It's been a while but here's the next chapter. The name of Lincoln's new friend has been changed to Lucas.

Lincoln Loud sat up in bed on Sunday night, his wan features bathed in soft, comfortable lamplight. A hardback book sat open and forgotten on his lap. The History of Comic Books, it was called, a thick tome that covered the comic book era in depth from the 1933 launch of Famous Funnies (the first modern comic) to 2019, when the book was published. It was a gift from Lori; she saw it in a bookstore out in Boston and snapped it up despite the 100 dollar price tag. Oh, it's nothing, she laughed over the phone, no price is too great for my favorite little bro. He appreciated that gesture more than she would ever know, and he'd been saving up for over a year so he could return it. Lori, however, made a lot of money and Lincoln had no idea what he could possibly get her that she couldn't buy for herself.

That was a concern for later, though. Right now, his thoughts were locked on other matters, and his guts roiled sickly every time it alighted on the sophomore. Earlier, he took a walk in the hopes of getting him off his mind. By a cruel stroke of fate, however, he walked right into his clutches like a fly into the web of a spider. Ever since, he'd been unable to think of anything else. He had a bad relationship with his father, it seemed, and for some reason, that worried Lincoln sick. Family is the most important thing in the world; he cherished it so greatly and the prospect of the sophomore not having the same thing stung.

What stung even more was this.

He completely forgot to ask his name.

Sigh.

He glanced down at the book and frowned. A black and white photo of Andrew Tollman, the creator of Ace Savvy, smiled up at him. Tollman, a slight man in a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, sat at a typewriter. The caption below read: Tollman, creator of Ace Savvy, SuperDude, and Alex and Jessy Fight Evil, takes a much needed break, circa 1957.

Lincoln tried to read some more, but found himself eyeing over a page, getting to the end, and not having understood or really even paid attention to any of the words he went over. This happened three times on the same page before he threw in the towel and decided to go to bed for the night. Sleep would help. It had to. If the sophomore wasn't off of his mind by tomorrow, than he had a very real problem on his hands.

The next morning, he awoke naturally and gradually before his alarm went off. He sat up in his bed, feeling for once rested, and hit his clock to disable the timer.

He went through his morning routine as normal. Every day, he thought, most people did the same exact thing every morning, in the same order, usually at the same time. Because he was never really in a rush, it always took Lincoln at least thirty minutes to shower, eat breakfast, get dressed, brush his teeth, pack his pack, and put on his shoes and coat before walking out of the front door. There were only twenty-four hours in every day, so an entire half hour took a pretty decent sized chunk out of his time. Combine that with sleeping and eating, and when you got right down to it, people wasted a huge amount of time doing the same boring and monotonous but necessary tasks every day. Life is a lot shorter than most people think it is, and it saddened Lincoln to mull it over.

With this knowledge, though, he knew that the important thing to realize is that the only way to fight it is by spending the time you do have enjoying yourself. Eat your meals with friends while laughing, get a good sleep schedule so that you don't oversleep and watch entire days go down the train, keep your body relatively healthy and fit so that you don't live the last of your years with health problems that make you measurable and die early.

Paramount, though, was that other people are key to this. Friends, family - other humans were instrumental in living a happy and fulfilled life. No matter how much some people claimed to be happy alone, nobody could live a bright and happy life all by themselves. Lincoln loved his family and was endlessly grateful to be close with his siblings and parents, and he felt bad for those that weren't. He was grateful to Clyde, his long time friend, and for the fact that he was sociable enough to be welcomed in multiple social circles at school.

Lincoln came down the stairs resting and ready to tackle the day and make the most of it. He was early, and nobody else was in the living room or kitchen. As he started to make his way to the refrigerator, however, the front door handle jiggled and before Lincoln knew it, the door opened. Lucy walked inside. She looked tired.

"What were you doing out there?" he asked.

"Getting the mail," she said, walking past and up the stairs.

