The worst thing about Saturdays at this school: matinées. They suck. Not only do I have to perform twice in one day, but at this particular matinée, Johannes Visser, Sr. is in the audience, watching our every move.

I officially want to kill myself.

I walk out of the green room just behind Dutchy to see Mr. Wiesel, wood shop teacher and uncle to Oscar and Morris Delancey (and rather unaffectionately known as Weasel), talking to a man who looks uncannily like a taller, older, more asshole-y Dutchy. Dutchy stops in his tracks as Weasel turns and points at him, that same smirk that Oscar had plastered on his fat, ugly, ass-kissing face.

As Dutchy's dad pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, Dutchy turns and takes off running.

I'm heading down the hall to Dutchy's room, and I see Blink and Mush standing outside their door. As I approach, they hold their hands up.

"Specs, you don't wanna go in there," Blink says.

I knit my eyebrows together and try to push past him, but then I hear the voices coming from the other side of the door.

I can't make out the words they're saying but one is obviously very angry and the other, which I recognize despite its being muffled as Dutchy's, sounds really distressed. Fighting the urge to burst in there, I stand with his roommates. "What's..."

I don't even have to finish my sentence. Mush puts a hand on my shoulder. "Oscar and Morris told Weasel about the two of you, and Weasel hates Dutchy just as much as the Delanceys do. He told Mr. V., who came in here about twenty minutes ago and hasn't stopped screaming at Dutchy since."

We stand and stare at the door for a few more minutes before the screaming escalates. Now his father is so loud I can actually make out the words.

"You are a disgrace! How could you do this to me? To your mother? What will she say? God damn it, Johannes! We raised you better than this!"

Dutchy mumbles something that I don't understand, and his father lets loose with a slew of curses.

"Who is it, Johannes?" I wince. There's silence on the other side of the door. "Who is it?"

I hear nothing but a loud slap and then the door swings open. Dutchy's dad is standing there, glaring. "One of you, isn't it?" Blink and Mush and I stand in stunned silence. He stares each one of us down, and his eyes stop on me. "You. I know it's you. You turned my son into some sort of faggot." He pokes his finger into my chest. "You are in all sorts of trouble, young man." And he storms off, leaving me standing there as Blink and Mush run into the room.

I stand, shell-shocked, staring at the half-open door. I hear Blink and Mush in the room, murmuring to Dutchy, and I want to go in and join them. All I want to do is help, to comfort him, but my feet won't move.

Blink and Mush come back out, shaking their heads. They look at me, and Blink grabs my arm. "Go in and talk to him, Specs," he says, tugging me toward the door. "We're just gonna go."

I'm still frozen in the doorway. Mush pushes me into the room and closes the door behind him.

I look at Dutchy, curled up in his bed, facing the wall. He looks so small and crumpled, like a little boy. Sighing, I lay down beside him, wrap an arm around his waist. He flinches and tries to fight me off, but I hold on. "Dutch," I say, taking hold of his hand. "It's okay, it's just me. It's okay now."

Dutchy turns over, and as he does, I get a good look at his face. His eyes are so sad, and his cheek is red where his father hit him. I can tell he's trying not to cry. I know he won't allow himself.

He sighs and curls into me, burying his face in my chest. "I'm sorry."

Sunday is not so bad. After an absolutely terrible performance Saturday night, we have the day off. And I'm celebrating by sitting in my room, doing homework. Yay, homework.

"So, Specs," Jack asks from David's bunk, where he's taken over control of David's laptop, "is our little Dutch-boy okay? He seemed really off last night."

I shrug. "Um..." I'm tentative at first, but then I remember that all my roommates know about me and Dutchy. And they're cool with it. "Well, see, Oscar and Morris walked in on us the other night... and, um, they told Weasel, who told Dutchy's dad, who is not happy. That's the condensed version, anyway."

Jack nods. "His dad's kind of an odd bird. He'll get over it."

"His dad is fucking scary as all hell," David pipes up from the floor, where he's reading over a pre-press copy of the school newspaper. "He's like the king of overreactions. One time he threatened to have me expelled for misprinting his donation amount in the paper."

I shake my head. "Jesus," I mutter, then turn back to my English textbook.

"Jack, I'm kinda hungry," David says, standing up. "Let's go get something to eat."

Jack nods and gets up. "You wanna come, Specs?"

I look up from my book. "No, thanks. I really need to finish this paper. But maybe I'll catch up with you guys later."

"Okay," they say, and walk out.

I enjoy five whole minutes of peace and quiet with which to make progress on my homework before there's a knock on the door. I open it to find Dutchy on the other side.

"Hey," I say with a grin, opening the door wider for him to come in.

"Hey," he says, with no real emotion in his voice.

"Is everything okay?" I close the door behind him and look Dutchy over, trying to read his expression.

"Well, um..." He shuffles his feet uncomfortably. "No, not really."

I lean back against my bedpost. "What's wrong?"

He sighs. "My dad's still on his tirade."

I smile a little bit. "Were you expecting something else?" When he doesn't say anything, I shrug. "Dutchy, everything's going to be okay. Your dad will calm down. Or bust a capillary. Either one."

"Yeah..." He sighs again. "But see, yesterday... he really got to me. He's threatening to pull me out of here."

I put my arms around him, give him a little squeeze. He doesn't return it. "Just stand your ground, Dutch."

"That's the thing, Specs. I don't know if I can."

"What do you mean?" I step back from him so I can look him in the face.

"I just don't know if I can do this." He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor.

"Don't know if you can do what?"

"This."

I sigh and roll my eyes. "Dutchy, don't give me this stupid teenage-movie cryptic shit, okay? What are you trying to say?"

"You and me, Specs. I don't know if it's such a good idea. I mean..." He flicks his eyes up to my face and then back down to my shoes. "My dad was saying yesterday that it's just a phase and I'll get it out of my system and it'll be over with, and maybe... maybe he's right."

Shaking my head, I stare at him. "Right, Dutchy, because people often fall in love with one another during phases."

He sighs. "It's just that maybe I was just confused."

I grate my teeth together. "Maybe. You were just. Confused."

Dutchy looks up at me, exasperated. "Specs, could you just not? Could you let me talk?" He bites his lip. "Look, it's not like I want to hurt you. I was just... making some wrong turns. Like I said, I'm just confused."

I roll my eyes. "No, Dutchy, what you are is a coward. You're too weak to stand up to Daddy and his criticism, too much of a pussy to stand up to a couple of stupid upperclassmen who want to fuck with you. So you're just running away."

"That's not fair, Specs."

Laughing, I shake my head. "You want to talk to me about what's fair."

He takes his hands out of his pockets, lifting them in an attempt to pull something to say out of the air. "I'm sorry, okay? I just made a mistake. A really stupid, stupid mistake."

"Yeah, you did." Without thinking, my fist connects full-force with his jaw. I push past him and open the door, grabbing his shirtsleeve. "Get out." And I shove him out, slamming the door in his fast.

That stupid, sorry, chicken-shit son of a bitch.