I need to know. Don't play dumb," I pleaded, hoping he could see just how badly I did, in fact, need to know—just how serious, how desperate, I was.

He regarded me evenly for what seemed like a long time, as if assessing if I could be entrusted with the severity of the story or whether or not I was prepared to hear it. I stuck my chin out and met his gaze head on, refusing to be intimidated out of gathering the information that would enable me to figure out the final piece of the puzzle. Finally, he sighed and looked away. Then, meeting my gaze, he asked, "Who told you?"

"My aunt. She's on the parent's board and was there during the hearing." If I wanted the truth, then I would also have to give him the same in return.

He nodded understandingly and, hesitating briefly, took my hand and led me off the stage and to the seats of the auditorium. I couldn't help but notice the difference between the feel of his hand and the feel of Derek's, which was so much warmer, so much more comfortable.

Taking seats beside each other, he turned to me, urgency clear in his eyes. "I know you're not one to gossip, Chloe. You don't seem like that type of person. But you have to understand that I need to ask you not to breathe a word of this to anyone. If the story became known by the wrong person…" he trailed off, looking panic-stricken. Continuing quickly, he added, "Well, you know how people are. The exaggeration, the gossip, it's terrible. And Derek doesn't deserve any of it," he finished earnestly.

"Of course," I said gravely. I knew this even before I had asked the question. There was a reason this story wasn't known and I didn't want Derek to end up being victimized. I didn't want him to have to walk around with more guilt, more shame, if people found out.

Sighing, he began, "Derek came to live with us when I was five. He had recently been placed in foster care and… well, there was obviously a reason he was there. My dad happened upon the case and met with Derek. He could see that in the right environment and under the right care, he'd be able to thrive. Not to mention that my dad was a sucker for him because he was like an adult packed into a four year olds body—a nice break from me."

He broke off with a faraway look in his eyes and threw a mischievous smile my way before continuing, "It took a while for Derek to adapt, I guess, and even when he had, he was still reserved, closed off in a way not many kids are. He regressed for a bit when Tori came along—we were ten and that's a whole other story—but again, he eventually got used to the new addition. But outside of us, of our little band of misfits as we like to call ourselves, Derek couldn't quite shake the apprehensiveness he felt around other people. He didn't—still doesn't—lack the social skills; he just didn't trust other people. I think he feels like they'll just end up letting him down, disappointing him or, even though he'd never admit this, like they wouldn't like what they'd see and end up just picking up and leaving, completely disregarding and devaluing him. So Derek was a quiet kid. Some teachers thought he was sullen, but others passed it off as reserve or shyness. But as Derek got older, his silence was taken as a refusal to integrate. He started being chalked up as difficult and arrogant. To make matters worse, we moved around a lot. If you haven't noticed, Tori and I are more social than Derek, so moving wasn't as big a deal to us. Yeah, it sucked, but we didn't have as much trouble adjusting, fitting in. Derek was actually the one who was unfazed by the moving, but because he stuck out, he always got the worst end of the deal. And then when puberty hit, if you can imagine, things got even harder for him. Derek was suddenly bigger than everyone. He liked sports and built muscle a lot more easily compared to the rest of us. He also didn't look his age; he looked a lot older. The only way you could tell he wasn't a man was the acne."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise and he chuckled. "I know, you never would've known. I see the looks he gets from girls now, but Mother Nature wasn't always so kind. It didn't last long—maybe six months—but it was just another thing that he got judged for. And whenever I tried to get involved, he brushed me off and told me to behave. That it was his fight, not mine, and that he was dealing with it the way he wanted to deal with it."

I was getting anxious, waiting in anticipation for the turn in the story, and I think Simon saw it for he quickly changed his tune and I could feel the shift in mood.

