The worst part about Study Buddies was that it was actually helpful. Every time Isabel asked him how it went, Michael had to swallow his pride and tell her it'd gone well, that he'd gotten a lot of work done, because Alex always made sure he did. The guy was going to make a great teacher someday.

"Alright, math's done," he proclaimed, closing Michael's textbook for him. "That's good. What's next?"

Slouching back in his chair, Michael let out a huge yawn, trying to remember what other bullshit the teachers had piled on that day. "I got a rough draft of an English essay due tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah? What kind of essay is it? Expository?"

What the hell was that? "Possibly."

"Is it persuasive?" Alex clarified.

"Oh. Yeah." He bent over to the side, reaching down into his backpack to see if he could find what he'd started on during study hall. At the tail end of study hall. After sitting there, wasting time for the first forty-five minutes.

"Let's see what you've got so far," Alex said.

Locating the crumpled sheet of paper in the bottom of his backpack, he pulled it out, smoothed it open, and set it down in front of his tutor. Wasn't much. One paragraph. But it was a good, solid introduction as far as he was concerned.

"That's it?" Alex stared at him incredulously. "The whole rough draft's due tomorrow and you've got one paragraph done?"

He just shrugged. Whatever, it was a start.

"Well, what's your topic?" Alex asked.

"Abortion."

"Abortion." He made a face. "You know, you might wanna choose a different topic. Everyone writes about that. Your teacher's probably gonna read a dozen different essays that all sound alike."

"She said to pick something we feel strongly about."

"And you feel strongly about that?"

"Yeah, strongly against."

"Really?" Alex sounded surprised.

"Well, I can almost guarantee my dad wanted to abort me, and if he'd gotten his way, I wouldn't be here. So yeah, I feel strongly." Not to mention, Dylan had been fresh in his mind when he'd been brainstorming a topic.

"Okay, let me take a look at this," Alex said, swiftly putting on a pair of reading glasses. He'd barely even started when he slapped his hand down on the table and gave Michael a look. "Your first sentence. Your attention-grabber. Really?"

"What's wrong with it?"

Alex read it directly from the paper. "Attention: Abortion is wrong."

"It works." Hell, what word grabbed people's attention more than the word attention itself? It was genius.

"Okay, we need to re-work this."

"No, it's fine," Michael whined. "Come on, let's just leave it. You have no idea how painstaking it was for me to get that paragraph down. I hate writing."

"You hate writing. You hate reading. What exactly do you like to do?"

Unable to conceal a grin, Michael lifted his eyebrows.

"Besides that."

"Well . . ." There wasn't much. "I like to play football. Like to eat. Listen to music. That's about it, really."

"Okay, music. Let's go with that," Alex suggested. "What if you were using this essay to make an argument about . . . the world's greatest band or something?"

"Metallica." No-brainer.

"Or the best ever decade of music."

"Oh, the 90s."

"Why's that?"

"Because of Metallica. And Nirvana. And Radiohead. It was, like, the height of grunge and hard rock. Nowadays everything's auto-tuned and . . . freakin' Kesha and Katy Perry everywhere. It makes me wanna puke."

Alex looked like he was about to jump out of his seat, getting all excited the way teachers did when they saw the light bulb in their students' brains kick on. "Okay, this is a good topic. I can tell you feel strongly about it. Go for it."

Sighing, Michael reluctantly picked up his pencil, crossed out the introductory paragraph he already had written, and started writing a new one below it. He knew Alex must have been about ready to flip the table over when he watched him write down his first line: Attention! Music today sucks.

Once it was time to go, Michael had written the majority of his essay; but of course, as they packed up, Alex was making sure to remind him of what he had left. "Just write that conclusion tonight, man. Make sure you do it."

"I will." He probably wouldn't.

"You're so close. You're almost done. And the conclusion's easy. You just restate your intro using different words."

"So I can't use attention again?"

Alex chuckled lightly, packing up his own backpack. "No, I wouldn't."

"Damn." Michael swung his bag over his shoulders, realizing that, besides this stupid conclusion, he really didn't have any homework tonight. It was kind of a nice feeling. "Hey, listen, man," he said, getting serious for just about the first time ever in Study Buddies. "I know I'm not the easiest student to work with, but you do a good job. So thanks."

Alex seemed . . . almost flabbergasted. And what teacher wouldn't be? Teaching was sort of a thankless job most of the time. "Oh, well . . . you're welcome," he said.

"And I couldn't help but hear through the grapevine that I kinda caused your relationship to implode so . . . sorry about that."

"My . . . what?"

