Author: Katydidit aka PolarEmeralds aka Kat
Email:
Rating: PG, for a bit of language and implied violence.
Genre: Drama/Angst
Category: AU. Pre-shooting. Now becoming full-blown Polar.
Disclaimer: They're mine! All mine! demented laughter Ooor not. They're Jason Katims and Co.'s. Evil demons. They should be vanquished. blissful grin Ahhh, if only.. cough Move along, folks. No evil plotting to see here. g
Summary: A not-so-short AU fic. Thirteen-year-old Michael is out one night, trying to escape Hank's fury for a while, when he stumbles across someone he hadn't expected to see and realizes that things aren't always what they seem.
Spoilers: Guys, the show's over. If you haven't seen an ep, you're not gonna. Lol. I don't think there's any, though.
AN: I must say, I have a new respect for the 'alien' cast of Roswell. I read somewhere that they actually used Tabasco sauce in their scenes. And this morning, curious, I dumped some Tabasco sauce in my Diet Coke. (Hey, I was bored, adventurous, and I really didn't want any more, okay?) I tried it...it wasn't bad, but it wasn't good. The sauce made the cola taste flat (or it actually made it flat), and it made my stomach hurt for a few minutes. My lips burned too (like the time I dumped a bunch of Fire packets at Taco Bell onto a soft taco shell), but I kind of like that feeling. I know, I know. I'm psycho. Anyway, I'm willing to try this experiment again, only with less Tabasco. It might not be too bad. I've already discovered that the Tabasco makes many many many foods (especially mashed potatoes) much more interesting (and pink). nods
Things Aren't Always What They Seem Chapter 11
The rest of that day was a blur for Michael. He had long ago gotten fed up with the Evanses' attempts at any conversation even resembling normal and bolted. He found himself in the park once more. She'd been the only person he'd ever actually cared about, except for Max and Isabel, and some nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that she'd be the last. He punched a tree trunk and once more sank down among the splinters that had fallen. It looked like things had gone full circle—how long had it been since that night that he had first attacked this tree, and found out about Liz? It certainly hadn't been long. But it didn't matter. She was gone-and he'd probably never see her again.
He was startled by a noise, and jerked his head up, half-expecting to see Liz's disheveled figure standing in front of him. But it was just Alex. He sighed and looked back down.
"What are you doing here?" Alex asked. "Where's Liz?"
"She's...gone," Michael said, finding the words nearly impossible to say. Alex sank down in front of him.
"Gone. As in...?"
"They took her away a few hours ago," Michael mumbled. "She wanted to say goodbye to you and Maria, but...school."
Alex's face twisted. "Good for her," he said. His tone was sincere, but there was a note of regret. "Did she finally tell someone?"
Ah, if only. But Michael didn't want Alex to worry, so he nodded, avoiding eye contact. Alex wasn't stupid, and sighed.
"She didn't, did she? He got her so bad she had to go to the hospital."
Michael nodded again.
"God. Liz..." Alex was silent for a while. "You know, she was like my sister."
"Yeah. I kind of figured. You two were always together."
"I mean...more than that." There was a thoughtful pause, as though he were considering his next words very carefully. "I had a little sister, did you know that?"
Michael shook his head.
"I did. Her name was Claire, and she was four and a half years old. God, I loved her."
"What happened to her?" Michael had a pretty good idea, judging from the pain in Alex's voice and written all over his face.
"She...died when I was seven. Just before we moved here. We, uh...we were playing with a beach ball out in the front yard, and I rolled it too hard, so it went into the street. I was going to go get it, but...she somehow got there first. The driver didn't see her." He swallowed hard, and closed his eyes for a second. "As soon as we could, we moved away...from everything, and came here, just in time for the beginning of the school year. I didn't want to talk to anyone...hell, I don't think I even wanted to be alive. But Liz, she...I guess she understood that, because we didn't talk for at least two weeks—I mean, during our free time, we'd both be reading on the carpet, or drawing with the same crayons, but it was like she was waiting for me to decide that I wanted to talk. Then I did, and I got to know her. She was...almost exactly like Claire. You know—sweet and gentle, but still strong...independent. I think I sort of adopted her as a surrogate sister at first, and then, once I had sort of gotten past missing my sister, she became my friend. But for some reason, I couldn't get rid of that—you know, urge to take care of her. It pissed her off sometimes."
