Song: "The Bends" by Radiohead. Don't own it.

"Way to support the team, hon," she snapped.

I was leaning against the van, waiting for her, arms folded. I slid my head phones down to my neck. "How'd we do?"

"Fourth place." She shoved a green ribbon into my hand. "Good, but not good enough to move up to the semi-finals. I could break something, I swear." Paige did not deal well with not being the best.

All around us, people were pouring out of the building, heading in every direction. I wondered vaguely how Degrassi could have held so many people at once. The halls at school were always crowded, but it never felt like there was anyone there.

"Ugh. Come on, let's jet. Trying to get out of here is going to be murder."

I looked intently at her, holding my bag closer to my chest. "Paige." She gave me one of those, "What the hell do you want, hon?" kind of looks. I thought surely I was transparent enough for her to see right through me. Everyone else did. Couldn't she just read my mind? She probably could. But she would rather force me to ask for what I wanted. She wanted to watch me squirm.

"I can't go home. My mom... Craig... she's going to ask questions and shit." My meaning, I thought, was quite obvious. I looked pleadingly at her. Couldn't she just be my friend unconditionally for once?

Paige sighed and placed her hand on my shoulder. "Sure, hon, you can come over." She pulled her hand away and started walking towards the driver's side of the van. "The 'rents are out of town anyway, so stay as long as you want."

"Thank you," I said softly as I slid into the passenger's seat. If I really could stay as long as I wanted, I would never leave. I would do anything to not have to go back home again.

As we drove to her house, Paige babbled on about judging bias and how North Shoals High totally ripped their moves off of Britney's last video. I didn't really hear much of what she said. I inserted Radiohead into her CD player to help tune her out. I vaguely heard her make some comment about how she hated this depressing music, but she didn't do anything to stop me so I really didn't care. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass window.

Everything looked strange. Ugly gray clouds had crept in again and the sunlight was fading. It was barely three in the afternoon and already it seemed like evening. The houses and sidewalks seemed so unreal covered in that gray-green light. The tree branches shivered in the wind. None of it looked real to me. It seemed like all of it was just a photograph, a backdrop. I felt very far away from it all. God I was tired.

I nodded off in the fifteen or so minutes it took to get to the Michalchuk residence, and was not so gently awakened by Paige snapping her fingers in my face. I shivered all over as I came back to consciousness and I realized how cold I was. I had goose bumps on my arms and legs. I wanted to get out of my spirit squad uniform and into real clothes.

I asked Paige if I could use her shower and she agreed with a shrug, flopping onto her beige sofa with the latest copy of Seventeen in her hands. I walked up the stairs I'd come to know so well over the past few months and entered the peach-colored bathroom. It looked and smelled so fresh and clean, and I felt dirty in comparison. There was so much filth on my skin. I could still feel last night's rain, the hands of the guy I'd made out with in study hall, the mud from the asphalt behind the school, and a million other unclean things clinging to every inch of me.

I stripped down to nothing and turned on the water. I cranked the handle labeled "H" as far as it would go. White steam crept fluidly across the ceramic tile like fog. My flesh turned angry pink when I touched the water but I was so cold I didn't care. I climbed into the shower and let the scalding hot water swallow me. I felt it burn and it felt so good. It saturated my thick black hair and slid down my skin all the way to my toes. All my muscles relaxed and I wished I could feel like that all the time.

I would have stayed in there for hours, but I felt guilty. I was leaving traces of my Manny-filth over the Michalchuks' nice, neat bathroom. Why was I always doing that? Why was I always leaving pieces of myself behind wherever I went? I was never clean. I was never whole. I was always a mess.

I shut off the water and stood there for a moment, watching the water drip from my body to the ground. I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off with a fluffy peach towel. I saw a pink bathrobe hanging on the wall, assumed that it was Paige's, and wrapped it around myself.

I wondered vaguely if there was some kind of rule about that. Like, maybe it crossed some kind of boundary to walk around in your friend's robe while you were at their house. I wasn't really familiar with that kind of thing, what you could or couldn't do at a friend's house. I was eleven years old the first time I'd ever been allowed to stay at anyone's house. My parents were really strict like that. Even then, the only person I was allowed to stay with was Emma. How silly that all seemed to me as I looked back on it. I was a skilled crasher now. I'd stay wherever I could as long as it meant not going home. I would sleep anywhere. On someone's couch, in Craig's garage, in the bed of some stranger. I no longer knew about boundaries; anywhere I could bum some food and waste a few fours or more was home to me.

It had begun sprinkling outside by the time I came back downstairs. Paige licked the tip of her finger and turned the page of her magazine.