"You were datin' Liz Parker, right?" He was just going by what Maria had told him. Hopefully she had her info right.

"Uh . . . yeah. I was."

"Hey, listen, she's a pretty good girl. She just . . . couldn't resist me. You know, very few people can."

Alex managed to laugh a little again. "I'm sure she's fine. But . . . I don't know, once that all came to light, I think I just realized it wasn't meant to be. And that's okay."

Michael made a face, teasing, "You really believe in all that soul-mate, meant-to-be crap?"

"Yeah," Alex replied unabashedly, even going so far as to question, "Don't you?"

Michael fidgeted with the straps of his backpack, deliberately not answering. Because for as long as he could remember, the answer to that question had been pretty damn clear. But lately, it wasn't clear at all.

...

The Guerin kitchen wasn't exactly the best place for a birthday party, but it'd have to do. Actually, it didn't look half bad once they put up streamers and balloons. Dylan would think it looked like a palace.

"Do you think he'll be surprised?" Maria asked as they set the table with all the multi-colored birthday cups, napkins, and plates.

"Oh, yeah. He'll love it. Has he ever had a birthday party before?"

"Not really." She beamed, obviously excited for her son. "This is the first year he'll be able to open his presents himself, and the first year he'll be able to enjoy his cake without, you know, slamming his entire face in it."

"I don't know, he might be tempted. That's a pretty good-lookin' cake." He finished setting a place for his dad, even though he surely wouldn't be there, and sauntered up to Maria while she stuck three candles into the top of a chocolate-frosted marble cake.

"I got it at the store," she said. "Pretty cheap, too."

"Looks good."

"I hope it tastes good."

He swiped his index finger along the bottom of the cake, gathering some of the frosting.

"Hey!" she yelped.

Instead of taste-testing it, he smeared it across her left cheek.

"Michael!"

"What?" he asked innocently.

Retaliating, she swiped some of the frosting from the other side of the cake, attempting to do the same to him, but he grabbed her hand and held it a safe distance away from his face. "No fair," she said, struggling against him.

With his free hand, he dabbed at some more frosting and smeared it across the other side of her face. She looked like a football player wearing eye-black now. A sexy female football player, of course.

"Stop it!" she hissed. "You're ruining Dylan's cake."

"Okay. Sorry." He took a few steps back, holding both his hands up to signal a surrender.

She shook her head, pretending to be upset with him, and then licked the chocolate frosting off of her own finger. Oh god. He just couldn't watch her do stuff like that anymore. Damn.

"Is it good?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, it's really good." When she made the mistake of turning her back to him, he plucked one of the balloons off of the back of the chair they'd taped it to and smothered it all over her head, making her hair all frizzy with static. "Michael!"

Really, how could he not give her a hard time like this? It was so easy. Not to mention, fun.

They waited until his mom got home from work to actually start the party, so the sun had already set by the time they began. It was worth the wait, though, just to see Dylan's face light up when he walked out of his room and saw what awaited him in the kitchen. In addition to the decorations and the cake, there was a small stack of presents on the counter. Not much. A few from Maria, and one from everyone else. But it was probably more than he'd ever gotten for a birthday before.

This would probably be the first birthday he would remember, even if the memories were vague. And Michael was genuinely glad that he got to play a small part in making it a happy memory for the little guy.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Dylan!" they sang in unison. "Happy birthday to you!"

"Yay!" Maria exclaimed, clapping for her son. "Blow out your candles, sweetie."

He had to sit on a pillow just to be able to see over the table. He hoisted himself up further, balancing on his knees.

"Make a wish," Tina added.

He stopped just as he was about to blow, looked over at her, then looked up at Michael and smiled. And then, with one giant puff, he got all three of his candles out. They all applauded him, and he beamed proudly.

"Nice job, honey," Maria said, squeezing his shoulders. "Okay, do you want cake or presents first?"

"Pwesents!" he exclaimed without hesitation.

"Okay, which one do you want first?" she asked.

"Micho's."

"Wise choice indeed, my friend." Michael went over to the counter and found the box he'd attempted to wrap up. He'd had to use Santa Claus paper, because they didn't have any plain wrapping paper or birthday paper. But Christmas had only been a few weeks ago, so it was okay.

"I'll cut everyone a slice of cake while he's unwrapping," Krista told Maria.

"Okay, thanks."

Dylan hopped down off the chair and scampered over to the counter, holding his hands up.

"Alright, here you go," Michael said, handing him the box. "I hope you like it."

Dylan plopped right down on the floor and started tearing at the wrapping paper. Michael stepped back, rejoining Maria by the table, and watched as Dylan made quick work of his shoddy wrapping job.