Michael didn't know what you were supposed to say to that, so he just nodded. Alex tugged at his shoelace. "I'm really going to miss her."
"Yeah. Me too," Michael said, looking at his cut-the one that matched Liz's.
'But, hey... At least she got out, right?" Alex looked up. "I mean, her dad can't hurt her anymore. That's good."
Michael shrugged, and Alex bent to look at his face. "Oh my gosh," Alex said, grinning in realization.
"What?" He demanded.
"Michael...you... loved her."
"The hell are you talking about? We're thirteen!" Michael shouted, leaping to his feet. Alex followed.
"You did-you do! Oh my god!" He laughed in disbelief.
"I don't need this," Michael muttered, turning to leave.
"Deny it!" Alex shouted at him as he left. "I dare you."
Michael turned and stalked back to the boy. "We are thirteen years old. So even if love existed, there would be no fucking way for us to know what the hell it is."
Alex shrugged and arched his eyebrow in challenge. "Deny it. Can you look me in the eyes and tell me honestly that she didn't make your stomach do acrobatics? That she didn't make you want to do crazy things? That you wouldn't give up your own life to protect hers?"
Michael glared at him. It was true—all of them. But that didn't mean anything, did it? Except for the fact that he could stand her. Right? He realized that saying no would be completely disrespecting Liz and whatever they'd had, so he couldn't deny it. "I don't need this bullshit," Michael spat, and stalked off, heading towards home. The once-innocuous streets now seemed to be mocking him—laughing at him. He growled and picked up a rock, chucking it into the air and not sticking around to see where it fell.
The next morning, Michael rolled reluctantly out of bed and pulled some clothes on, this time not even caring what they looked like. Hank wasn't there. Good thing. He wasn't in the mood to deal with the massive loads of crap that Hank was almost famous for dishing out. There was nothing in the cupboards, Michael knew, so he didn't bother trying to find something bearing some semblance to breakfast. He wasn't hungry, anyway. He hadn't meant to, but Michael found himself wondering what Liz would have for breakfast. Where would she be? Would she be waking up in a strange house, afraid for that second before memories of the day before came rushing back and she remembered where she was? His chest felt hollow, and he felt like punching himself for thinking about that. About her. It was done. She was gone, and he'd never see her again. So why think about it?
He sighed and left, heading to Max's house. The conversations there would likely drive him up the wall, but at least they might keep him from thinking about that Jeep.
He got to the Evanses' house and knocked on the door. It swung open, and Max was standing there with a blank look on his face. Michael pushed him aside.
"Good morning, Michael. How are you today?" Michael said for Max. "Thanks, Max. I'm great. Can I come in?" "Of course, Michael. Come on in."
Max just blinked at him. "Hi, Michael."
"How are you, man?" he asked, flopping into a chair. Max looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep at all last night—there were dark smudgy circles under his eyes, and his hair was rumpled, as though he'd been tossing and turning. Max just shrugged and headed into his room. Michael followed, looking on while Max changed into clean clothes.
"You need some?" Max asked, flinging a shirt and jeans at him. Michael grabbed them.
"Why would I?"
"Because what you're wearing...it reeks."
Michael sniffed himself. "Oh, that? That's what the body is supposed to smell like, Maxwell."
"I'm not going to be seen with you if you wear that to school today," Max said. Michael couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, so he rolled his eyes and changed. Isabel peeked her head in the door.
"Max, Momma said to tell you that breakfast is ready. Hi, Michael."
"Hey."
She nodded and left, and Max and Michael headed downstairs, to the breakfast table, where Phillip was already sitting, staring at his hands. Isabel put her hand on his shoulder on her way to her seat, but he didn't look up until everyone had been seated and breakfast had begun. Then he looked up at Michael, eyes full of self-reproach. It made Michael uncomfortable to see an adult look at him like that, so he looked down at his pancakes.
"I'm sorry, Michael," Phillip said, voice low.
"What for, sir?" Michael asked, not looking up.
"I know you two were close." He paused for a few moments. "We're going to try to get her back. I—know a guy, and he thinks it might be possible."
Michael looked up, for once in his life allowing himself to hope. Immediately, his heart sank, and he had to look away again. "Whatever."
Nothing more was said, and they finished their breakfast in uneasy silence.