"Like I told you before, the last place we lived in basically could have been considered Stepford and we weren't exactly welcomed with open arms. I mean, Tori and I are siblings and half-Asian—which was already encroaching on their comfort level— but we don't look anything alike. And in tow was Derek, who you have to admit, looks pretty intimidating and dangerous when you first see him. He got the usual crap—people gossiping about him and macho guys harassing him probably because they were intimidated. And while it was never bad for me, I still had to go through what could best be called as hazing. Anyways, I was eventually accepted by most of them. I personally didn't really care, but I like to get involved and that's kind of hard when half your grade shies away from you or doesn't like you because they don't know you. But, there were two guys who wouldn't even try getting to know me. They hated me because I was different and I got shoved and taunted whenever they saw me. But like I said, whatever. The opinion of two ignorant assholes didn't really mean much to me."

"Things were going okay and about two months into the semester, I was outside on the basket ball court after school, waiting for Derek to finish talking about something math related with our teacher. I was fooling around when the two guys—Mark and Chris—mosey on over. Mark was the real Neanderthal; Chris was more a loyal sidekick. They started talking to me and I was finally graced with the knowledge of why they didn't like me. Turned out that Mark's loser cousin got fired from some convenience store when a new owner—who happened to be Chinese—took over the store. I thought it was my duty to clear up the misconception and point out that shockingly, not only are all Asians not from China—I'm Korean, by the way— but we're also not all related. That's when the trouble started. Mark told Chris to go stand watch and next thing I knew, he was taking a swing at me. I held my own for a while, but he was bigger and eventually, he had me cornered. And then he pulled out a knife. And… I don't know. I knew he was going to use it and I guess I was trying to numb myself, prepare for the inevitable. But it never came. Next thing I knew, he was being thrown off me and Derek was standing in his place, looking angry and relieved. I grabbed him and started running, but he wouldn't move. He was looking at Mark on the ground. There was blood coming out of his head and you could see the gash even from our vantage point. He wasn't moving and you could tell something was definitely wrong. I called our dad and then the police; Derek couldn't. His eyes were fixated on Mark's unmoving frame. When the cops got there, they took one look at Derek and started giving him hell. They were about to handcuff him when our dad showed up. All unimportant details aside though, his head got cracked open and he was in a coma for a while. The brain damage was permanent and he's confined to a wheelchair now. He needs to be taken care of for the rest of his life." He said this rather dispassionately, pausing for a moment before continuing.

"The trial was pretty bad. Derek was acquitted because it was self-defense and there had been other incidences of Mark carrying a weapon and harassing people with it—assault with a deadly weapon. But the prosecution put up a fight, which made Derek feel worse than he already did—still does. They even went so far as to bring up his childhood, saying that not only had he learned violence, but that it ran in his blood. Thank God the judge was reasonable—he even sealed the files so they wouldn't show up on his record." He shot me a shuttered look, as if appraising me, and I didn't look away. Satisfied, he went on, "When the trial was done, dad decided that it would be best for us to move. Tori and I agreed wholeheartedly, but Derek was impassive at that point. He was different after the accident, carrying around all that guilt, but the trial seemed to solidify the changes. When we got here, we thought things would get better. It's a bigger school in a bigger district and people aren't as closed off. They don't have the mindset 'them against us.' But we got nothing from Derek. He got even quieter and seemed to grow into himself. He didn't talk to people and he would not join a sports team. He flat out refused and even got into an argument with dad about it. It was the first sign of life, an actual reaction, he had seen in him after so many months, so he let it go on a compromise, making Derek promise to be active on his own terms. But last year, dad got frustrated again. He was tired of Derek having to carry around all the guilt and anger—he said he hated seeing his child like that. So he sat him down and basically gave him the option to join a team or join a team. He thought that organized sports would help Derek release some tension. Of course, Derek stubbornly refused, but dad wouldn't back down and then he brought up counseling, which basically had Derek out of his chair and running to football tryouts. And that's that," he finished, shrugging his shoulders and simultaneously releasing tension.

