Empty spray paint cans and a pocket knife were placed on Prickly's desk as the teachers around explained the situation at hand. TJ, the one being accused, sat at the chair in front of his desk, doing his best to defend himself.

"Can you all give me a moment to talk to him alone?" Principal Prickly asked. The teachers nodded, leaving the evidence behind. Once the door shut, TJ was finally able to defend himself without being chastised by the teachers.

"Principal Prickly, I have no idea how that stuff got in my locker, but it wasn't me!" He said. "Why would I do something like this out of nowhere? I haven't caused any trouble this whole school year!"

"I know, which makes dealing with this situation that much harder. It was found in your locker, which, in any case, is hard to argue against," said Prickly. "Detweiler, if you did this, this is the time to tell me."

"I didn't do it!"

"Alright. . .but since the evidence is stacked against you, I have to issue out some form of punishment," he said. "Normally, something like this would call for a suspension, but I'm going to try and go easy on you, since you haven't caused a ruckus this year. I'm assigning you to help repair the damage done to their set. I think they meet after school every day for an hour."

"But I didn't do anything wrong!"

"I believe you, but since everything is pointing in your direction, I have to do this. I'm sorry."

TJ huffed, resigning to his punishment. He'd rather find who framed him, but at least he didn't have to explain getting suspended to his parents. But an hour every day after school? That means he doesn't have any time for kickboxing. He groaned. How was he supposed to explain this one?

#

"That's bullshit, dude! Someone framed you and you get in trouble!"

Lunch was a well welcomed break. With his incoming punishment and drain of his time inching closer with every minute, TJ couldn't focus much in class. He couldn't say that he wanted the day to end, either, because that would mean marching off to the auditorium instead of somewhere he actually wanted to be.

"I know. But it's hard to prove that it wasn't you when everything was found in your locker," said TJ. "I gotta tell Kevin why I won't be in practice for a while. And my parents. They aren't gonna like this."

"You know, it might be hard to find out who framed you, but not impossible," said Randall. "I'm up for a challenge."

"It was probably Austin. The guy hates me, and I never did anything to him," he said. "It's like he doesn't have anything better to do but annoy me. But unless you can get a confession out of him, I'm screwed."

"Don't give up yet. I'm rusty but I still got it," said Randall. "I'll get an admission out of him."

"Good luck, man."

"So what are they making you do?" CJ asked.

"Clean up the sets for the theatre club after school," TJ said. "That means I can't make it to kick boxing until everything is fixed."

"Goddamn, dude. Wait, what if we volunteer to help out the theatre club? Then we can help fix things faster and get you out of there in no time!" She suggested.

"Wouldn't work. This is supposed to be a punishment. They probably won't let anyone help me," said TJ. "Thanks, though. I'll stop by after to tell Kevin what's up. Not like I would've been training for anything. . .Can we talk about something else?"

#

The auditorium was brighter than TJ imagined it would be. Already on the stage were the theatre kids and their director or whatever their title was, he didn't care. As he climbed on stage, a few of the kids sent heated glare his way, while the others ignored him outright. Great. Already off to a good start.

"So, um, I'm hear to fix whatever was broken, or whatever," he said, getting the attention of the director.

"Of course you are. Tell me, was it fun destroying the set we worked so hard on?" The director said.

"I dunno. It wasn't me."

"Sure it wasn't. The spray paint just happened to be in your locker. Could've happened to anyone." The director scoffed. "You'll be working on fixing the background first. There's so much covered that we might as well do the whole thing over again."

She waved to the pained cardboard backgrounds, which were covered in black spray paint. He could barely make out what it was supposed to be. A cityscape? A sky line? He was going to find out once he had to paint it himself.

"You're going to paint over it with white paint until it's even. After that, you'll work with the costume designers on fixing the damage done to our costumes," said the director. "You've got your work cut out for you, kid. I hope all this was worth it."

TJ signed and grabbed the can of paint and roller.

#

Walking home, TJ was ready to call it a day, lock himself in his room, and mope. His clothes were spotted with white paint, and the tips of his fingers ached from the numerous times he stuck himself with a needle. Christ. And he wasn't anywhere close to finished.

As soon as he stepped off of school property, he pulled out the pack of cigarettes Colten tossed to him and took one out. Part of him hated using these things, but he couldn't deny that they made him feel better, and dammit, he needed something to make him relax after all the crap from today.

Theatre kids and their snide comments behind his back. You'd think that being theatre kids, close to the bottom of middle school hierarchy, would mean they wouldn't do any of the picking on that the popular students did, but you'd be wrong. A bunch of snobs, they were. How many times they 'accidently' bumped into him, making get paint on his clothes and skin, or 'accidently' tossing a prop at his head.

He took another drag. Middle school is bullshit. Middle schoolers are trash.

"TJ? Is that a cigarette?"

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't notice that he was getting close to home and that he needed to ditch the cigarette. Instead, he walked right in front of his house with it, and his father just so happened to be stepping out of his car.

"Um, no?" He said, weakly, tossing it away.

"Yes it is! Get in the house right now! I can't believe you're smoking!"

TJ sighed, and marched inside. No use trying to fabricate a story for this one. He was too tired to do so, anyways. His father tightly gripped his shoulder, taking him into the kitchen where his mother was already working on dinner.

"I caught TJ smoking," his dad said.

"Smoking?" His mom almost yelled. "TJ! We told you about smoking and how bad it is for you! Why in the world would you do it?"

"I dunno. . ."

"You must have a reason. After everything we taught you about this! You can't do kickboxing while smoking, TJ. You won't be able to breathe properly."