After breakfast, they'd had to dash out of the house, in order to not miss the bus, and Isabel immediately joined the hens' conversation, though she wasn't as talkative as she usually was. At Liz's—Michael had to stop himself. At the next stop, Maria climbed on, and looked confused when she didn't see Liz. She took the empty seat behind Max and Michael, and tapped Max on the shoulder.
"Hey Romeo, where's Liz?" she demanded. Max didn't answer, so Michael had to turn around.
"She's gone." He said, the words hurting just as much as they did when he said them to Alex.
"The hell are you talking about, gone? Gone where?" Maria demanded. "Gone, as in, she's sick today, but she'll be better tomorrow?"
He shook his head. "She's in Clovis."
"Why?" Maria screeched.
"Her dad went to jail," Michael said reluctantly.
"Mr. Parker?! Why? You're not telling me anything, Michael!" Maria yelled, earning her a dirty look from the bus driver.
"Calm down."
"I'm not calming down until you tell me why the hell my best friend is suddenly in Clovis. And why is Mr. Parker in jail?!" She began panting heavily.
"Maria, you really need to calm down," Michael placated. She sat there for a few minutes, until her breathing had returned to normal.
"Michael, you really need to tell me why my friend is in Clovis, okay?" Maria said calmly, just as the bus pulled up in front of school.
"I... It's not my place to tell you," Michael said, stepping off of the bus. "You'd better ask Alex."
Maria just growled and stomped away.
Michael found himself going numbly to all of his classes that day, where he would sit and learn nothing until the bell rang, and the process would start all over. Finally, he was in the last class of the day—science. It also happened to be the worst class of the day—it was the only class he and Liz had shared, and her empty desk next to him made him feel worse. The teacher stood in the front of the room, looking at her gradebook.
"Okay, class. Those tests. I still don't have signatures from Mr. Whitmore—" She looked at Michael, who shrugged. "Or Mr. Parker." She looked down at Liz's desk. "Where is Miss Parker?"
"I heard she's in jail," came a voice from the back of the room. "Juvie."
Michael whipped around to glare at the idiot who had said that. "No, she's not," he said fiercely, clenching his fist.
"Mr. Guerin, please turn around. Do you know where Liz is?"
"I do." He closed his eyes to concentrate on controlling his powers. The teacher wouldn't leave him alone.
"Then where is she? Is she in school today? Was she planning on gracing us with her presence today, or will we be deprived?" She asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Michael couldn't stop the flow of power from his fingertips, so he surreptitiously directed it towards the open window. There was a bright flash of light in the sky, and a tree burst into flames. All of the kids gasped and ran to the window, and the teacher had to scurry to close it. "Ladies and gentlemen, please sit back down, and get away from the windows. It's dry lightning, guys, nothing you haven't seen before. Please sit down. Now, Michael. Where is Miss Parker?" Before he could answer, the telephone rang, and she had to answer it. Once she'd hung up, she drew a line through her gradebook. "Nevermind, Mr. Guerin. I know."
What pissed him off was that she acted like Liz could just be erased with one line in a book. He focused on his desk. Do not lose control again, he warned himself, repeating that over and over in his head. Do not lose control. Do not lose control.
It worked, and soon Science class was over. He filed out with the rest of the class, and went slowly to his locker. The bustling crowd in the hallway meant nothing to him, as he focused completely on his combination, and then on his books, and then on his backpack. Max and Isabel approached him, and Michael looked over their shoulders at Alex and Maria, who were clutching to each other and crying. Why couldn't he do that? Just hold on to someone and let go of everything—let himself cry? He brushed angrily at his burning eyes and slammed his locker shut. He knew why. It was because he was who he was. He couldn't cry. He didn't cry. He'd always coached himself to bite back the tears and yell at something instead. Crying was a sign of weakness.
But Liz cried. And she wasn't weak.
Why did he think that? It was the last straw. He punched his locker and slid down to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face in them. For maybe the first time in his life, Michael just let the tears fall, and didn't give a damn about who saw. After a few minutes, he felt a soft, comforting hand on his shoulder, and then felt someone else sit next to him. He didn't look up—he knew it was Isabel and Max—and anyway, he wasn't done yet. When he finally felt that he couldn't cry anymore, he looked up, ready to glare at anyone who was looking at him funny. But there was no one except Max, Isabel, Maria, and Alex, and all of their eyes were red as well.
Michael stood, feeling uneasy at the scene around him. Everyone else stood as well, and the little group walked out of the school, silent but understanding.