I was taken aback, yes, but my original thoughts hadn't changed. I had initially thought that it had all been a terrible accident and I was right. The only thing that did change though, were my feelings towards Derek. I realized he could no longer be considered a puzzle; he didn't deserve that. He was so much more. And, if possible, I felt even sadder for him than I had when my aunt had alluded to the story. My heart hurt for him, but I didn't know what I could do. I was completely helpless and it was a terrible feeling. He didn't deserve all the guilt he was carrying around and I wanted to pummel into his head that it wasn't his fault, but it was Derek and I knew that no matter what I said—what anybody said—he would believe what he thought was right. And in this case, it was himself who he thought just. It was terribly cliché and made me want to roll my eyes and slap myself, but I wanted to take the hurt away.

Interrupting my reverie, Simon asked, "Why did you want to know?"

"I was loosely aware of the accident and I started to notice that Derek would sometimes start to act differently, like he was trying to pull away. And he's avoiding me now, so I felt like I needed the whole story—the truth—to be able to justify his behavior."

Simon chuckled lightly, almost as if to himself, and shook his head. I started at him in incredulity and when he caught my look, he sobered up and said, "It's just kind of ironic, I guess. We've been at this school for almost three years now. It's the longest we've been anywhere and we've all really gotten the chance to settle, except Derek. Whether it's because he won't or he can't, I don't really know. You have to remember, he got used to being judged before he even opened his mouth. And even though the files are sealed, all the teachers and the parent's board had to be notified of what had happened. You should see the way some of the teachers treat him, like they're afraid of him or like he's unworthy of their good opinion. The only decent one is Mr. Williams. And the rumor mill was worse for him, too, because he's more noticeable. So Derek's kind of developed the mentality 'if they're not going to give me a chance, why should I give them one?' But recently, dad and I, and even Tori, have noticed a change. And I think it's because of you, Chloe. You're the first person in years to have looked past what you saw and gotten to know Derek without having judged him. You gave him a chance and you have to understand how much that can mean for a person. A couple of weeks ago, I caught him smiling to himself and I almost had a heart attack. I'm not saying he's never happy; he just hasn't seemed so at ease in a while."

Confused, I asked, "Then why is he ignoring me. Why does he insist on pulling away?"

"I think he's afraid of hurting you. Or that, if you found out about what happened, you wouldn't want to be around him anymore," he said quietly.

My brain suddenly went into overload trying to process all the newly acquired information and my mind was reeling. Simon chuckled sardonically. "I know. And I thought women were complicated."

I laughed a bit shakily before silence befell us. My thoughts unsurprisingly and, as I found they now so frequently did, returned to Derek. And thinking of him made me think of so much else. I was mad at how unjust the world had been to him; saddened by what it had made him feel; and frustrated by his complex way of feeling and reasoning. Simon's voice broke through the turmoil as he asked, quietly, "You don't think of him any differently, do you?" While his question still held a bit of fear for the worst, it was still asked with certainty, as if it weren't a question at all, but more of a confirmation to something he already suspected.

"No," I answered honestly. And it was true. Derek, if not more clear, was still Derek to me. Haunted, brooding, smart, handsome Derek.

Simon smiled the smile that epitomized him—carefree, boyish and joyful. Getting up to go, he turned to me, "You know, I think you're just what Derek needs."

Perplexed, I didn't have time to respond before he left me alone in the auditorium. Leaning back, I let my mind mull over everything I had found out. I realized a bit dreadfully that I would somehow have to tell Derek that I knew. It seemed deceitful to keep it from him, and I wasn't about to take a step in the wrong direction, especially considering I now thought that I had a chance of getting somewhere with him. For the moment, I pushed away the little voice in my mind that corrected me, reminded me that I didn't want to get somewhere with him rather than be something with him, and chose instead to focus on the present.

Call it a bad feeling, or a sixth sense, or even not being completely and blatantly ignorant of social subtleties, but when Derek walked into English on Monday morning and took a seat as far away from me as possible, pointedly ignoring me, I knew something was wrong. As soon as the bell rang, he was out of his seat and out the door and I didn't see him for the rest of the day, which was odd since I had continued to see him everywhere. By the end of the day, sitting in math, I was a nervous wreck. He was mad at me, that much I had gathered. It was what he was mad about that I consciously shied away from contemplating. Class passed by in a blur and if you put a gun to my head, I would not be able to reiterate a single thing Mr. Williams had said. When the bell rang, I jumped, startled out of my thoughts, and was making my way towards the door when he called me back.