Lincoln shrugged, and not thinking much of it, moved to the kitchen to get himself breakfast and get on with the rest of his day, not thinking about the sophomore once.

He went through the school day as normal. History, math, English, lunch, and chemistry. Before he knew it, it came time for the last period of the day. Lincoln walked casually into the media production room and sat down with Clyde at a computer to go over and finalize their script. At this point, they had completed the full draft.

"I like what you did here," Clyde said, laughing. He scrolled along the document.

Lincoln heard a familiar voice and shot a glance to his left. He saw the sophomore boy throwing a water bottle back and forth with other sophomores. The group laughed, and Lincoln felt a weird feeling. What if he got up and joined them?

"Lincoln?" Clyde asked.

Lincoln looked back at the screen. "Huh?"

"I asked if you were ready to start filming."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess. Let's do it."

Clyde jiggled around the mouse. "The script is printing. Can you go get the papers while I set up the camera?"

The printer was on the other side of the room. Past the sophomore. A feeling akin to dread tugged at Lincoln.

"Oh…" he said. How was it that he wanted to spend time with the sophomore while also wanting to avoid him at the same time? "Yeah. Sure."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way to the other side of the room. The sound of chatter filled his ears as he went to the back wall where the printer sat on a table. Lincoln bit his tongue as he passed the blonde sophomore that had occupied so much of his mind space for the past few days, feeling as if his eyes were burning a hole in the side of his head.

He came up to the printer and grabbed the script, freshly printed. Lincoln was being stupid. the sophomore wasn't even looking at him. He didn't care. He was busy tossing a water bottle around with his friends.

Script in hand, Lincoln turned and stole a look at the sophomore to confirm his thoughts and saw that he was right. He was busy laughing about something with his friends. Lincoln was invisible to him. And why wouldn't he be?

The printer behind him began to spit something out and a sophomore girl came to Lincoln's side. "Excuse me," she said, and Lincoln moved for her as she reached over to grab her papers.

"Hey," Lincoln said, turning to her. "Do you know that kid's name?" Careful not to point, Lincoln nodded his head in the sophomore boy's direction.

"Uh, who?"

"The one in the grey hoodie."

"That's, uh… Lucas Norman. Why?"

"Lucas." Lincoln said his name slowly, as if trying it on for size. "Lucas. Huh." He paused, and then began to walk away. "No reason," he finally answered.

In the hallway, Lincoln tried his best to flush away Lucas from his mind while he and Clyde recorded, and he was mostly successful in doing so.

The two friends recorded for the next hour or so without a hitch, getting lots of useful footage. At one point, Clyde, chuckling, fell backward against a wall, but kept acting. "That's not in the script," Lincoln murmured, but Clyde looked at him as if to say just go with it, dude. And his call was right - Clyde managed to flawlessly continue to act, as if his stumble was part of the plan all along. All in all, they filmed most of what they needed to, and all that was really left to do was move on to editing.

He and Clyde packed up their equipment, and before he knew it, the final bell rang and school was over. "See you in study hall tomorrow for editing?" Clyde asked as Lincoln started to head out.

"You know it."

On the way home, Lincoln played what happened in media production over and over again in his head. When he arrived at his house, Lincoln went straight up to his room and then slowly sat down on his bed, deep in thought.

In his head, a war began.

It was Lincoln's personal policy to always be honest with himself. In the back of his mind was a theory. For how long it had been there (since he first talked to Lucas? Since just less than five minutes ago?) he did not know, but without anything he could do about it, it was constantly creeping to the forefront of his consciousness. Lincoln didn't allow himself to feel disappointment or shame for this theory. For now, he simply elected to examine it in its most practical terms. He didn't shy away. He gave it serious thought, no matter how silly it seemed. But the more he thought about it, the less silly the prospect became.

Am I really…?

Once home, he opened the door, and looked around. The house was empty. Usually, Lucy was home before him, and she usually was in the kitchen, having an after school snack.