Email:
Rating: PG, for a bit of language and implied violence.
Genre: Drama/Angst
Category: AU. Pre-shooting. Now becoming full-blown Polar.
Disclaimer: They're mine! All mine! demented laughter Ooor not. They're Jason Katims and Co.'s. Evil demons. They should be vanquished. blissful grin Ahhh, if only.. cough Move along, folks. No evil plotting to see here. g
Summary: A not-so-short AU fic. Thirteen-year-old Michael is out one night, trying to escape Hank's fury for a while, when he stumbles across someone he hadn't expected to see and realizes that things aren't always what they seem.
Spoilers: Guys, the show's over. If you haven't seen an ep, you're not gonna. Lol. I don't think there's any, though.
AN: I must say, I have a new respect for the 'alien' cast of Roswell. I read somewhere that they actually used Tabasco sauce in their scenes. And this morning, curious, I dumped some Tabasco sauce in my Diet Coke. (Hey, I was bored, adventurous, and I really didn't want any more, okay?) I tried it...it wasn't bad, but it wasn't good. The sauce made the cola taste flat (or it actually made it flat), and it made my stomach hurt for a few minutes. My lips burned too (like the time I dumped a bunch of Fire packets at Taco Bell onto a soft taco shell), but I kind of like that feeling. I know, I know. I'm psycho. Anyway, I'm willing to try this experiment again, only with less Tabasco. It might not be too bad. I've already discovered that the Tabasco makes many many many foods (especially mashed potatoes) much more interesting (and pink). nods
Things Aren't Always What They Seem Chapter 11
The rest of that day was a blur for Michael. He had long ago gotten fed up with the Evanses' attempts at any conversation even resembling normal and bolted. He found himself in the park once more. She'd been the only person he'd ever actually cared about, except for Max and Isabel, and some nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that she'd be the last. He punched a tree trunk and once more sank down among the splinters that had fallen. It looked like things had gone full circle—how long had it been since that night that he had first attacked this tree, and found out about Liz? It certainly hadn't been long. But it didn't matter. She was gone-and he'd probably never see her again.
He was startled by a noise, and jerked his head up, half-expecting to see Liz's disheveled figure standing in front of him. But it was just Alex. He sighed and looked back down.
"What are you doing here?" Alex asked. "Where's Liz?"
"She's...gone," Michael said, finding the words nearly impossible to say. Alex sank down in front of him.
"Gone. As in...?"
"They took her away a few hours ago," Michael mumbled. "She wanted to say goodbye to you and Maria, but...school."
Alex's face twisted. "Good for her," he said. His tone was sincere, but there was a note of regret. "Did she finally tell someone?"
Ah, if only. But Michael didn't want Alex to worry, so he nodded, avoiding eye contact. Alex wasn't stupid, and sighed.
"She didn't, did she? He got her so bad she had to go to the hospital."
Michael nodded again.
"God. Liz..." Alex was silent for a while. "You know, she was like my sister."
"Yeah. I kind of figured. You two were always together."
"I mean...more than that." There was a thoughtful pause, as though he were considering his next words very carefully. "I had a little sister, did you know that?"
Michael shook his head.
"I did. Her name was Claire, and she was four and a half years old. God, I loved her."
"What happened to her?" Michael had a pretty good idea, judging from the pain in Alex's voice and written all over his face.
"She...died when I was seven. Just before we moved here. We, uh...we were playing with a beach ball out in the front yard, and I rolled it too hard, so it went into the street. I was going to go get it, but...she somehow got there first. The driver didn't see her." He swallowed hard, and closed his eyes for a second. "As soon as we could, we moved away...from everything, and came here, just in time for the beginning of the school year. I didn't want to talk to anyone...hell, I don't think I even wanted to be alive. But Liz, she...I guess she understood that, because we didn't talk for at least two weeks—I mean, during our free time, we'd both be reading on the carpet, or drawing with the same crayons, but it was like she was waiting for me to decide that I wanted to talk. Then I did, and I got to know her. She was...almost exactly like Claire. You know—sweet and gentle, but still strong...independent. I think I sort of adopted her as a surrogate sister at first, and then, once I had sort of gotten past missing my sister, she became my friend. But for some reason, I couldn't get rid of that—you know, urge to take care of her. It pissed her off sometimes."
