Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, blah blah blah.

Summary: Grace writes in her journal about events through P.O.V. ... but no free-form swearing this time and not so much about her mom, 'cause she's got someone else on her mind.

Note: Some of this might seem a little out of character, but I have a theory that since Grace writes poetry, she's far more eloquent in the way she writes than when she speaks. Go with me on that. Also this is my first fanfic, so, yeah. FYI.

Last year at this time, if you'd told me what my life would be like right now, if you'd had the balls to tell me that one-year-older-future-me would be doing the things I've been doing these past few months, I probably would've beaten you up. Like, blunt object to the head and a solid punch in the gut for suggesting that I would be secretly dating Luke Girardi. I would definitely hurt you for even hinting that I would be setting aside makeout time with him each day, or that I would open up the family skeleton closet and allow him to look inside, or let him convince me to go to some mushy group meetings where I can talk about my feelings. Impossible, all of it.

And yet, here I am. Gone from completely unimaginable, not-in-a-million-years to reality, one that I guess I have to admit I'm growing increasingly attached to. As things stand, I've lost track of how many times I've kissed him, and I've started picking up his overly wordy geekspeak, and I'm arranging meetups in some freaky dead animal storage closet in the middle of the day just so I can see him ...

And I am so gone, I can't even pretend otherwise anymore.

I'd only intended for him to stay at my house for a little while today. Just, you know, see my house, see my room, get in some quality makeout time, and out the door before my parents got home. At first it felt a little weird to have him here in my room, in the place where I'm most myself. Whatever, I hate how that sounds. But I mean, I don't even let my parents in here. It's like my sanctuary. And also this was the most alone we've ever been–usually we're outside or meeting up in some hidden corner of the school. Still basically public places. But the weird feeling disappeared right away, and all of a sudden we were talking about beanie babies and capitalism and who else but Luke would start a conversation like that instead of mocking me for having one of those in my room?

I know it seems like we couldn't be more different, and for a long time I kept telling myself it couldn't possibly work because of that, but ... somehow it does. It really works. And I never expected this, at all, at first I just chalked it up to hormones and chemistry or whatever it was that made me want to kiss him whenever he was nearby (not that I would've admitted it, even to myself.).

But after a little while it wasn't just about kissing, it was about being near him. It was about talking and making each other laugh, and just spending time together, and then it was about needing him to know about my mom. That came out of left field for me, out of nowhere, like I suffered some kind of head trauma and went temporarily insane. Tell someone about my mom ... willingly?

I never would have predicted that. Or any of the other stuff I've done. Since this whole thing started, I keep surprising myself--I keep doing or saying things that make me think, "Well, that's not like you at all, Polk." The things I thought I knew about myself are getting flipped around, shifted all over the place. And I can't say it's been a barrel of monkeys every step of the way.

For one thing, he needs to stop treating me like a hypothesis that he's trying to prove. I know that's the way his brain works, so it's going to take some time for him to see that he can't solve everything with the scientific method. Especially a problem like my mom. But he's been so patient with me, I can try to be patient with him. I guess I've just been pleasantly surprised that being with Luke hasn't turned me into someone else, someone unrecognizable, the way I was afraid a relationship would. It's made me more myself, I guess. Gah. I don't know. This all sounds so disgustingly Dr. Phil and I hate trying to analyze it.

But because of my own rules, I can't talk about this with Joan or Adam, and certainly not with Luke himself, so, yeah. This is why I'm using my 'write about your drunk mom' journal to write about him instead. This is me trying to process things for lack of a better outlet and failing because this is the first time I've felt any of this and it's all one big undiscovered country that I sure as hell never thought I'd find myself in.

So, anyway, back to today--we'd just gotten to the making-out portion of his visit, and mom comes home. I felt panicked at first because she wasn't supposed to be home, and then when Luke headed for the window, the panic transferred to the thought of him leaving. I didn't want him to leave. Where'd that come from? I didn't have time to analyze it then, I just bolted over and grabbed his hand and asked him to stay.

He looked a little stunned, just as surprised as me ... and the kiss that followed was different than all the rest. It was like, I don't know, it felt sort of ... sacred? Ugh, no, that's so cheesy. I'm going to white this out later. I'll probably tear out this whole page. But it was Something. I don't think I can articulate it, and I'm already in like, serious Young Adult Novel territory here, but I was already caught off guard by wanting him to stay and that kiss just about did me in. We just stared at each other for a little while, without speaking. I could see in his eyes that he knew I was scared and anxious and keeping him there in spite of rational thought telling me otherwise.

I took a deep breath and yelled, "Mom, I've got a friend over."

"Who?" she responded, and I pulled him downstairs to meet her.

She was expecting Adam, I'm sure, since that's the only friend I've had over in a long time. She was shocked to see a stranger, a strange boy at that, and I could tell she'd noticed my hand on his arm even though I'd pulled away the second we entered the kitchen. But my mom is an excellent actor, and the shock washed over her face in a split second, replaced by friendly interest. "Mom, this is Luke. Girardi." She shook his hand and Luke was all Captain Politeness, asking if he could help her carry in groceries from the car.

So that's what we ended up doing, parading in and out of the house with bags of food: me, my secret boyfriend, and my alcoholic mother. Not what I was planning, again, but fitting the way things have been going. The question I was waiting for from mom ("Luke, are you related to Grace's friend Joan?") came eventually, and the tiny smile she gave at his answer told me she'd be bringing this up later when we were alone. Well, I expected nothing less. With any luck she won't be halfway into a bottle when she brings up the subject, because I am not in the mood for too many questions, especially the too-much-information kind she'll ask me if she's smashed.

She asked him to stay for dinner, of course, because that's the proper thing to do, but thank G-d he'd promised his mother to help out with dinner at his house and couldn't. The two of them meeting was enough for one day without awkward small talk around some gross casserole she'd whipped up. And I didn't need my father asking Luke about his religious background, either. Too much for one day.

He promised to come back another time because he is the world's nicest boy, and then I walked him outside, out past the corner hedge so my mother couldn't spy on us from inside, and kissed him with everything I was feeling. I can't always trust my words, because sometimes I sound too harsh or too abrupt or too whatever, so I told him without words, and I knew he understood what I was trying to say. He wrapped me in a hug afterwards, leaned in and brushed a kiss across my ear, whispered, "See you tomorrow," in a way that made me shiver a little inside, and walked towards the street.

When he reached the end of our sidewalk, he turned back to look at me and gave a little wave. I smiled and waved back. Not a Grace thing to do at all. But somehow ... it's become something I would do. I guess it's just part of me that was buried before, one more thing that existed in me that I kept underground, and he's unearthing it. And for some unfathomable reason, that doesn't scare me so much anymore.