"It doesn't matter."

"What?"

"I said it doesn't matter! I'm not going to be kickboxing! I was too short to be in the tournament, anyways! So what if it stunts my growth, it's not like I was getting any taller!"

"TJ, you are growing. Just a little slower than the other kids," his father said.

"No I'm not. I'm just as tall as I was in fourth grade."

"TJ—"

"No! Why can't I smoke if it cams me down more than those stupid pills?"

"That's enough, TJ," his father said. He huffed, and leaned back in his chair. Yet another thing he wasn't going to win today. "Hand them over."

TJ reached into his jacket, and pulled out the rest of the pack.

"Is this all of it?" His father asked.

"Yeah."

"You aren't lying, are you?"

"No."

"You know better than to smoke, TJ," his mom said. "You're grounded for two weeks. You come right home after school."

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"Someone framed me for destroying the theatre clubs set. They stuffed the cans into my locker, so I have to stay after school to fix it," he said. That wasn't going to sound good no matter how he worded it. "You can call Principal Prickly if you don't believe me. Even he doesn't think I did it, but the evidence is stacked against me."

He heard his parents sigh as his eyes were trained on the floor. TJ was sent to his room until dinner, and he was happy to be alone again. He tossed his backpack aside; homework could wait until later. He grabbed his CD player, headphones, and lounged out. Who knows when his father would be up to strip his room of anything he could enjoy himself with.

He could really use a cigarette.

#

The chuckling from other students as he entered school didn't stand out much t TJ. They were always laughing in their groups about something. New rumors or gossip, or something happening at school later on. He didn't bother trying to get into it all, or faking interest.

He was lost in his own thoughts, not planning on getting out of them until he met up with his friends. He didn't notice that the whispers were accompanied by pointing fingers in his direction. He was pulled out of his thoughts when he was roughly bumped into.

"Watch where you're going, fag."

Not unfamiliar with middle school insults, TJ ignored him and headed for his locker. The sooner he could get home, the better. The day couldn't end soon enough, in his opinion. But he could tell it was going to be a slow day. When he woke up, he didn't feel like he was in his own body. It was like he was watching himself go through the motions. Wake up, deliver papers, walk Sasha, shower, get dressed, get to school, same routine he adapted to over the last few months. He wasn't unfamiliar with the sensation of being out of his body, though. They happened rarely over the summer, but were picking up in frequency.

Those days tended to go by the slowest.

Unattached to his body, he didn't notice the stares and laughs thrown his way as he walked into third period. It was only during the lecture when the teacher was turned to the board and someone tossed a ball of paper at his head that he snapped back into his body. TJ let out a big sigh, a bit overwhelmed at the sudden mental sensation, blinked and rubbed his eyes. He picked up the balled-up paper and opened it. Written on the inside was a whole list of insults.

"dumbass"

"fucking psycho"

"piece of shit"

"fag"

"freak"

And plenty more, but he didn't read past the first few. He crumpled the paper up again.

Wonderful.

#

Between the depersonalization and not wanting to be anywhere but home, TJ let his mind wander as he gave the theatre background another coat of white paint. Whatever musical number they were rehearsing sounded a good distance away as he got lost in his thoughts. His computer was gone, or just the monitor, making the rest of it useless. So was his comic books, and anything else he could enjoy. Except his CD player, he managed to hide that under the loose floorboard under his bed.

It'll be a while before he could go out to abandoned buildings again. What else was there for him to do to keep himself from going crazy with boredom? Homework?

Sleep? Sleep sounded nice, after today. Everyone decided he was going to be their target of making fun of. Most of he could block out, but he had a feeling it wasn't going to end anytime soon. Hopefully someone else would be the victim of something embarrassing and take the attention off of him.

With a new coat of paint, TJ hammered the paint can closed and brought back the supplies to a closest behind the stage. There was still time before rehearsal was over, so he wasn't leaving until then. The director pointed him towards the co-director, who was working with the costumes that were damaged. He was told to sit at a table with a sewing machine, and was given fabrics to sew.

By the time he was done, two and a half costumes were restored, and he couldn't wait to get home and listen to some music. He couldn't even work on his comic with his sketchbook taken away.

"I hope it was all worth it you fucking psycho freak," one of the theatre kids, some guy dressed in a really old styled costume, said. He changed out of his costume and haphazardly tossed it towards TJ. "Now we're behind because of you. Most of us don't even want you here. We'd fix everything faster if you were out of our way."

"Ew, don't talk him," one of the other actors said. "I know we're theatre junkies but we're still steps up from him. Have some standards."

The two of them laughed before heading out, leaving him to put away the costumes.

#

2 am, and TJ was wondering if insomnia was going to join the long list of symptoms that came along with the depression. Even with the lights off and every possible distraction put away, he laid in bed, wide awake, unable to fall asleep.

He rolled over and reached down to see if Sasha was still there. She was, and was sleeping. He was jealous. If only he could keep his mind hoping from one thought to another. Now that he wasn't hovering outside his own body, he was able to process everything that happened at school. The name-calling, the pointing fingers, the heated stares, part of it was getting to him. He told himself that it was only middle school junk and didn't want to give them the satisfaction of showing it affecting him in anyway, but they really focused in on him today.

Maybe it was still left over from the fight. No one was expecting him to leave Austin bleeding with a broken nose, after all. Of course middle school logic reasoned that he was some kind of psychopath because of that.

Whatever.

All he wanted to do was lay low after what happened with his old friends, but it was like everything was working against it. Was it too much to ask to be left alone?

#