Today, Home Ec was filled with the class trying out the desserts each of the students made. A few pies here, a plate of cookies there, and cakes. Plenty of cakes. More than enough to go around.

TJ made a batch of cupcakes that were all gone almost as soon as soon as he put the frosting on. He only grabbed a few cookies that were offered to him and waiting for class to be over, doodling something on a spare piece of notebook paper.

And for Mikey to stop staring him down. At least they left him alone over the weekend.

Mikey felt the need to come over with a plate of whatever he made, because why wouldn't he?

"I thought you might want to have a piece," Mikey offered.

It was a simple piece of cake. That was fine enough, but he didn't make a move to take a bite because it was clearly a chocolate cake. A dark chocolate cake.

"Thanks, but no thanks," TJ said. "I can't eat it."

"Why? Is something wrong with it?"

TJ shook his head. "The cake is fine. Everyone looks like they love it. I just can't eat it. Chocolate makes me sick."

"It didn't use to. . ."

"It does now."

". . . . TJ, do you hate us?"

How the conversation went from an offering of cake to his feelings towards the five of them, TJ didn't have a clue. All he could do was give him a confused look.

"Spinelli thinks you hate us, and while I can't blame her for thinking that, I don't think you do," Mikey said. "But you do seem annoyed by us. We're all just worried about you, especially after, you know. Any friend would be, wouldn't they?"

". . .I don't hate you guys, but you're not my friends, either. You all are worrying about nothing; I know what I'm doing," he said. "And I'm not trying to be mean, I really can't eat chocolate unless I want to go to the hospital." He slid the paper plate back to him. "How would you feel if five people were suddenly following you everywhere and asking questions you didn't want to answer? And the answers you do give, they don't want to believe you? Pretty fucking annoyed."

Thank God the bell finally rang.

ZZZ

TJ found that his psychiatrist was a far cry from Dr. Hardy. He still didn't like him, but, he was willing to at least be civil.

"Schizoid Personality Disorder," he read, looking over the considerably thick file Dr. Hardy had amassed about him. "Huh."

"Dr. Hardy said we should consider getting a second opinion," his mother said.

"I'm going to have to recommend that, too. That's a particularly difficult diagnosis to make. A lot of the symptoms can be written off as some who just prefers to be alone, and what teenager isn't like that at least some of the time?" He half joked. "But the other diagnosis, minor depression, that's a little easier to pin down. What do you think, TJ?"

Well.

That was refreshing to hear.

As annoying as Dr. Hardy was, as frustrating as it was that they turn his room upside down to get rid of the razor blades he hid, TJ understood that his parents were only doing what they thought was best for him. Even if that meant talking about his 'situation' in the kitchen when they thought he was asleep. But goddamn, if they would just take a minute to talk to him and not about him. . .!

"I think I'm fine," he said. "My self-esteem is fine. I don't cry out of nowhere. I don't feel worthless. I don't feel hopeless. I only feel frustrated at having to go through all of this when I don't want to. I don't know what schizoid whatever is, though."

For once, it didn't annoy him when the doctor in front of him wrote something down.

"I'm glad you told me this. I know you don't like going through all this, but I'm going to have to send you to another psychologist before I can make a final decision on this," the doctor said.

TJ nodded and leaned back in his seat.

ZZZ

"Okay so I have this cousin, she's rich, and she just told me that I could spend part of winter break in one of her cabins. She only goes there in the summer, anyways. I'm just here to let you know that you're coming."

TJ just wanted to harvest his crops.

His homework was finished and since he wasn't in the mood to get everything out and ready to give himself a few cuts, so wasting a couple of hours mindlessly tending to a virtual farm didn't sound too bad. And it wasn't! He was finally able to afford a cow.

But then Spinelli was in his room. One of his parents must've let her in. She stood in the middle of the room, telling him something about a cabin and winter break?

"No I'm not," He said. He didn't take his eyes off the screen of his DS.

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not."

"What else are you gonna do on winter break? Hole yourself up in your room and cut yourself?" She snapped.

"Probably," he mumbled. He was only half serious about that. His family liked to get together for the holidays and this year it was their turn to have everyone at their house, so he would probably entertaining the kids, and any one of them could barge into his room and see him. "So can you leave now?"

She sat down in his desk chair and crossed her arms.

"That's not going to make me change my mind," said TJ.

"Whatever," she said, slowly spinning in the chair with a kick of her foot. She stopped, facing his desk and looked at what was on it. Nothing special, all things considered. A lamp. a notebook, couple of pencils, a sketchbook-

A sketchbook? That caught her attention. Spinelli hand enough of those to stack them and they're reach her knees. The cover looked new. So she flipped through the first few pages.

A couple drawings of what had to be the animals down at the shelter, mostly guinea pigs and dogs. A few landscapes, a couple of practice sketches of facial features.

"Hey, these are good," she said, turning the page. "Like really good. How long have you been drawing?" He shrugged. "You're great at realism."

"Thanks. Now leave."

"I'm trying be nice here, jackass!" She swiveled the chair to face the bed.

"Then one really easy way to do that is to leave," he said. "I'm tired, Spinelli."

"That's funny, because I'm tired of your bullshit," Spinelli said. "You're coming with us, whether you like it or not."

Much to his relief, she finally left.

ZZZ