"Are you hungry, hon?" she asked without looking up as I settled in next to her on the couch. "I was thinking about ordering a pizza."

"Sure. That sounds fine."

I grabbed the huge red quilt off the back of the couch and curled up in it. I still felt so cold. I snuggled deeper into the Michalchuks' couch and took in a deep breath of my fresh peach scent. Clean and warm were two things I rarely felt.

Paige glanced at me over the top of Seventeen and chuckled. "Cozy?" she asked with playful but biting sarcasm.

"Yes, actually, I am."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, just hog all the covers why don't you?" She tossed her magazine onto the glass coffee table and scooted closer to me. I unwrapped the quilt and readjusted it so that we could each have half. Paige snatched up the remote and turned on the TV. We watched music videos together and critiqued the styles and dance moves of everyone from Christina Aguilera to Lenny Kravitz. We chewed on the latest gossip about our fave and least fave celebrities, giggling and generally being stupid. It's funny how when no one was looking, Paige and I could almost be just like normal teenage girls.

The rain steadily increased as the minutes passed. The living room was full of that eerie rainy grayness and nothing but the technicolor glow of the television. My head was lulled into a dreamy state and I could have fallen asleep right there, curled up in Paige and her bathrobe.

I eventually grew aware that Paige wasn't watching music videos any more. I felt her eyes on my skin. It's funny how you can develop this sense of when people are looking at you. Not just looking at you, but like, looking at you. By then I had learned to read all kinds of eyes. Which eyes hated me, which eyes wanted to fuck me, which eyes were too shy to admit they wanted to fuck me. People are so much more obvious than they think they are.

I turned my head.

Paige smiled casually. "Manny, hon, could your hair get any more gorgeous?" she commented, as if that was the only reason she'd been watching me. She reached out and twisted her fingers through my slightly damp curls. That's another thing I could catch on to; I knew exactly when someone was making excuses to touch me. "And you don't even like, try. It's just naturally incredible hair. I'm totally jealous."

I suddenly became aware of how close she was to me. Her warmth radiated beneath the blanket we shared. She was so close I could see the acne she'd covered up with her make-up; I could see the contrast between her dark roots and the beginnings of her blonde highlights; I could smell the strawberry kiwi lip gloss on her lips. She leaned in closer, curling up to me. I wondered if she would kiss me. I could tell she wanted to. I wondered if I would let her. I probably would. I realized that there probably wasn't anyone I wouldn't let do whatever they wanted to me. Somewhere along the way I lost the will to say no.

But she didn't kiss me. Not on the lips anyway. She sighed, and frowned, and looked at me. "It's really cold," she said quietly. She cuddled next to me and placed a soft kiss on my collar bone. She laid her head on my chest without saying another word. I pulled the blanket closer and watched Jojo shake her hips on the screen. The rain drizzled steadily against the walls and I soon drifted to sleep.

When I awoke, Paige was gone, and instead I found myself sitting next to a different Michalchuk. He was eating from large bag of potato chips as he watched some hockey game. I realized I'd become somewhat unraveled in my sleep, and I discreetly readjusted my robe so that I was no longer falling out of it. Not that it mattered that much. Dylan was gay anyway, so I doubted anything of mine would catch his attention. Hell, even if he was straight, I hardly cared any more who saw my goods.

He finally noticed that I'd woken up, and tilted the bag of chips towards me. "Chip?" he offered, not taking his eyes off the game.

"No thanks," I said as I sat up. "Where's Paige?"

"She ran to the store. I think she's picking up a pizza, too. Are you staying over tonight?"

I nodded. "Are you?"

Dylan smirked. "Yeah, I promised the 'rents I'd stay home for the weekend and watch over little Paigy while they're away. Not that it really matters whether or not I'm here. Paige has done whatever she wanted to do since she was twelve years old, and I don't think that's going to change any time soon." The game went to commercial and he turned to me with fake girlish enthusiasm. "Oh my god, Manny, we could have like, a total slumber party. Girls only."

I laughed. For someone who'd been openly homosexual since he was fifteen years old, Dylan was a pretty unconvincing gay. But he knew it would make me smile. I played along. "Really? Like, bitchin for sure. Will you paint my nails?"

He squealed and flipped his hand. "Totally! Let's see... are you a scorching pink or wildflower blue?" He reached out and took my hand, and the game suddenly ended. His face fell as he touched his fingertips to the red marks that covered my hand. He spoke softly. "Jesus Christ, Manny. How did this happen?"

I shrugged. "I got a little crazy last night. I didn't take my meds for a few days and... yeah, I had one of my little fits."