"Oh," he said quietly to himself, remembering that she was grounded. He went up the stairs and knocked on her door. No answer.

"Luce?" he called.

Silence.

After knocking again, louder, and getting no answer, he was starting to get worried. He gently opened the door, pushing it slowly, and looked inside. Lucy was in her bed, in a deep slumber. The blinds were drawn, blocking any sunlight from spilling in, and the room was dark.

Lincoln closed the door, worried for his younger sister. Was she depressed? He knew that she was pretty down from being accused of egging the school, but sleeping in until 2:30 in the afternoon was very unlike her. What was that latin phrase she always used? Carpe diem, seize the day. Lincoln knew that among the things Lucy hated most, wasting time was one of them. She was never one to nap or sleep in excessively late, because she counted such things up as total waste of time. So for her to still be sleeping was probably a sign something was off.

He'd have to talk to her soon, when she was awake. Make sure she was alright.

For now, though, his thoughts returned to that mysterious underclassman in his media production class. He went to his room, shut the door, and fell down on the bed. After a brief but through self investigation, after a little bit of soul searching, Lincoln let out a very long sigh. There was no denying it. He was now sure what had been troubling him so much for the past week.

Lincoln was in love with another boy.

And that boy was Lucas Norman.

Lucy Loud sat impatiently at the dinner table and pushed a piece of hotdog across her plate, the tines of her fork making lines in the thick, heavy syrup. Her father had been making beans and franks every Monday night since Lucy could remember. The same dish on the same evening prepared in largely the same way. The motonony was taxing, but even worse were the failed experiments, the ruined memories of which marked the days Dad felt creative. Beans, franks, and peas; beans and franks with bell peppers and sweet onions; beans and franks drowning in Frank's Red Hot; beans, franks, and noodles; and her personal favorite, beans and franks ala sauerkraut. With so many children, Mom and Dad had to make every meal stretch - soups, stews, chili, pasta, and chowders were par for the course, and only during tax season, when they were flush with state and federal returns, did they have rare delicacies like pizza, steak, and fried chicken.

It was presently half past six, and cold, purple twilight pressed against the dining room window. It snowed for a while earlier in the afternoon, and a thin layer of broken white covered the ground. Barren trees shook under the assault of cold, sweeping wind, and the glass rattled in the frame. Lucy stared up at it and the wintery hellscape beyond, then turned back to her plate. Snow was one of those things best enjoyed from afar, say in the comfort of a cozy chair in front of a roaring fire. Unfortunately, she would have to go out in it.

She sighed, tacked the hotdog with her fork, and shoved it into her mouth, the dense maple flavoring of the beans filling her mouth like a not entirely pleasant memory. Across the table, Lola and Lana ate on, each in their own unique style: Lola prim and proper, and Lana like a three hundred pound trucker. Lincoln sat at the foot and stared thoughtly down into his plate like a gypsy divining tea leaves, and Dad took a drink from his glass. Next to Mom, Lily divided her attention between dinner and an open text book; she chewed slowly as she scanned the page, her forehead wrinkling when she came to an equation she didn't quite understand. No one spoke, the only sounds scraping, masticating, and the rattling window. If Lucy listened close enough, she could hear the blood rushing through her veins in a low roar.

Dinners had been tense each night following Lucy's suspension, like the fragile peace between two warring factions. Mom was still angry with her and Dad was "disappointed." He said I thought we raised you better than this, Lucille - when he used your full name, you knew he was upset.

And I thought you trusted me a little more than this, so that makes two of us who aren't happy.

Neither had spoken to her in more than curt monosyllables in days, and every time she caught them looking at her, their eyes were simmering with that self same disappointment. Perhaps it was wrong of her to feel this way, but she almost hated them for falling for Wuornos's bullshit. They should have known better, she should have known her better. They apparently didn't, and that, if she was honest with herself, hurt. She was mentally and emotionally disconnected from her peers, but she always had her family to come home to, to love and understand her when no one else could or would.

