Mama walks me as far as airport security allows her, and we have a quiet goodbye, or heads leaning together, our foreheads resting against one another. The Friday and Saturday after Thanksgiving were spent around the house, reading and working on the homework that some of the meaner teachers assigned just before break. Mama and I didn't really talk much more about Adam, and I preferred it that way. However, I didn't manage to distract myself well enough; I thought about him a lot and missed him even more. I'm happy to get back to school, although I'm worried he'll make good on his threat to move out.

"I'll miss you, Dwayne," Mama is saying.

"Less than a month 'til Christmas, Mama."

"I know, but the house is so empty without you and Luke – and so quiet."

"I'd think you'd enjoy that," I tease her gently, smiling.

"Oh, it's nice sometimes, but I was so use to the hustle and bustle for so many years, it's still hard being alone."

I wrap my arms around my mother's smaller frame and rest my head on top of hers.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I miss you, too."

"I know you do, sweetie, but I know you're better off getting a good education and paying hockey with all your friends." She pulls away and kisses my cheek then rubs away the lipstick mark with her thumb. "Be happy, baby."

"I'll try." It's all I can offer her. "Bye, Mama."

"Bye, Dwayne."

I walk forward a few steps, then turn to see her waving. I return in kind, then don't look back again as I head to the gates for departing flights.

The flight back to Minnesota is much less eventful than the one down to Texas. I nap for nearly two hours and finish up some science questions – the last shred of homework I have – the rest of the time.

I take a cab back to Eden Hall and find the campus nearly deserted; the residence halls only reopened an hour ago, and I'm one of the first students to return.

I let myself into the building and climb three flights of steps to my room. I enter; Adam hasn't returned yet. Or maybe he has, and is simply opting to stay in another room, like he warned he might. Ugh. How depressing. My four-and-a-half days home – especially after the "Do you want to talk about it?" first day – may not have been a distraction, but they had been enough of an escape from emotion, an escape from the first-hand experience of the whirlwind I'd been through just before. It feels like so long ago, but one glance at my familiar four walls, and I'm thrown right back in the thick of it. Immediately, I remember once again: I'm in love, and I'm so incredibly lonely.

I pick up the phone and punch in a four-digit number.

"Hello?" a voice answers on the third ring.

"Hey, Charlie. It's Dwayne."

"Oh – hey." He sounds sort of hesitant, nervous almost. "What's up?"

"I was, uh...I was just wondering..." I stumble over my words. "I was just wondering if Adam was there, if he, uh, plans to stay there for...awhile..."

"Uh, yeah. He's here. He told me he'd be staying for at least a week, maybe longer."

"Oh."

There's an awkward pause, and I wonder what Adam has told Charlie and Guy, I wonder what excuse he gave them, and then I wonder if it was the truth. That thought is literally breathtaking, it's something I never considered.

"What's...what's going on, Dwayne?" he asks suddenly. "Adam just said you guys were fighting, but he wouldn't say why or what started it."

"We just...I'm just going through a difficult time, and Adam called me on it, and we just got into an argument. I, uh, I don't know if it'll blow over any time soon, we said some pretty intense stuff."

There's another pause, and I'm guessing Charlie doesn't quite know what to say.

"Even though Adam's here, I'm not...talking sides, I won't, and if you ever need to talk about anything," he says quietly, "you know I"m here for you – as your Captain and as your friend."

"Thanks, Charlie. I'm pretty talked-out at the moment, but I'll keep that in mind."

"All right. Well...talk to you later, then?"

"Yeah...Charlie?" I say impulsively, and for a moment I want him to tell Adam that he should come back, that I miss him, that we need to talk.

"Yeah?"

But I remember Luke's advice and realize I probably shouldn't have picked up the phone in the first place, and I bite my tongue.

"Nothing, never mind."

"Okay. Bye, Dwayne."

I hang up and flop back onto my bed I look to my left, at Adam's pristinely-made bed, with the pillow perfectly fluffed and a corner neatly folded down. Adam probably makes his bed with hospital corners. For some reason, this strikes me as funny. I start chuckling, but soon it builds in intensity, until I am laughing so hard, I'm gasping for breath and clutching my sides in pain

If he were here, Adam would probably ask what was so funny, and would start laughing himself, even before I had a chance to answer.

The laughter keeps coming, and I grip my stomach harder, dig my fingertips into my flesh. It hurts. I miss Adam so much. It hurts.

If only I'd stayed quiet, kept my secret to myself. He would be here, and I would be happy. No, I wouldn't be. I would be outwardly happy. I'd have internal turmoil, but I'd keep up my carefree exterior. I'd stay in the closet and hide my feelings. It wouldn't be so hard – I'd done it for so long...so long, so many years, up until last week – until too many questions and an impulsive moment. I could have handled it for longer.

But it was too late for wishes, too late for "If only"s...it was impossible to change the past, deeply as though I may hope.

But, really if only...just once, if one thing could be changed...but that's not true. I'd save Dad first. Somehow, Adam and my father, two of the three most significant males in my life (the third, of course, being Luke), are forever linked in my mind. They are tied to the happiest moments in my life, and to the most devastating. I love them both and my heart aches for them both.