"Oh," he said. He let go of my hand at last. The game had come back on but he wasn't watching. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dylan was just that kind of sweetheart. People didn't like it when I mentioned meds or anything about my condition. It made them uncomfortable. But Dylan was the kind of person who would let you know, right up front, that it was okay to be as open as you wanted to be. He was like the big brother I never had. Or, really, the big brother I'd once had and then lost.

My therapist was constantly reminding me of the importance of talking things out. She said that it's normal to feel sad once in awhile, but once you start holding things inside and letting them build up, that's when it gets out of control. One person can't handle all that on their own. That's how depression starts. You keep things to yourself and suddenly you're so surrounded by your misery you can't see anyone or anything else. You become so alone that you don't think there's anyway out.

That was all good in theory, but it didn't make it any easier to let things out. My therapist didn't seem to realize how few people gave a damn about what I had to say. And even when there was someone, I didn't know where to begin. The pain I felt was impossible to put into words. I didn't really want to talk about it, any of it, ever. But whenever Dylan asked I suddenly wished I really did have something to say. I wished I wasn't so empty inside, so that I could pour everything out for him and we could have secrets together.

"It' no big deal," I said. My own voice sounded far away. "I was grounded and I was just like, trapped. I started freaking out and like... gnawing my fingers, I guess. And then I drove over to Craig's, and like, I barely remember getting home. I just hope my car is still at Craig's and not like, on the back of an 18-wheeler headed for Mexico City." I had to breathe for a minute. It always weirded me out when I actually talked about how fucked up I was out loud. It was too surreal. It's like I wasn't talking about myself. I was just reciting some crazy story I'd seen on the six o'clock news. "But hey, don't say anything about it in front of Paige. Every time I do something crazy it's like, field day for her. She really gets a kick out of shitting all over me."

Dylan seemed unnerved by this comment. He rolled his eyes. "You know, I love my sister and all, but her sadism is just a little creepy. Why do you even put up with it?"

I almost laughed. Almost. "Well, I mean, she's my only real friend. I have this bad habit of ruining the lives of everyone around me, you see, and Paige is like, one of the only ones left standing. To keep her around, I think can stand to put up with a little bit of verbal abuse." I was joking, of course. Well I was kind of telling the truth, but I wanted it to seem like a joke. Dylan wasn't laughing.

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one who's running out of lifelines." His tone was almost bitter.

I stared at him, curious and dumbstruck. "What... what's that supposed to mean?"

He looked at me in surprise. He examined my face for a minute, as if he thought I was kidding. "Come on, Manny. Don't you think it's weird that Paige is suddenly spending so much time with you? Rearranging her whole little Paige-world so that you fit into the picture? I mean, don't get me wrong, I totally love you, kiddo, but Paige... and you... well, you guys are kind of on different levels."

He was right. Paige was like, popular goddess of Degrassi, and I was quite possibly the most hated girl in school. I nodded without taking offense, giving him a look that told him to continue. I was more than used to the Michalchuk sense of brutal honesty.

"Okay, right," he went on. He looked off in thought for a moment, moving his hands around as he searched for the words. "Well I mean, in case you haven't noticed, Paige kind of has this neurotic obsession with controlling everyone around her. Most of her friends have stopped taking shit from her, and you're kind of like, her last resort, you know?"

I shrugged. So Paige liked hanging out with me because she could push me around. Who cared? Pride was a dead concept to me. "I can see what you're saying, but I mean, it really doesn't bother me. Trust me, I've been through alot worse than having someone tell me what to do."

Dylan sighed and looked down. "But I mean... I think it's more than that, Manny. It's like you've become this hobby for her. You're her little pet. She likes it when you get in to trouble. It just means more drama for her to take care of. The more fucked up you get, the more you need her, and the more Paige gets this sick satisfaction out of babying you. It's almost like..." He lifted his head and looked right at me. He stopped himself. "I don't know. But I worry about her. You'd tell me if things ever started getting weird with her, right? I mean, if something was up with Paige, you'd let me know, wouldn't you?"

I didn't even know how to answer that. Weird? He wanted me to let him know if things got weird? Look at my life, Dylan, I wanted to say. How the fuck would I be able to tell the difference if things ever did get weird? But then I thought of Paige, sitting so close to me, looking so much like she wanted to kiss me. Was that what Dylan was worried about?

"So, what," I began slowly. "You think Paige might have some kind of crush on me or something?"

Dylan raised his eyebrows, shocked but somewhat impressed that I'd said it first. "Well, yeah, actually. I think she might."