Now she didn't even have that, and melodramatic as it may be, she felt lost and alone.

She forced another bite, and her stomach turned at the taste of beans. Busch's, most likely, the one that used to have the dog in its commercials. What was its name? It was always trying to steal the owner's secret award winning yeehaw recipe.

Plankton?

No, that wasn't it. Dark pressure pushed down on her chest and the walls loomed over her, coming closer with metaphorical leers like child snatchers bent on either selling her into white slavery, or crushing her just because. It was one of those days where the universe was against her, only the day was long...72 hours long, 100 hours long. How many hours are in two months? February has 28 days and March 31. That's fifty nine. Twenty-four times fifty-nine is...computing, computing...1,416. The day of her discontent would last 1,416 hours.

Unless she caught the real vandals.

Then they'd see...they'd all see, and they would beg her to forgive them. Would she? Or would she let them stew in their own folly, knowing they accused an innocent girl? The thought of them burning forever in the proverbial hell of their ignorance and begging for the blissful salvation of her forgiveness, only to never receive it, pleased Lucy greatly. She would likely anoint her parents with grace, eventually, but no one else. Wuornos and the others could fester. She would never volunteer to help with anything around the school ever again. There's a dance and the gym needs to be hung with streamers? Find someone else. One of the teachers needs help cleaning a classroom? No. Suffer.

Now anger knotted her chest and her pallid cheeks flushed with crimson outrage. Mom took a bite of beans and swallowed. "How was your day, sweetie?" she asked Lincoln.

Lincoln glanced up then quickly back down, something close to shame in his eyes, as though he'd been caught doing something wrong. "Fine," he mumbled, "I'm just tired."

He looked it; his face was wan and haggard, reminding Lucy of a concentration camp survivor on liberation day, and when he lifted his fork, it trembled slightly in his hand. Normally, Lincoln was self-possessed and unaffected, which Lucy greatly admired. He took his role as Oldest Sibling seriously and was hers and their other sisters' Rock of Gibraltar. Something was the matter and a faint frown played at the corners of Lucy's mouth.

It was probably nothing, she told herself. He was a teenage boy and teenage boys, even her beloved brother, were given to flights of fancy and fits of superficiality. Whatever was bothering Lincoln, it likely had to do with a girl.

A trivial concern in comparison with the ones she entertained.

Mom turned to Lola next. "Lola? How was your day?"

"It was good," Lola said with a resolute nod.

When she did not elaborate, Mom looked at Lana. "Today was awesome," Lana said around a mouthful of food, bits spraying the table. Her lips turned up in a sly smile that told Lucy her younger sister either met a boy, or had arranged to go on a date with a boy.

"Lily?"

Lily flipped a page and took an absent bite, a bean falling from her fork and landing on her lap. Mom watched her for a moment, waiting, then said her name again. Lily jerked and looked at her. "What?"

"How was your day?" Mom repeated.

Lily flashed a relieved smile, as though she anticipated a tongue lashing instead of a simple question. Guilty conscious, Lil? "It was good. I got a 95 on my science test."

"Oh, honey, that's wonderful," Mom said. Finally, she looked at Lucy, and her smile dimmed by a couple of watts. "How was your day, Lucy?"

Her mother's stern gaze made her chafe, and she looked down at her food as she muttered her response. "Fine." Mom arranged for the school to send all of her work home so that she wouldn't fall behind during her exile. Every afternoon, like clockwork, Caroline brought a stack by in the afternoon, then picked it up in the morning. Lucy usually had it all done in the space of a few hours and passed the rest of the day reading; though she had the house to herself during the day, she rarely ventured out of her room. Her parents made it clear that they didn't want her mingling with the non criminal elements of the family, so she wouldn't step foot in their precious little common areas unless she absolutely had to.

Today, owing to the previous night's excursion, which lasted until dawn, she slept until the early afternoon. At present, all of her work was not done, and knowing that it waited, unfinished, annoyed her.