"What'd you get him?" she asked quietly.

"You'll see." Truth be told, he was a little nervous about it, because it wasn't a toy. And sometimes when kids were this age, all they were interested in were toys. But he felt like he knew Dylan pretty well at this point, and he had a good idea of what he would like.

"Tina, help him," he urged his sister when the little boy started to have problems getting the box un-taped.

Tina knelt down beside him and peeled back the tape, taking the lid off the box for him. He then lifted off a thin sheet of tissue paper to reveal the gift underneath. "Whoa!" he gasped. "Cool!"

"What'd you get?" Maria asked.

He held up a dark green jersey with white lettering. The number sixty-nine was on both sides, and the last name Guerin was on the back.

"That's my football jersey from junior high," Michael explained to him. "Back when I was, like, twelve years old and went to East Roswell Middle School. We were the Rockets."

"Cool," Dylan said again, eyeing the jersey as though it were treasure.

"I want you to have it, 'cause you're gonna be a football player someday," Michael expressed. "Now I know it's kinda big right now, but you'll grow into it."

Dylan set the jersey down and gazed at Michael with wide, elated eyes. "It's awesome!"

"Good, I'm glad you like it."

"You were number sixty-nine even back then?" Maria mumbled.

He shrugged in admittance. Hey, junior high kids were the biggest gutter-heads of all, and he'd been no exception.

"Can I wear it?" Dylan asked eagerly.

"Sure," Maria told him.

"Here, let me help you put it on." Michael made his way back over to him and took the jersey out of his hands. "Alright, lift your arms up."

Dylan did as he was instructed, and Michael stood beside him. The jersey was so big that he was pretty much able to just drop it over his head and arms. Yeah, the kid was swimming in it, but he looked adorable.

"Thanks, Micho," he said.

"You're welcome. Happy birthday, buddy." Michael bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the head. There weren't many people he would give his football jersey to, even a junior high one. But Dylan DeLuca . . . he was special.

"That looks nice Dylan," Michael's mom complimented.

"Yeah, you look like Michael now," Tina added.

That made Dylan smile even more.

"Okay," Maria said, moving it along, "which one do you want next?"

He glanced back at his presents, mulling it over a minute before deciding, "The big one!"

Michael lifted it off the counter and set it down in front of him just as the doorbell chimed. "I'll go get it," he volunteered, figuring it would take Dylan so long to open that humungous present that all he'd miss was a little more unwrapping.

When he opened the door, there was Isabel, a gift of her own in hand. "Hey," she said, immediately looping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

"Hey," he mumbled against her lips, pulling back just slightly. "What're you doin' here?"

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized without answering. "I had to finish the rough draft of that essay." She kicked off her shoes, hung her coat up on the rack, and headed straight into the kitchen. He followed, semi-confused. Had he invited her? She'd asked him during study hall what his plans were for the evening, and he'd mentioned the birthday party, but . . . that wasn't the same as an invitation. Not that she wasn't . . . welcome or whatever. It was just . . . well, it was going to be harder to flirt with Maria with her around.

"Hey, guys!" Isabel greeted cheerfully. "Ooh, this looks fun. Happy birthday, Dylan."

Yeah, I think she kinda invited herself, Michael decided, stepping up in between her and Maria.

"Dylan, you remember Isabel, right?" Maria asked.

He nodded and paused his unwrapping. "Hi."

"Hi," Isabel returned with a little wave.

"That's nice of you to join us," his mother said, offering her a slice of cake. She politely declined.

When Maria went to help Dylan with the unwrapping, Michael pulled Isabel back a bit and once again asked, "So what're you doin' here? I didn't expect you to come."

"Well, when you mentioned this little party, I figured I should," she explained. "I mean, I am technically his aunt, you know."

"You still haven't told anyone about that yet, have you?"

"No," she assured him. "Well . . ."

Oh, great.

"Just Tess."

"What? Why'd you tell her? She's gonna tell everyone."

"No, she'll just tell Kyle. And he won't tell anyone."

Well, at least that much was true. Hopefully Tess didn't blabber to anyone else, though. Dylan's lineage was a private matter. Maria wanted it that way, understandably.

"When we get a chance, I was kinda thinking we could slip away for a few minutes," Isabel whispered, grinning suggestively.

"What?"

She motioned upstairs with her head. Huh. Weird. It wasn't that often his girlfriend initiated a fast little fuck.

He couldn't very well turn it down, so they ate their cake fast and headed upstairs. He'd barely opened the door to his bedroom, though, when she was throwing herself all over him. Literally all over him. He couldn't even keep track of where her hands were, and she was kissing him almost violently.