There had always been the shadow of a doubt that I'd been imagining things, but with Dylan's confirmation, the truth became clear. I thought it might freak me out, but it really didn't. People having "crushes" on me was nothing new. "So do think your sister's gay or what?"

Dylan laughed callously. "You know, I used to think so, when we were younger. But then, I was in denial of my own sexuality at the time, so maybe I was just really hoping that someone else would be the weird one." He leaned back on the couch and rested his head with a heavy sigh. He looked weary. It was as if these thoughts, this meticulous analysis of Paige and himself and the world, had always been running through his head, and this was the first time he'd ever let it all out. "But no, actually, I really don't think she's gay. At all. Quite the opposite, really. Paige is just more complicated than that. I think she's just scared. She's having a hard time dealing with the fact that Spinner is big time in love with her. They've been together for two years, and it's gotten really obvious that, you know, this is serious. Spinner is just... well, he's in love. There's no way around it."

He sat back up, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees as he spoke. It was too hard for him to sit still while he tried to flesh all this out. "I think Paige is too scared to deal with the fact that maybe she's in love with him, too. It's like, suddenly Paige has someone who knows her for who she really is, and loves her for it, and always wants to be with her, and that just freaks the hell out of her." He took a breath and looked at me. "She has a hard time letting people in, Manny. She's always been that way. And after, you know, she was raped... she just got that much more closed off from the world. She's pushing her boundaries right now, and you just happen to be the one she's pushing them with. She cares too much about Spin to like, actually cheat on him, but having this little infatuation with you is the next best thing. I almost think she'd rather mess things up than admit what a good thing she has, because it would mean tearing down her walls, and Paige really isn't ready to do that yet."

He flopped back onto the couch yet again, letting out one big exhalation. Blonde curly tresses fell in front of his soft blue eyes. I watched the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and thought about what an amazing person he was. I had always known that Paige was the kind of girl who wore a mask, but I never thought any more about it than that. After all, who wasn't hiding something? But Dylan knew her so much better than that. He understood the pain and confusion that made her who she was. Paige was such a hard person to read, but he could see through her lies and her facades and her mind games. I had never realized that someone could make so much sense of another person.

I was overwhelmingly jealous. Paige was so lucky to have an older brother who cared enough to want to know her and help her. It was one thing to love someone, but it was another thing entirely to really know them. I wished I had something like that. I wished I had someone could read me like an open book the way he did with Paige. Nobody had ever known me. Nobody had ever even tried.

I felt tears swell in my eyes. I swallowed hard. "Maybe that's why we're such good friends," I said, trying to make it funny even thought it really wasn't. "We're both fucking crazy."

As it often did, the emptiness and pain of losing Phillip came back in one overpowering wave. It was selfish of me and I knew it, but I didn't care. Paige was the only person who was even somewhat as crazy as me, but the difference between the two of us was that she had people who loved her enough to help her make it through. Being with Dylan reminded me of everything I didn't have, and if it were possibly, I would have easily snatched it all away from Paige and kept it for myself.

"God, I'm such a girl," I said, trying to keep the tears from falling. But they wouldn't. Everything hurt inside me. This was the relapse. This is what happened every time I remembered one bad thing in my life; all the other shit just came tumbling down like dominoes. I was buried. Shows how effective anti-depressants really are. I wiped my tears with the quilt. "Crying out of nowhere."

Dylan looked over at me, somewhat confused, but sympathetic all the same. "Hey, no, it's all right," he said. Big brothers were supposed to tell you things were all right. "I probably shouldn't have dumped all this on you. It's heavy shit, I know. I'm sorry."

I nodded, but I still couldn't stop myself from sobbing and falling to pieces.

"It's all right." He said it again. "Come here." He held out his arm and I gladly crawled towards him, resting my head on his lap. My sobs faded to gentle moans as Dylan held me close, stroking my hair slowly. I could tell he was very experienced at this.

A few moments later I heard the front door swing open, followed a few seconds later by the soft plunk of groceries dropping onto the kitchen table.

"Guys, pizza's here," I heard Paige call out. Neither of us moved.

She wandered into the living room, not even stopping to look at us, and stood by the sliding glass doors that led outside. "God," she said, standing with her arms folded as she watched the rain. "Could this weekend honestly get any nastier? I mean, is it EVER going to stop raining? Total downer." When no one said anything, she turned to us, slightly puzzled. She noticed I was crying and watched me with "What the fuck?" written all over her face.

"What's wrong with her?" she asked, almost disinterestedly.

Dylan shrugged.

"Hmm, well, pizza's on the table. Help yourselves." She walked out of the room.