Michael didn't know what you were supposed to say to that, so he just nodded. Alex tugged at his shoelace. "I'm really going to miss her."
"Yeah. Me too," Michael said, looking at his cut-the one that matched Liz's.
'But, hey... At least she got out, right?" Alex looked up. "I mean, her dad can't hurt her anymore. That's good."
Michael shrugged, and Alex bent to look at his face. "Oh my gosh," Alex said, grinning in realization.
"What?" He demanded.
"Michael...you... loved her."
"The hell are you talking about? We're thirteen!" Michael shouted, leaping to his feet. Alex followed.
"You did-you do! Oh my god!" He laughed in disbelief.
"I don't need this," Michael muttered, turning to leave.
"Deny it!" Alex shouted at him as he left. "I dare you."
Michael turned and stalked back to the boy. "We are thirteen years old. So even if love existed, there would be no fucking way for us to know what the hell it is."
Alex shrugged and arched his eyebrow in challenge. "Deny it. Can you look me in the eyes and tell me honestly that she didn't make your stomach do acrobatics? That she didn't make you want to do crazy things? That you wouldn't give up your own life to protect hers?"
Michael glared at him. It was true—all of them. But that didn't mean anything, did it? Except for the fact that he could stand her. Right? He realized that saying no would be completely disrespecting Liz and whatever they'd had, so he couldn't deny it. "I don't need this bullshit," Michael spat, and stalked off, heading towards home. The once-innocuous streets now seemed to be mocking him—laughing at him. He growled and picked up a rock, chucking it into the air and not sticking around to see where it fell.
The next morning, Michael rolled reluctantly out of bed and pulled some clothes on, this time not even caring what they looked like. Hank wasn't there. Good thing. He wasn't in the mood to deal with the massive loads of crap that Hank was almost famous for dishing out. There was nothing in the cupboards, Michael knew, so he didn't bother trying to find something bearing some semblance to breakfast. He wasn't hungry, anyway. He hadn't meant to, but Michael found himself wondering what Liz would have for breakfast. Where would she be? Would she be waking up in a strange house, afraid for that second before memories of the day before came rushing back and she remembered where she was? His chest felt hollow, and he felt like punching himself for thinking about that. About her. It was done. She was gone, and he'd never see her again. So why think about it?
He sighed and left, heading to Max's house. The conversations there would likely drive him up the wall, but at least they might keep him from thinking about that Jeep.
He got to the Evanses' house and knocked on the door. It swung open, and Max was standing there with a blank look on his face. Michael pushed him aside.
"Good morning, Michael. How are you today?" Michael said for Max. "Thanks, Max. I'm great. Can I come in?" "Of course, Michael. Come on in."
Max just blinked at him. "Hi, Michael."
"How are you, man?" he asked, flopping into a chair. Max looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep at all last night—there were dark smudgy circles under his eyes, and his hair was rumpled, as though he'd been tossing and turning. Max just shrugged and headed into his room. Michael followed, looking on while Max changed into clean clothes.
"You need some?" Max asked, flinging a shirt and jeans at him. Michael grabbed them.
"Why would I?"
"Because what you're wearing...it reeks."
Michael sniffed himself. "Oh, that? That's what the body is supposed to smell like, Maxwell."
"I'm not going to be seen with you if you wear that to school today," Max said. Michael couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, so he rolled his eyes and changed. Isabel peeked her head in the door.
"Max, Momma said to tell you that breakfast is ready. Hi, Michael."
"Hey."
She nodded and left, and Max and Michael headed downstairs, to the breakfast table, where Phillip was already sitting, staring at his hands. Isabel put her hand on his shoulder on her way to her seat, but he didn't look up until everyone had been seated and breakfast had begun. Then he looked up at Michael, eyes full of self-reproach. It made Michael uncomfortable to see an adult look at him like that, so he looked down at his pancakes.
"I'm sorry, Michael," Phillip said, voice low.
"What for, sir?" Michael asked, not looking up.
"I know you two were close." He paused for a few moments. "We're going to try to get her back. I—know a guy, and he thinks it might be possible."
Michael looked up, for once in his life allowing himself to hope. Immediately, his heart sank, and he had to look away again. "Whatever."
Nothing more was said, and they finished their breakfast in uneasy silence.