He shut the door with his foot, taken aback, and they staggered into the middle of the room. "This isn't like you," he said.

"I know." She lifted his shirt up over his head and threw it on the ground." Do you like it?"

Truthfully . . . he wasn't sure he did. He had no problem letting a girl dominate once in a while, but this just wasn't Isabel's style.

"I just wanna be close to you," she said, roaming her hands all over his bare chest. For a moment, she seemed like she was going to slow things down, but then the next second, she was kissing him like a crazy woman again, like she couldn't get enough.

She was trying too hard. It didn't suit her.

He kissed her back, though, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings. But when she tried pulling him back towards the bed, he stopped. No. No way. He couldn't have sex with her there and then sleep in that same bed later that night with Maria. That would just be too fucked up.

"Let's do it right here," he decided, dragging her down onto the floor with him. Yeah. That would work.

...

Watching Maria work in the Crashdown nowadays was like watching a different girl. She smiled more. She interacted more with the customers. If there was a training video about how to be a good waitress, she'd be the star of it.

Michael stood outside for a good minute or so, just watching her work, and when he started to feel like too much of a creeper, he headed inside. An elderly couple was hobbling out, and the woman was talking to Maria, saying things like, "You do such a good job, honey. You're our favorite waitress."

"Oh, thank you," Maria said, waving goodbye to them. "Take care, you guys." Once they were gone, she turned to Michael and babbled excitedly, "Did you hear that? I'm their favorite waitress."

"Mine, too."

"They come in here every day and order the exact same thing and have the exact same conversation. I swear, they're the cutest thing ever."

He looked her up and down, admiring the way her legs looked in that short little skirt. Cutest thing ever? Uh, he had a nomination for that.

"You should tell your boss they said that to you," he suggested.

"No, I don't wanna sound like I'm bragging myself up."

"Well, I got no problem bragging myself up." He adjusted her alien antennae headband and said, "Guess what I found out today."

"What?"

"I got nominated for snowball king."

"Really?" She just smiled and nodded, looking like she could barely keep a straight face.

"Yeah, we have this stupid winter formal comin' up. Snowball king and queen. And the thing is, I think I'm gonna win." Bubba was really only nominated because of his personality, and the other two were extreme long-shots.

"Really? You're gonna beat Kyle?"

"No, they have this rule that you can't be nominated for every one of the big dances. So Kyle got homecoming king, and he'll get prom king, too. Isabel's probably gonna get prom queen. And that leaves me with snowball king." It was a step up from what he'd gotten last year at East: luau king.

"Huh, so if you're gonna be snowball king, who's your snowball queen gonna be?"

"Oh, you can be my snowball queen."

"Ooh, I'm flattered," she joked, fanning herself.

"Nah, I think it's gonna be red-headed Roxie. She's pretty hot, so I'm alright with it." They'd have to do the mandatory slow-dance together, so at least he'd have a legitimate excuse to have his hands on another woman. Isabel couldn't chew him out for that.

"Well, congrats," she said. "What're you doing here so early, though? It's not lunch yet."

"I know. I just felt like gettin' outta there." At this point, school was feeling more pointless than ever. "Plus, I—I wanna tell you somethin'."

She gave him a confused look.

"Besides the snowball thing." He glanced around, noting that they didn't look too busy. There was another waitress on duty, and the only customers there were sitting in her section. "Can we slip out back?"

"Yeah," she said, removing her headband. "Sure."

When they were out there, all he could think at first was, I gotta take this girl somewhere new. They had started frequenting this back alley a lot lately, especially since the restaurant was sometimes too crowded at lunchtime. But they were back by the dumpster out there. Not exactly . . . romantic. Not that he cared about being romantic. This wasn't even meant to be a romantic conversation.

"Get a load of this," he said, taking an envelope out of his pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to her. "It was in the mail yesterday."

She took it from him, her attention immediately drawn to the address of the sender. University of Alabama, Office of Admissions.

He gestured for her to open it, so she did. "Congratulations," she read aloud, "on your acceptance into the University of Alabama at Tuscaloosa. Oh my god, Michael!"

"Yeah. I was shocked."

"You got in! This is awesome."

"I don't even know why they'd want me. I mean, my grades are fucked up, Maria. They're okay this year, but every other year . . . I probably don't even deserve to graduate. And I can't even remember how many times I've been arrested. You would think they'd take one look at my record and say 'forget it.'"

"Maybe it has to do with the football stuff," she hypothesized.