Lincoln pushed away from the table with a weary sigh. "May I be excused?" he asked.

"Yes, you may," Mom replied.

Grabbing his plate, he got up, carried it into the kitchen, then came out a few moments later and went upstairs. Lucy looked after him, noting his slumped shoulders and bowed head, and wondered if maybe there wasn't something more wrong with him than just girl troubles.

The blunted urge to follow him and find out what was bothering him stirred in her chest, but she quashed it ruthlessly and without mercy. She had her own affairs to see to.

"May I be excused too?" she asked.

"Yes," Mom said. It sounded almost like there was there a distasteful edge to her voice. Like talking to her was sooo horrible.

Shoving down a rush of corrosive hurt and anger, Lucy took her plate into the kitchen, threw away what was left, and sat it in the sink on top of Lincoln's. She crossed through the dining room, the back of her neck tingling with the feeling of being watched, then went up the stairs. In her room, she closed the door, leaned against it, and drew a shaky breath. It wasn't their fault, she told herself, but deep down, in the seeping wound marring her heart, she knew that it was. They should have trusted her and taken her at her word. They had every reason to and no reason not to. She never lied, never got in trouble, and never broke any rules here or at school (at least not that they knew of). Why wouldn't they listen to her? Why did they fall all over themselves to slurp up Wuornos's braindead supposition? It made no sense whatsoever. She'd tried, and failed, to see herself in an incriminating light, tried, and failed, to see where the administration's claims held water. They simply didn't. Only an imbecile would believe her responsible for the wanton vandalism visited upon the school...and the world was even fuller of imbeciles than she feared.

Sigh.

She went to her desk, sat down, and turned on the lamp; feeble yellow light dappled the books and papers arrayed across the surface. She glanced at the icy window, and full dark held sway. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Quarter 'til seven. Mom and Dad would be in bed before nine-thirty. She'd give it another hour and steal out close to eleven. Hopefully this time she came back with something more to show than frostbite and a morbid poem.

Like the heads of her enemies.

On pikes.

If she knew where Mrs. Wuornos lived, she'd leave them on her front so that they greeted her first thing in the morning. There're your vandals, I'll take my apology in written form, please.

Actually, no, recite it over the loudspeaker.

Could she file a slander suit against the school? She wasn't sure on the legalities of such a move, but she seriously doubted it. Minors have very little in the way of legal recourse in the United States and existed in a state of almost non-personhood that stood as an affront to her sensibilities. Children should not be treated as equal to adults - even she realized that notion was ludicrous - but they shouldn't be treated as stateless non-citizens either.

Picking up her pencil, she set to work, vacantly brushing her hair behind her ear when it fell across her face. She finished her math assignment in fifteen minutes, then moved onto history. NAME TEN SIGNATORIES OF THE DECLARATION. She deliberately and effortlessly listed the most obscure ten she could think of, just to demonstrate her intellect, then added, in parentheses, which state they represented.

William Paca (Maryland)

Oliver Wolcott (Connecticut)

Abraham Clark (New Jersey)

Thomas Lynch Jr. (South Carolina)

Joseph Hewes (North Carolina)

George Wythe (Virginia)

Button Gwinnett (Georgia)

William Floyd (New York)

William Ellery (Rhode Island)

Caesar Rodney (Delaware)

She sat back and smiled smugly down at the sheet. There, how's that for ten signatories?

Next, she moved onto science, then biology. When she looked up at the clock, it was just after ten. Cocking her head to one side, she listened for the telltale signs of activity, but the house was silent save for the soft whisper of heat from the baseboard vents. She got up, crept to the door, and opened it. She poked her head out into the hall and looked around; the light was off, Mom and Dad's door was closed, and no sound came from either Lincoln's room or Lola and Lana's, though a crack of light shone beneath the former, which told her Lincoln was still awake. She drew back into her room, eased the door closed, then went over to the bed and sat. She pulled her shoes on over her black and white striped socks and stood. This time, she wasn't going to make the grave and frankly retarded mistake of going out into the night unprotected. She grabbed her scarf from the closet (red with her name in black stitching - Grandma sent each them one for Christmas), wound it around her throat, then pulled on her jacket, a black, knee length peacoat with big black buttons and a belt. She did the buttons, tightened the belt across her waist, then slipped her watch cap over her head.