"Chloe," he said a bit sadly, "Mr. Souza informed me earlier today of the unfortunate change in scheduling with his practices and how they now conflict with your schedule. He also told me that the changes were for an indefinite amount of time. Now, I know this is a setback, but I think we can work something out. There's only a month left until the Christmas break, and although we don't have winter exams, there is still going to be a test that counts for ten percent of your mark. I think the best thing would be for us to start working together again. You can tell me what Derek did with you and we'll try to develop a new method from there. I know it may not sound as appealing, but it's what needs to be done if we're going to get you to where I know you can be," he finished with a smile and an attempt at optimism.

I nodded and I may have said something, but I can't be completely sure. Mind reeling, I made my way out of the classroom, trying to breathe normally and make sense of everything. I had not been informed of this so called 'change in schedule.' And the only thing I could think was that it was a lie. It was such an unconcealed lie, too, and while I had no proof, I knew it was. Simon had told him that I knew and though I was unsurprised, considering they were brothers, I couldn't help but feel a little betrayed. And now Derek was mad at me. I didn't even know if mad was a strong enough word. He had gone as far as to cut me out of his life without a moment's notice. He was gone with the blink of an eye, and that felt unsettlingly familiar— familiar in a way I tried to ignore. Irrational as it was, tears threatened to fall and I fought with all my might against them. I would not cry. He wasn't allowed to do that to me.

Walking into drama, I apparently didn't look as self-possessed as I had thought, for Simon, after seeing me, rushed over to my side.

"What'd he do," he asked somewhat reluctantly.

Ignoring him, I asked instead, "You told him?"

He looked desperate and pleaded, "He's my brother. And I felt guilty. And," he said with emphasis, "when I got home, he wanted to know why I was home later than usual and I could not—would not—lie to him."

I sighed and grudgingly nodded in understanding.

"Now, what did he do?"

I quickly summarized and Simon muttered an oath under his breath.

"He's just upset. And he feels betrayed. Derek kind of has a list of hits and misses and once you're off, you're off. It's extreme, I know, but it's Derek."

Seeing my panicked—heartbroken—expression, he added quickly, "But I think it's different with you. He cares about you, Chloe, and he was just taken off guard. Give him a couple of days and go from there. He doesn't want you out of his life, whether he'll admit it or not." He patted me on the arm reassuringly and turned away, leaving me alone with the possibility of having ruined what I had with Derek forever.

Walking into Aunt Lauren's house, I felt exhausted and wanted to curl up and sleep forever, permanently forgetting numbers.

Needless to say, Simon's words were unhelpful, for a couple of days had soon turned into a couple of weeks. My math marks were slowly but steadily getting back down to where they had started, but I couldn't help it. Math was now like the Russian winter to the German army, peanuts to a person with an anaphylactic allergy to said protein substitute. Mr. Williams tried his best, but I didn't understand his approach. He was no Derek, which was probably also a factor in my plummeting mark. During my hour with Williams, my thoughts regularly went to Derek and not to math. And Derek—Derek didn't acknowledge me. He acted as if I didn't exist, which hurt, while he seemed to be occupying a good deal of my thoughts. And while it was admittedly pathetic, it was also slightly therapeutic. The more I thought about him and what had happened, the more the sadness was replaced with anger. Who was he to decide the rules of our relationship? Where did he get off? One fight—it wasn't even a fight, I reminded myself, for there was no talking involved—and suddenly all we had meant nothing. And we did have something. Even though it hadn't been acknowledged and not properly tuned to, there was something between Derek and I, and I had decided that I wasn't going to forget about it, give it up without a fight. Unfortunately, my bark was worse than my bite and I had yet to act on my feelings.

Trudging up the stairs, I heard Aunt Lauren's voice calling, beckoning me into the living room. Swallowing a sigh, I turned around and went to meet my fate, knowing exactly what she wanted to discuss.