"Yeah, but this isn't like Kyle. I don't have an athletic scholarship. I'm not being recruited. I'm just accepted. I mean, I could still be on the team. I could be a walk-on. But that's not why they accepted me."

"Well, maybe they just-"

"You know what it is?" he cut in. "It's my fuckin' ACT score. Isabel made me take it last year, and I actually tried, so I didn't do half bad. I got a twenty-nine."

"A—a twenty-nine?" she sputtered. "Holy crap, Michael. Isn't the highest you can get, like, a thirty-six?"

"Yeah. Isabel got a thirty-two."

"Wow. So I guess it's a good thing she made you take it then."

"Yeah, I guess," he muttered in agreement, taking the letter back from her. "So what do you think?"

She smiled up at him, looking all proud, and then she hugged him. "Congratulations. I'm so happy for you."

He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair, her perfume, all of her. But then she released him all too quickly.

"Who else have you told?" she asked.

"No one. Just you." He'd meant to tell her last night, but things had been crazy with Dylan's birthday party and Isabel popping over to . . . well, fuck, basically. Plus, he had to let it sink in himself. In a way, it still didn't seem real. "Hey, listen, do me a favor and don't mention it to anyone else yet," he entreated. "Not my mom, not my dad. Definitely not Isabel. I got a lot of stuff to figure out now, and I don't want them trying to figure it out for me."

"Yeah, sure," she said, nodding in understanding. "I won't say anything."

And that right there was one of the reasons why he'd told her, and why she would probably be the only person he would tell besides Kyle. Because she wouldn't tell anyone else. In a weird way, he liked having all these little secrets with her.

...

Even though she'd worked for six hours at the Crashdown and four hours at the library and felt plenty tired, Maria could not fall asleep that night. She lay in bed, on her side, trying everything she could—counting sheep, focusing on her breathing, singing songs in her head—but nothing worked. Her mind refused to go blank. And she knew exactly why.

Turning over onto her back, she listened as Michael breathed evenly beside her. He hadn't moved much since he'd fallen asleep.

Oh, Michael . . .

In some ways, he seemed to have rubbed off on her. His tendency to just live in the moment and not think too far into the future was contagious. She realized that, since she'd been staying there, she hadn't given much thought to what her life would be like down the road. All she thought about was crawling into bed with him at night.

But now, with that acceptance letter he'd received, she felt like she had no choice but to think about things again. She knew that she would probably be able to stay with the Guerins for a few more months, tops. The family generally seemed to like having her and Dylan around, for the most part. Andy was the only one to indicate any annoyance with the arrangement, and even he managed to tolerate it. But soon, Michael would graduate, and then what? Maybe his parents would let him stay over the summer if he planned on attending college in the fall, but what about after that? When he would leave, she'd have to leave, too. She couldn't stay there if he wasn't there.

Money wouldn't be the issue then. No, now that she was working full-time again, she'd be able to save up. The issue would be . . . being away from him. Being alone. If he went off to Alabama, then . . . what? Her life would just go back to the way it was before?

The longer she thought about it, the more upset she became. Not with him, and not even with the situation. With herself. She felt selfish. Here he was with this great opportunity, one she genuinely wanted him to explore . . . and yet she was worried about herself?

Thinking it through while he was lying right next to her was just too much, so she got up, carefully slipping out of the bed. She had to crawl over his legs to get out, and then she tiptoed out of the room. Quietly, she crept downstairs and went to Dylan's room, peeking in at him.

Oh, Dylan . . .

It wasn't just her she had to think about. It was him, too. He had grown so attached to Michael and Tina these past few months. Tina was like a big sister to him. And Michael was like . . .

She smiled sadly. No, he couldn't be like that.

But Dylan had never really had a male figure in his life before. His own grandfather hadn't bothered to see him much, even when they'd been living under his roof. And obviously his dad was a permanent no-show. He practically idolized Michael, and honestly, how could he not? What little boy wouldn't have looked up to the silly, fun-loving football player?

It would be hard on him, too, having to say goodbye. Having to go back to that other kind of life where it was just the two of them. But he'd bounce back. Kids were resilient in a way adults weren't.

She let out a shuddering breath, knowing that it would all be okay. It would hurt, and it might hurt for a long time. But Michael would live the life he was meant to live, and she and Dylan would still have each other. They would always have each other. For now, this time they had with Michael, this time where everything was starting to feel so good and so right . . . they just had to enjoy it while it lasted.

She closed her son's bedroom door, leaving it open just a little bit, and headed back upstairs to get into bed again. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to scoot a little closer to Michael tonight. Just tonight. It was cold in the house, after all, and he was very, very warm.