I survived the final performance of Bye Bye Birdie and now my life seems like it's getting to be a little more back to normal. I mean, aside from the facts that these past couple of weeks have been the worst in my entire life to date, and that I am totally and utterly alone.

On the bright side, though, is the prospect that the school year is over in just a few short weeks and I can go home and contemplate my options. To be or not to be, that is the question. Well, actually, the question is whether to come back here to Pulitzer's and start over, or to go back to my high school back home and learn to appreciate the art of the fag drag.

Both of them are currently about as appealing as Richard Simmons naked.

I shake my head to banish all of the above thoughts and try to focus on what Mr. Denton is blabbing about at the front of the room.

"Now, as you should all have noticed by now, the year is coming to a close." There are a few titters of excitement throughout the classroom, but they die down quickly enough with a stern look from Denton. "And you all probably know about the end-of-year art contest we have. I hope all of you have entered," he says, looking around the room and focusing on me. I sink down in my seat, hoping to make him stop, because I didn't enter the contest. "Everything submitted to the visual art contest has been carefully looked over and for each category, the staff has chosen three projects to be displayed. All second- and third-place entries will be displayed in the hallways, and every first-place winner will be shown at the end-of-year dance next Friday night. I assume everyone's heard about the dance?" Mr. Denton smirks.

I roll my eyes as some of the girls twitter excitedly. Here at J.P.'s, you're lucky if you haven't heard about this dance – but unfortunately that would also mean that you are dead. See, J.P.'s doesn't have a prom. We have a gala at the end of the year which the parents attend, and they drink champagne and eat fancy hors d'oeuvres and shoot the proverbial shit with other Fifth-Avenue artsy-fartsy folks while viewing the entries from the contest and pretending to be interested in what the winners have to say. After this, the parents go home or whatever, and the students stick around in the commons for a dance. It's formal, like a prom, and it has music, like a prom, and it pretty much is a prom except prom is for normal people and we here at J.P.'s are most definitely not normal.

Denton goes on with the explanation of rules for the dance and whatnot, and I just tune him out. The bell finally rings and I get up to walk out, my shoulder colliding with Dutchy's.

"Sorry," he mumbles without looking into my face, gathering up the rest of his stuff and hurrying out of the room. I stand and watch him a moment, and there's this uncomfortable, sinking feeling in my chest.

I miss him.

An arm finds it way around my shoulders and I look over to find Skittery. He smiles a little. "You okay?"

I shrug. "Will be," I say, still feeling like my ribcage is weighing me down.

Skittery nods. "Come on," he says, jerking his head towards the door. "Let's get outta here."

Skittery has convinced me to skip my next class and now we sit under a tree in the courtyard, silent and more than a little bored on my part. I look around at the empty grass and sigh.

"You're really down and out about this, aren't you?" Skittery looks at me, his eyes full of concern. He's got that kind of look about him that makes you feel safe and comfortable... like a therapist, or your older brother's best friend who's less of a douchebag than your brother.

"Does it show?" I wrap my arms around my knees, drawing them to my chest and resting my chin on them.

Skittery smiles a little. "It'll get better."

I roll my eyes. "Funny, everyone keeps saying that, but it never seems to be true."

He puts a hand on my shoulder and just leaves it there for a moment. It's probably the most comforting thing I've experienced in a long while. At length, he asks, "You wanna talk about it?"

I sigh and press my forehead to my knees, and begin the Saga of Specs and Dutchy.

"Well," Skittery says, shaking his head. "I'm sorry about all that."

"Not your fault," I reply, shrugging, my face still pressed against my legs. "I guess it just pisses me off that he was so willing to jump into all of this and then so quick to turn tail and run."

He nods. "Yeah... but what pisses me off is that Oscar is such a hypocrite."

"What do you mean?"

"He's real happy to go around outing anyone who crosses his path, but the kid's got more skeletons in his closet than you can shake a stick at."

"What?" I lift my head up, looking at Skittery.

He smirks. "You have a red mark on your forehead." I open my mouth to protest his changing the subject, but he interrupts me. "Hey, what're you doing for the dance next week?"

"Uh... well, I wasn't really planning on going."

"What?" Skittery looks genuinely shocked.

"It just doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun." I shrug. "Besides, I don't really have anything to wear to a formal dance."

"You have to go!" He pushes at my shoulder a bit. "I've got an extra suit you can wear."

"I look terrible in a suit."

Skittery rolls his eyes. "Damn it, Specs, shut up. You're going."

"But I don't have anybody to go with." When he looks at me, I shake my head. "I am not going stag. It's lame and far too eighties for my tastes."

"So come with me," he says, and my eyes go wide. "Not like that, you idiot. Me and Bumlets and Pie Eater are all going together and you could come with us."

"I don't know, Skittery. I'm not much for dancing. Especially not right now."

"Come on," he says, sighing. "You can't hole yourself up in bed forever. You do that, and you're only going to show him just how pathetic you are. And that's exactly what you are. Pathetic."

"Hey," I say, insulted.

"Well, how else would you describe yourself?" He sighs again, shaking his head. "Specs, you've gotta get out there and show him you can still have fun and your life can still be normal without him. So go to the dance, have a little fun, and rub it in his face."

I sigh and roll my eyes. "Fine," I say, shaking my head in exasperation. "I'll go."

"Great."

"But first, you have to tell me about these 'skeletons' in Oscar's closet."

The bell rings and Skittery looks at me with a grin. "Gotta get to class."