She was sitting on the big chair, back straight and looking authoritative and disappointed. She motioned for me to take a seat next to her and I obliged.

Turning towards me, she said, "I assume you know what this is about."

"Yes," I said, looking down.

"A sixty, Chloe," she asked sighing, referring to my most recent math test. "What's going on? Things were going so well."

"Derek can't tutor me anymore and Mr. Williams had to take his place. I'm really trying to understand, but I'm tired with break so close and it's been hard trying to readapt to his methods," I explained, hoping it sounded like a valid reason. It sounded better than, 'I can't stop thinking about my former sexy, brooding tutor who is now hell bent on ignoring me simply because I was curious, so forgive me if math seems slightly unimportant.' At least I thought it did.

Her eyes softened and empathetically, she reached over to pat me on the knee. "I know you're tired hun, but this is it. Just think of it as the final hurtle before you have two weeks of pure, relaxing bliss. I know you're trying and I know this isn't what you want to hear, but you just need to try a little harder. I know you can do it. Besides, you're better off without having to spend time with that boy," she finished with a contemptuous tone.

Taken aback, I shifted so her hand no longer rested on my knee. She was an adult—a pseudo-parent—and yet she was sitting here and judging Derek? If I knew better, surely should she. Her words provoked an unexpected reaction, too, making the frustration that had been slowly building itself up suddenly bubble up over the surface.

"What do you mean by 'that boy'? His name is Derek."

"Chloe," she said reproachfully. "I told you the story. You know what he did."

"Yes, I do. But he didn't do it on purpose and you're making it sound like he did. It was an accident Aunt Lauren, a terrible accident. Do you even know how it happened or why?"

She was looking at me as if she didn't know who I was and remained silent. Using it to my advantage, I continued, "Derek was protecting his brother, who had been cornered by a guy with a knife. If that's not a good enough reason, then I don't know what is. At the time, Derek's sole concern was saving Simon. He didn't mean to hurt anybody, it just happened. And he shouldn't be condemned for the rest of his life for something that was beyond his control," I said, voice strong and unwavering. She looked as appropriately chastised as anyone whose seventeen year old niece had put them in their place. I don't think she knew what to say or how to react, and too frustrated to say much else or act repentant, I spun and left her alone to think about what I had offered her.

If I had been a more dramatic person, I would have slammed my door, but alas, I wasn't and settled on shutting it more forcefully than usual. Standing in the middle of my room, angry at Derek and angry at anybody and everybody who made him feel the way he did, I decided that if I was willing to fight for him, I was fully capable of manning up and risk fighting with him. And I was fully intent on making good on my promise. Feeling as if things were starting to look up, I mentally started to prepare myself for what I knew I had to do.

As teenagers excitedly filtered out around me, anxious for the one hour of freedom lunch provided them, I ignored them all, striding purposefully towards the library. I had figured out long ago where Derek petulantly spent his lunch hours and I was about to gladly interrupt his hour of brooding—I didn't know if he brooded—he probably read—but thinking of him brooding better contributed to keeping my stamina and gusto intact. I pulled open the doors and went straight for the area where the study rooms were. Yes, Derek liked to be that isolated. Peeking in through the first window, I saw him bent over a book and decided taking him off guard would be the best way to approach things. For once thankful of my tiny stature, I slipped through the slightly opened door and took a moment to glare daggers at his head before I shut the door with a solid thud. He looked up, clearly taken off guard. But when he registered it as me standing in front of him, the surprise fell away as dozens of emotions quickly flitted across his face. The most dominant and reoccurring was anger, though I caught betrayal and disappointment. All understandable, but that didn't change the fact that it was now my purpose to beat my points into that stubborn head of his and force him to talk to me.

Trying for that infuriating indifference of his, he apparently felt too strongly and settled on anger, glaring right back at me. If he had been a dog, he'd probably be growling, but I wasn't intimidated.

Bring it on, I thought, hoping that it was clear in my expression. I was ready for whatever he would throw my way.

Happy Holidays! Make an author happy-R&R :)