After breakfast, they'd had to dash out of the house, in order to not miss the bus, and Isabel immediately joined the hens' conversation, though she wasn't as talkative as she usually was. At Liz's—Michael had to stop himself. At the next stop, Maria climbed on, and looked confused when she didn't see Liz. She took the empty seat behind Max and Michael, and tapped Max on the shoulder.
"Hey Romeo, where's Liz?" she demanded. Max didn't answer, so Michael had to turn around.
"She's gone." He said, the words hurting just as much as they did when he said them to Alex.
"The hell are you talking about, gone? Gone where?" Maria demanded. "Gone, as in, she's sick today, but she'll be better tomorrow?"
He shook his head. "She's in Clovis."
"Why?" Maria screeched.
"Her dad went to jail," Michael said reluctantly.
"Mr. Parker?! Why? You're not telling me anything, Michael!" Maria yelled, earning her a dirty look from the bus driver.
"Calm down."
"I'm not calming down until you tell me why the hell my best friend is suddenly in Clovis. And why is Mr. Parker in jail?!" She began panting heavily.
"Maria, you really need to calm down," Michael placated. She sat there for a few minutes, until her breathing had returned to normal.
"Michael, you really need to tell me why my friend is in Clovis, okay?" Maria said calmly, just as the bus pulled up in front of school.
"I... It's not my place to tell you," Michael said, stepping off of the bus. "You'd better ask Alex."
Maria just growled and stomped away.
Michael found himself going numbly to all of his classes that day, where he would sit and learn nothing until the bell rang, and the process would start all over. Finally, he was in the last class of the day—science. It also happened to be the worst class of the day—it was the only class he and Liz had shared, and her empty desk next to him made him feel worse. The teacher stood in the front of the room, looking at her gradebook.
"Okay, class. Those tests. I still don't have signatures from Mr. Whitmore—" She looked at Michael, who shrugged. "Or Mr. Parker." She looked down at Liz's desk. "Where is Miss Parker?"
"I heard she's in jail," came a voice from the back of the room. "Juvie."
Michael whipped around to glare at the idiot who had said that. "No, she's not," he said fiercely, clenching his fist.
"Mr. Guerin, please turn around. Do you know where Liz is?"
"I do." He closed his eyes to concentrate on controlling his powers. The teacher wouldn't leave him alone.
"Then where is she? Is she in school today? Was she planning on gracing us with her presence today, or will we be deprived?" She asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Michael couldn't stop the flow of power from his fingertips, so he surreptitiously directed it towards the open window. There was a bright flash of light in the sky, and a tree burst into flames. All of the kids gasped and ran to the window, and the teacher had to scurry to close it. "Ladies and gentlemen, please sit back down, and get away from the windows. It's dry lightning, guys, nothing you haven't seen before. Please sit down. Now, Michael. Where is Miss Parker?" Before he could answer, the telephone rang, and she had to answer it. Once she'd hung up, she drew a line through her gradebook. "Nevermind, Mr. Guerin. I know."
What pissed him off was that she acted like Liz could just be erased with one line in a book. He focused on his desk. Do not lose control again, he warned himself, repeating that over and over in his head. Do not lose control. Do not lose control.
It worked, and soon Science class was over. He filed out with the rest of the class, and went slowly to his locker. The bustling crowd in the hallway meant nothing to him, as he focused completely on his combination, and then on his books, and then on his backpack. Max and Isabel approached him, and Michael looked over their shoulders at Alex and Maria, who were clutching to each other and crying. Why couldn't he do that? Just hold on to someone and let go of everything—let himself cry? He brushed angrily at his burning eyes and slammed his locker shut. He knew why. It was because he was who he was. He couldn't cry. He didn't cry. He'd always coached himself to bite back the tears and yell at something instead. Crying was a sign of weakness.
But Liz cried. And she wasn't weak.
Why did he think that? It was the last straw. He punched his locker and slid down to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face in them. For maybe the first time in his life, Michael just let the tears fall, and didn't give a damn about who saw. After a few minutes, he felt a soft, comforting hand on his shoulder, and then felt someone else sit next to him. He didn't look up—he knew it was Isabel and Max—and anyway, he wasn't done yet. When he finally felt that he couldn't cry anymore, he looked up, ready to glare at anyone who was looking at him funny. But there was no one except Max, Isabel, Maria, and Alex, and all of their eyes were red as well.
Michael stood, feeling uneasy at the scene around him. Everyone else stood as well, and the little group walked out of the school, silent but understanding.