She checked her pockets to make sure her gloves were there (they were), then went to the door and swept the hall one final time.

Empty.

At the bed, she propped her pillow under the blanket, stuck the wig on top, then walked to the window. She lifted the sash, letting a cold wind in, then did what she had the night before. It may have been imagination, but she thought it was easier, her movements more fluid. Anymore of this, and she'd be a pro in no time.

Hunching over to make a smaller figure of herself, she darted to the fence, scurried over, and dropped onto the other side. She followed the moonlit path through the forest and listened to the wind roaring in the treetops; she was reminded of the novel Pet Sematary. In one scene, two men made their way along a path much like this one, only theirs let out not onto a suburban street but a cursed burial ground. One told the others not to speak to anything if anything spoke to him from the dark woods. What would speak to me? the second man asked, horrified.

Nothing, the first response insincerely, just loons.

She imagined the wind forming words, dark and terrible secrets from beyond the grave, and shivered.

The path let out on a narrow side street dimly lighted by the harsh glow of an arch sodium lamp. She hurried down the sidewalk, her footfalls desolate on the concrete. Most of the houses flanking the street were all dark and closed tight against the blustery night save for a few where blue TV glow flickered in front windows. She reached the school fifteen minutes after setting out and climbed up the same tree she camped in the previous night.

Now, to wait.

Around midnight, Lincoln Loud restlessly paced from one end of his tiny closet bedroom to the other, his hand raking nervously through his sweaty hair. In love, he thought, with a boy, and his stomach clutched.

The idea of being homosexual did not bother him in of itself - he and his family were both fairly liberal and saw homosexuality was simple a way of life, as any other - but it did take him aback. His entire life, he was certain he was attracted to girls. Absolutely certain. That he apparently was not blindsided him. At dinner, he mentally went through every girl he had ever known, every girl he had ever liked and tried to recall what exactly he felt for them. Maybe he was bi, or maybe this was just a fluke. The more he strove to relive those emotions, the cheaper and weaker they seemed.

They didn't compare at all to what he felt for Lucas Norman.

God, just thinking his name sent a shiver down Lincoln's spine.

He often liked to think himself as above these kinds of things. When, at lunch, Zack came to the table with his head hung and shoulders slumped, and he told his friends that a girl had rejected him, a girl that he had talked nearly endlessly about for the past couple of weeks, Lincoln felt bad for him and tried to comfort him with the rest of his friends, but he couldn't relate with Zack. If he had asked a girl out and gotten turned down, what was there to get upset over? She said no, that was all. There was no reason to get so down over it. Lincoln never thought he'd allow one single girl to have that much power over his happiness.

But the prospect of confessing to Lucas what he had made Lincoln feel for him ever since their conversation in that first period media production class made his stomach churn. He better understood, now, how Zack had felt that day, and why the majority of drama at his school happened over relationships. These were the strongest emotions, and to make matters worse, it was really beyond anyone's control who they fell in love with.

But were Lincoln's feelings valid? A short month ago, he knew nothing about Lucas Norman. He was in one of Lincoln's classes, and they must have passed one another in the hallway on a frequent basis, but Lincoln never noticed him, never thought about him, because why would he? Back then, Lucas was just another face in the crowd. Another student, another sophomore, some kid not even in Lincoln's grade and certainly not in Lincoln's mind. Then, all of the sudden, after a short and stupid conversation with the boy, the previously innocuous and unimportant sophomore became the main subject of all of Lincoln's thoughts at the snap of a finger? It was incredibly stupid! So much so that Lincoln's neck was in danger of breaking; the whiplash from that sudden, out-of-nowhere change in his life was incredibly strong.