I can't lose Adam like I lost Dad. I actually have a choice this time, a chance, the ability to keep him in my life if I so wish. If I could just tell him what he wanted to hear...but I can't lie. I've always been rather bad at it, especially when it's about something as important as this.

Incredibly, I hear Dad's voice in my head now. "Things will pan out son," that's what he always said to me, when I was so young and disappointed about the little things in life that seemedimportant at the time. "Things will pan out in the long run."

I miss my father more than ever. And I hope he's watching me now, giving me a little nudge in the right direction, helping to make sure that things do pan out.

I manage to avoid Adam for two weeks, save hockey practice. Even then, we don't speak to each other at all. Orion notices, I'm sure, but he doesn't say anything. The other Ducks already know we're fighting and since Adam and I refuse to explain, there's nothing much they can do, though Lord knows they're all probably itching to help.

Christmas break is looming on the horizon, a three full school-free weeks, so the teachers are piling on the assignments, and I keep my lonely nights occupied with homework. Sometimes Connie visits me, but I'm usually not up to talking, and she gets bored with her own voice kind of quickly. I always make sure to thank her for her efforts, and I really do appreciate her friendship. I just can't muster up the strength or energy to interact with anyone. I'm quieter in class, and I eat lunch by myself in the library. I call Mama nearly every evening, to hear her voice, though I never want to talk about Adam.

The days move along sluggishly, and soon they all start to blend, melting into one another so that I can't remember how long it's been and only a glance at my page-a-day calendar each morning tells me what day of the week it is.

Then, one Saturday morning, Adam walks into the room, completely unexpected, completely unannounced. I'm at my desk, working on an essay about Grapes of Wrath that's due for English next Friday. The only bright spot in Adam's disappearance is the fact that with my alone time, with the fresh focus on schoolwork, I can concentrate more on doing well in at least that aspect of my life. It's only been a couple weeks, but four of my teachers have already commended me for my improvement.

I'd had to write an essay about Catcher in the Ryejust after Thanksgiving break, and I wrote about solitude and loneliness, about how Holden Caulfield was just a spurned boy in love. I'd gotten the essay back with the comments "A little off-topic and lengthy with the personal relevance, but a riveting read nonetheless." I'd gotten an A-minus, the highest mark I'd ever received in Ms. Lyon's English class.

But Adam's just walked in, and he did it so naturally that for a moment I don't even notice.

"...and Rosasharn..." I mumble as I write, then realize with a start that Adam hasn't been in the room for days and yet...here he is. "Adam?"

"I, uh," he looks like a deer caught in headlights. "I was hoping you wouldn't be here."

I sag a bit, the air whooshing out of my lungs like out of a balloon. I have a sharp weight crushing my chest, and I croak out a feeble, "Oh."

"I just...I needed to get some more clothes." He rifles through the top drawer of his dresser, which holds neatly-folded t-shirts and polo shirts. He selects a few, then grabs a pair of khakis and a pair of corduroys from the middle drawer. He finds pajama pants from the bottom and a couple of sweaters from the closet. The pile in his arm grows as the silence between us lengthens. He adds a belt to the top then heads for the door.

I hold my pen in my hand, but "Rosasharn" is still the last word I've written. I am watching Adam out of the corner of my eye.

HE balances everything on his left arm and reaches for the doorknob with his right.

"Stay," I say before I can stop myself.

Adam freezes, arm still outstretched. He doesn't turn, doesn't say anything.

"Please."

He still doesn't answer.

"Don't go. Stay in the room. Don't leave. Stay with me. Please. How many times, how many ways do I have to say it?"

Still nothing.

"I haven't spoken to you for over two weeks. Two weeks, Adam, that's so long, and we were so close before...before you knew, before I knew...and I can't talk to you, because my feelings haven't changed, and I told Luke I'd wait for you, I wouldn't say anything to you unless my feelings changed...but I don't know how they will, I don't know if they can. And I just want you to be around, because I'm miserable when I'm alone. And all the good grades in the world won't make up for the fact that I'm so lonely. I just want you to – "

"I'll stay, Dwayne," Adam interrupts suddenly, "if you can give me one good reason to."

"I love you."

"That's not a reason to stay. That's something you think you feel."

"Christ, Adam - if you're going to turn me down, at least realize it truly is how I feel. I love you, and I would do anything for you to stay. Please understand – "

"Dwayne." He says softly, almost a sign. "I wish I could."

"And you can. I'm so sick of having this argument."

"You're sick of it? How do you think I feel? We just have the same argument over and over – you're not coming to me with anything new."

"Because there is nothing new! Because nothing has changed! And nothing will change. I love you."

"You think I'm perfect."

"I do. Because, to me, you are."

"And until that changes, then you're going to have to listen to your brother and let me make the next move."

His next move is out the door.

I throw my pen at his retreating back in anger, and it hits the door as it closes with a click. I push my essay off the desk and rest my head in my hands.

What the hell is wrong with me?