That isn't how love worked, right? Lincoln was a firm believer that you can't pick who it is that you catch feelings for, but it had to build up over time. You have to know the person. Right?

Lincoln actually didn't know. Looking at his situation, it seemed so dumb and unserious. Oh, a cute boy breathed on me, I think I'm gay now! But these feelings for Lucas were sharp and constant. Lincoln felt self-conscious, now, walking in the hallway, knowing that at any time he could be spotted by Lucas. He felt a jolt of fear every time that Lincoln talked to the boy, measuring every one of his words carefully, fearing that he would say something stupid or boring or unappealing. He felt a strange happiness, thinking of what it would actually be like to be with Lucas… to hold him close, to mess with his hair, to look deep into his glimmering blue eyes and see his love reflected in them, to see Lucas like Lincoln back.

Lincoln stopped pacing. Now, he was just getting ahead of himself.

He thought back to previous romantic experiences. He thought to his first kiss. It had been with Ronnie Anne, six years ago and at a mexican-french fusion restaurant. What he felt for that girl was serious, but it didn't come out of nowhere. He knew Ronnie Anne for years before that. His feelings grew for her after she showed an interest in him and started paying more attention to him. He felt amazing after this kiss; going home that night, Lincoln felt like he could run two marathons, like he could kick down a strong brick wall.

And then Stella. He met the girl at 11 but didn't really start dating her until he was 15 or 16. He was older, then, and things were more serious. The girl you lose your virginity to never really leaves your mind. Their first conversation was on the bus on her first day after having just moved to Royal Woods. He thought she was pretty, he thought he could be happy with her, but he didn't pursue her, at least not seriously, until he got a chance to actually know her. And when he did, their relationship built up over time. No whiplash there.

He knew nothing about Lucas, Christ! Nothing. He had a bad relationship with his father… he was a sophomore… but what else was there? Lincoln had no clue about his favorite food, his favorite color, what music he liked, what classes he enjoyed, what he did in his free time, what he wanted to do when he became an adult, what he looked for in a partner, or what was important to him in life. These were things you learned through time, by being friends first. Lucas didn't even consider Lincoln a friend! To the sophomore, Lincoln was just an upperclassman whom he had spoken to once, and by now Lucas probably forgot their conversation entirely. It wasn't about anything important, and why would it be? They've never even said a word to one another once before in their lives!

The thought crossed his mind to ask Lucy about this - she was knowledgeable and could probably validate Lincoln's feelings or prove to him that they were unfounded, and offer sound advice on how to handle the situation - but as soon as the thought to do this came it passed because Lucas was a boy. Lincoln was in love with a boy. That was one hell of a conversation to have.

But he'd been in love with girls, too, so what did that make him? Bi? He didn't really know, but right now, he had more important things to worry about than labels.

What would he do about this? Would he ever confess to Lucas what he felt for him? Chances are, he was straight. Would Lincoln ignore his feelings and move on? Could he ignore these feelings? He only had one class with Lucas, after all. Was it possible to forget this ever even happened? Was it possible to burn the memory card and get on with his life?

Lincoln realized that he was asking himself too many impossible questions and stopped.

A situation like this, he thought, was delicate, and should be handled very carefully.

Suddenly, there was a knock on his door.

"Come in," he said.

Before he even finished speaking, his door flew open and in came Lana.

"Lucy," she said, worry evident in their voice.

"Lucy?" asked Lincoln. "What about her?"

Lana shook her head. "Have you seen her?"

"No, why?"

"I looked all over the place," Lana said. "But I can't find Lucy anywhere."

"What? There's no way," Lincoln said, trying to remember the last time he saw her. She had been in her room earlier that day after he got home from school, sleeping. "She's grounded. She's not allowed to leave."

"Well, then, there's only one explanation," Lana said, matter-of-factly. "She snuck out."